In everything, give thanks. And be okay.

"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for." - Epicurus

I find it easy to feel grateful  and say thanks, when things go according to my plans. When everything falls into place and I'm left with this wonderful feeling that life is good. The real challenge is when things take a turn for the worse and giving thanks is the last thing on my mind. When this happen, I'm more inclined to feel angry and frustrated. And sometimes, indulge in pity party, which is not a good idea. It takes a conscious effort on my part to see past all the negative feelings and look at the bigger picture.

"I've started to look at life differently. When you're thanking God for every little you - every meal, every time you wake up, every time you take a sip of water - you can't help but be more thankful for life itself, for the unlikely and miraculous fact that you exist at all." - A. J. Jacobs

Things happen for a reason so I've heard. Life won't always be easy and there are things I can't control no matter what. Still, I have a lot to be thankful in my life.

The chance to see this view is reason enough to be thankful.  Just proves I get to live another day. :-)

H A P P Y   T H A N K S G I V I N G !!!

I'm quiet and perfectly fine with it.

I read a chapter about Psychiatry and I'm relieved to learn that being an introvert is not a personality disorder. I've read a few articles about introversion online and I find that some of the things introverts do at great length to avoid people or recharge their batteries are quite funny. I'm not at the point yet, where I have to hide in the bathroom just to avoid talking to anyone. The first time I've heard the word introvert was, I think when I was in high school. Back then, it sounded odd to me and sort of reinforced my deep-seated suspicion that there must be something psychologically wrong with me. As a kid, I was not the type that needed to be always around with other kids, to be entertained. I used to play with these paper cut-outs of people (which I made myself ) and created a monologue while I play with them. One day, when my grandmother heard me talking to myself, it prompted serious concern from her. She must have thought I was going cuckoo. At her behest, my mother kept a close watch on me for a day and when she was satisfied that I’m perfectly sane, they left me alone. 

 I often wonder why I can’t just be like others who seem to have always something to say about everything there is. Growing up, I was told that I’m shy and have no people skills or personality and that I wouldn't amount to anything. Like, how I’m supposed to get anywhere if I don’t know how to talk to people. One time, when I used to live in a dormitory, one of the girls made a comment that I am autistic. Of course, she didn't say it to my face.  I wondered what made her come up with that remark, then I realized  later on, that it was because I don't hang out with their group and make small talk. On another occasion, I was told I'm anti-social, for the same reason. 

I used to be bothered when I heard comments about me being shy or quiet. I feel uncomfortable when attention is directed at me. Sometimes, I wish I'm invisible, so then no one will notice me and I'm spared from replying to questions like, "Why are you so quiet?" or "Are you okay?" Early on, I know I'm different. Not weird different, just different. And I'm okay with it. But the thing is, I have to be out there so I need to adjust and compromise, when necessary.

"Don't underestimate me because I'm quiet. I know more than I say, think more than I speak and observe more than you know." - Michaela Chung

For some reasons, I do try to fit in. But I can’t just bring myself to talk just for the sake of talking. I prefer to observe and listen. And I can be a good sounding board too. But just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I don't know how to talk or don't want to talk. Given the right topics, probably I'd talk for hours until someone will tell me to shut up. 

Being around with a lot of people is an ordeal for me. Not that I dislike people per se, it’s just that after a while, they become too loud and noisy. And it tires me out.  It’s for this reason that it only takes half an hour max before I start to fidget and complain to my sister, whenever we’re in the mall. And almost always, she tells me to go find a place where I can have coffee and sit, while I wait for her.

"What a commentary on our civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it like a secret vice!"- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Some people think that if you’re quiet, it’s either because you’re dumb or shy or whatever word they can come up with. Or socially inept. I don't really think that I'm quiet. I mean, it's not something I put on or take off, like a piece of clothing. Or some sort of mechanism that I can switch on or off. It's part of me. It is me. To pretend otherwise is pointless and detrimental to my well-being. 

Yes, I like to be alone, most of the time and do whatever it is I love doing, like read a book or do the crossword or watch TV. But from time to time, I like some company too. I don't mind hanging out with my sister ( which we don't get to do much ) even if we always end up at the mall because its her "favorite" place. Or go for a hike with Rita and Janet. Or go to the book club meeting. ( Its like killing two birds with one stone, socialize and talk about books. Or should I say, four birds, counting the wine and all the food.)

So anyway, in the off-chance that you see me, staring out into space or have this zoned out look in my face, pay it no mind because I do it often. There's just a lot of stuff going on in my head. And it's just me, being me. :-)

Philomena

I don't usually write my thoughts about a book I've just read. But I made an exception for Philomena. As much as possible, I try to keep an open mind  when I read a book, recommended or suggested by someone. The book club gives me the opportunity to read books that otherwise I won't read or even hear of. Its great that Rita loves to read too and don't mind taking me along to their book club meetings. And the ladies are nice.

Reading "Philomena" stirred emotions in me that I haven't thought about in a long time. It touches on the subject of religion, for one. I am a non-practicing Roman Catholic but I was raised as one. I remember the times when I reluctantly went with my grandmother to hear mass on Sundays at four in the morning. I'd sit there in church, half-asleep and didn't really understand what was going on. I grew up on talks about eternity in hell if I commit sins. Later on, as I got older, I started to ask questions and refused to go to church. At some point, probably out of exasperation, my grandmother called me a heathen. I was sure I disappointed her but I know that she doted on me till the day she passed away. I also have had first-hand experience with nuns. I went to a Catholic school in my secondary years. And during my first year in university, I lived in a dormitory run by nuns. While I was there, I did crazy stuff, like hide under my bed when it was time to say the rosary. I even come close to being kick out from the dormitory because I got drunk. But I didn't feel bad that I break the rules, I was more embarrassed when my father had to come and had a talk with one of the nuns. When I think about it now, all I can say is that, things back then were not really what they purport to be. And belief in God is not just about going to church.

