Of Sting, Rice and Paradise (written on Jan. 31, 2012)
Ages ago, as I started to build a fire on the makeshift dirt kitchen to cook the rice for dinner while the radio played some Sting song in the background, I wondered how it would be like to live on the other side of the world. There I was in my cut-out shorts and "ukay-ukay" t-shirt with the letters of some American university printed on it, padding around in my trusty rubber slippers, unnecessarily delaying my chores while day-dreaming. Daddy would surely throw a fit again when he came home to find that the rice hadn't been cooked yet. Nonetheless, I dragged myself around humming while envisioning life in America, in Europe, in Canada, in Australia... anywhere but here.
Here being a university village inhabited by roughly a few hundred families scattered along a narrow strip between the rough seas of the Pacific (whoever gave Pacific ocean its name should be kicked in his butt, as it's a sea that had brought endless misery to the locals in the form of angry typhoons that pounded our island very often) and some low rolling hills leading to the center of the 3rd largest and maybe poorest island in the Philippines: Samar.
Don't get me wrong, I adored this paradise of an island. It was a very idyllic place, a great getaway from the hectic city life. The vegetation was lush, the beaches pristine white, the waters blue, the skies clear except for a scattering of cirrus clouds on a lovely day. I loved the smell that wafted upwards from the bowels of the earth after a rain. I could never get enough of the sparkle of the raindrops on the grass. I relished the smell of the jack fruit ready for picking (or more appropriately: hauling, as this fruit could grow as big as a sack of rice), the softness of the ripe papaya flesh, the fun of spitting out the seeds of a "Pakol" banana, and the sweetness of a purple caimito fruit.
The sunsets were phenomenal. Reds, oranges, yellows and blues awash the skies at the end of the days. The sunrises were just as beautiful but more subdued in their display of colors. The summer days were hot and humid. The rainy days were noisy, drumming on the tin roofs and leaving puck-marks on the sandy ground. The raindrops warm and perfect for frolicking outside.
But at twenty, and graduation just around the corner, the world was just beginning to open up for me. My mind was filled with the anticipation of what life would bring after college. I didn't have a plan. I was just going to go with the flow of destiny. Will I work in an office? Will I become a famous singer-song writer? Will I pursue an artistic career? Will I write full-time? Will I study some more? All these were a blurred chaos in my mind. I didn't have a burning ambition to become something. I was ready to settle just being someone.
Fast forward to a few decades later...
I'm in my brand new kitchen. The pot of boiling rice is bubbling merrily on my still shiny cooking plate and The Best of Sting CD is playing in the background. I am wearing layers of cotton shirts, stockings, a warm skirt, thickly cushioned winter slippers and an apron. As I chop the onions without hurry (my husband and son do not mind if dinner is served a bit late), I start to daydream about how it would be like to be on the other side of the globe where it is warm and balmy. Where the air is humid and not scaly dry. Where my hair wouldn't keep falling off of my scalp like a drizzle. Where my skin would be soft and shiny in its natural oils. Where my toe nails can be exposed to open air without turning blue. Where the sunshine would be streaming into my windows and I wouldn't even stop to exclaim how beautiful the weather is. Where the weather is never an interesting topic, but something that everybody takes for granted.
Don't get me wrong, I adore this little paradise of a home I have built together with my husband. I am forever awed by the medieval architecture that Ghent is famous for. I am endlessly surprised by the combined daintiness and roughness of the city. I like the click-clocking sound of my heels on the wet cobblestones of the narrow streets. I admire the huge ancient wooden gates and doors embellished with curly iron designs.
When it is dark and rainy, the true beauty of Ghent comes out. The old structures blend sublimely with the dusky skies. It emanates mystery and danger, the perfect place of birth for a formidable king: Charles. There are quaint bridges over still dark waters, lush parks with imposing sculptures of heroes past, little specialty shops selling antiquated artistry. Flower shops are filled with all imaginable arrangements. Fries shops are always serving queues of customers willing to brave the elements outside. The smells of grilled wafers waft in the air, beckoning passers-by to give in to the temptation with melted chocolate topping. Coffee shops are invitingly warm and cozy. Brown beer pubs dot the city, sometimes with ultra modern interior, often times old and musky, proudly displaying rows and rows of beers, all bottled in the country. The cheese shops boast of gigantic tablets of cheeses from all over Europe. The chocolatiers offer arrays of mouth-watering selections of dark, milk and white chocolates that even the most disciplined human being could not resist.
There are lines and endless lines of bicycles padlocked on stands around the train stations. The trams rattle by filled with students and tourists. The varie-coloured people inside morosely ignoring each other, everybody lost in their own train of thoughts. The shop owners, on the other hand, smile their widest and friendliest, gently asking if they could assist you - in English, Dutch, French, Spanish, German...
I am crazy in-love with this city. I cannot imagine living anywhere else, except...
I marvel how I miss those times when my life was less complicated, when my future was still ahead of me, when I had nothing but hopes and dreams. I look back and see how far I have come, or gone. How many bridges have I burnt? How many realizations have I woken up to? How many dreams have I shattered? How many disappointments have I survived?
And similarly, how many wonderful people have I met on my way to here? How many lives have I touched? How many unforgettable places and situations have I been in? How many jobs have I held before this one I am in now? How many small and big accomplishments have satisfied me? How many corners of the globe have I seen and how many different cultures have I experienced?
I find it important to take stock of how I have fared in my life so far. It keeps me rooted wherever I am at a given time. These moments come when I am in a serene mood, like while cooking rice, and listening to Sting.
Here being a university village inhabited by roughly a few hundred families scattered along a narrow strip between the rough seas of the Pacific (whoever gave Pacific ocean its name should be kicked in his butt, as it's a sea that had brought endless misery to the locals in the form of angry typhoons that pounded our island very often) and some low rolling hills leading to the center of the 3rd largest and maybe poorest island in the Philippines: Samar.
Don't get me wrong, I adored this paradise of an island. It was a very idyllic place, a great getaway from the hectic city life. The vegetation was lush, the beaches pristine white, the waters blue, the skies clear except for a scattering of cirrus clouds on a lovely day. I loved the smell that wafted upwards from the bowels of the earth after a rain. I could never get enough of the sparkle of the raindrops on the grass. I relished the smell of the jack fruit ready for picking (or more appropriately: hauling, as this fruit could grow as big as a sack of rice), the softness of the ripe papaya flesh, the fun of spitting out the seeds of a "Pakol" banana, and the sweetness of a purple caimito fruit.
The sunsets were phenomenal. Reds, oranges, yellows and blues awash the skies at the end of the days. The sunrises were just as beautiful but more subdued in their display of colors. The summer days were hot and humid. The rainy days were noisy, drumming on the tin roofs and leaving puck-marks on the sandy ground. The raindrops warm and perfect for frolicking outside.
But at twenty, and graduation just around the corner, the world was just beginning to open up for me. My mind was filled with the anticipation of what life would bring after college. I didn't have a plan. I was just going to go with the flow of destiny. Will I work in an office? Will I become a famous singer-song writer? Will I pursue an artistic career? Will I write full-time? Will I study some more? All these were a blurred chaos in my mind. I didn't have a burning ambition to become something. I was ready to settle just being someone.
Fast forward to a few decades later...
I'm in my brand new kitchen. The pot of boiling rice is bubbling merrily on my still shiny cooking plate and The Best of Sting CD is playing in the background. I am wearing layers of cotton shirts, stockings, a warm skirt, thickly cushioned winter slippers and an apron. As I chop the onions without hurry (my husband and son do not mind if dinner is served a bit late), I start to daydream about how it would be like to be on the other side of the globe where it is warm and balmy. Where the air is humid and not scaly dry. Where my hair wouldn't keep falling off of my scalp like a drizzle. Where my skin would be soft and shiny in its natural oils. Where my toe nails can be exposed to open air without turning blue. Where the sunshine would be streaming into my windows and I wouldn't even stop to exclaim how beautiful the weather is. Where the weather is never an interesting topic, but something that everybody takes for granted.
Don't get me wrong, I adore this little paradise of a home I have built together with my husband. I am forever awed by the medieval architecture that Ghent is famous for. I am endlessly surprised by the combined daintiness and roughness of the city. I like the click-clocking sound of my heels on the wet cobblestones of the narrow streets. I admire the huge ancient wooden gates and doors embellished with curly iron designs.
When it is dark and rainy, the true beauty of Ghent comes out. The old structures blend sublimely with the dusky skies. It emanates mystery and danger, the perfect place of birth for a formidable king: Charles. There are quaint bridges over still dark waters, lush parks with imposing sculptures of heroes past, little specialty shops selling antiquated artistry. Flower shops are filled with all imaginable arrangements. Fries shops are always serving queues of customers willing to brave the elements outside. The smells of grilled wafers waft in the air, beckoning passers-by to give in to the temptation with melted chocolate topping. Coffee shops are invitingly warm and cozy. Brown beer pubs dot the city, sometimes with ultra modern interior, often times old and musky, proudly displaying rows and rows of beers, all bottled in the country. The cheese shops boast of gigantic tablets of cheeses from all over Europe. The chocolatiers offer arrays of mouth-watering selections of dark, milk and white chocolates that even the most disciplined human being could not resist.
There are lines and endless lines of bicycles padlocked on stands around the train stations. The trams rattle by filled with students and tourists. The varie-coloured people inside morosely ignoring each other, everybody lost in their own train of thoughts. The shop owners, on the other hand, smile their widest and friendliest, gently asking if they could assist you - in English, Dutch, French, Spanish, German...
I am crazy in-love with this city. I cannot imagine living anywhere else, except...
I marvel how I miss those times when my life was less complicated, when my future was still ahead of me, when I had nothing but hopes and dreams. I look back and see how far I have come, or gone. How many bridges have I burnt? How many realizations have I woken up to? How many dreams have I shattered? How many disappointments have I survived?
And similarly, how many wonderful people have I met on my way to here? How many lives have I touched? How many unforgettable places and situations have I been in? How many jobs have I held before this one I am in now? How many small and big accomplishments have satisfied me? How many corners of the globe have I seen and how many different cultures have I experienced?
I find it important to take stock of how I have fared in my life so far. It keeps me rooted wherever I am at a given time. These moments come when I am in a serene mood, like while cooking rice, and listening to Sting.
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