Babies born out of wedlock is not  foreign to me. I have three younger sisters who got pregnant and they never heard from the guys again. My nieces and nephews don't know their fathers. When I first learned about my sisters' predicament, I was angry at them for being stupid. Then, the babies came. I realized that I could not be mad at them too and act as if I don't care. It wasn't the babies fault and they didn't ask for it. Sure, another mouth to fed put more strain on our family's meager resources, but to abandon the babies was not an option. My sisters were lucky, they didn't have to go through what Philomena did.  A few months ago, I had the chance to go home for a short visit and I was amazed at how my nieces and nephews have grown, in the past four years I was away. Amid the chaos and noise in our big family, I know they'll be fine. I think we made the right decision to keep them, besides it would break my mother's heart if they were taken away.

I can relate to Mike's need to belong and have the affirmation from the people he cares about. Sometimes, I wonder if I do things just to be in good terms with my family. That if I do something contrary to what they expect of me, I'll disappoint them. Fortunately, my mother never pressured me to do something I don't like. She told me once, that she knows I'll always do the right thing. And I try to.

Anyway, I like to read books that make me think. And Philomena is one of them. It made me think. Probably way too much, I end up writing this post.

Coming to Canada.

After countless forms that needs to be filled up and signed and days and months of waiting,  I finally got that piece of paper that says I'm confirmed as a permanent resident of Canada.

It's been four years since I first set foot in this country. I remember seeing the lights of Vancouver for the first time, as the plane prepared to land, and I realized that, there's no turning back.  I had no idea as to what lies ahead of me. It has been a learning experience, as I eased myself  into the Canadian way of life. And I'm still learning every day. I have to remind myself from time to time that I only inhabit a small portion of this country. But to keep it simple, whenever someone ask me where I'm at now, my answer is always, "I'm in Canada."

I am grateful for Mama. I get to go to school and come to Canada. Although, she thinks I'm too serious. :-)

I've always wanted to go to New York for a visit. But I never thought about the possibility that I get to move away from home and live somewhere, a thousand miles away from family and friends, in an entirely different time zone and climate. Coming to Canada has its upside and downside, like everything else in life. "You can't have your cake and eat it too." proves to be true.

People I've met are curious to know if I like it here. I always say that I do. I like the temperate climate. I like the library. Although being away from home is a compromise I have to deal with. I miss my family and the few friends I have, from time to time. And I miss the food. I came from a country where no meal is complete without rice. It took me awhile to get used to eating salads and other kind of vegetables. One day, someone asked me if I cook my own food, I replied no. And she was like, don't you miss it? I told her, I miss it, sometimes. But I learn to adjust and adapt. Besides, my sister cook Filipino food when we hang out.

My sister and I don't agree on a lot of things. But that doesn't change the fact that I learned some things from her, like how to put on a jacket, without having the shirt sleeves all bunched up underneath. :-)

When it was certain that I'd be coming to Canada, I decided to read more about the country to keep myself abreast with what to expect. Let's just say that my reading helped a bit. But still, it didn't prepare me for all the experiences I encountered along the way.  A lot has change for me in the span of four years. I like to think that coming to Canada made me a better person. It made me more responsible. Being here made me look at my family in a different light and appreciate them. Then I learned how to drive and got my driver's license. I  get to run a marathon. I had the opportunity to work for three different wonderful elderly ladies, whom impacted my life in ways I didn't expect. No amount of reading could have prepared me, for the experience  and realization ( which came later )-- that I am capable of caring for another person. That I can be emotionally invested in someone. And I don't mean this, in the sense of just doing my job. That I will learn to like animals, especially Moxie and Nakita, and sometimes, prefer their company. That coming to Canada would test my patience, when one day, I had to stand in the rain, while I wait for the bus. And on another occasion literally ran after one.

Dennis and Rita make my life easier. I am and will always be thankful. 

Before you doze off and fall flat on your face while reading this, I'll bring this post to an end by saying a word of thanks to the people who make it possible for me to be here.  I can't take all the credit for having survived in a foreign country, that's altogether different from the one where I was born and grew up. I owe it to all the generous and kind people I have had the privilege of meeting. It's worth mentioning that without my aunt ( whom we call Mama ), I wouldn't be in Canada right now. Even if we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, it won't discount the fact that she  made it possible for me to come here. To my sister, who made it easier for me to adjust to my new life here, even if sometimes, she drives me crazy. And most of all, I wouldn't be able to comply with the requirements to become a permanent resident if not for Mary, Nora and Nancy and their respective families. They trusted me and welcomed me in their homes.

First time camping, lessons learned.

 Happy campers? I think, for the most part. :-)

I've never been to camping with my folks and by folks, I meant,my aunt, sister and my aunt's friend, Rhea. So when Rhea suggested that we'd go to Hornby Island and set up camp for two days, I was excited. I've never been to Hornby Island in the first place and I'd love to try camping. I realized that it entails a lot of work--planning and organizing, and most of all, patience and a sense of humor. We shared a lot of funny moments during our stay. We were amateurs but we made the most of what we had.

Allow me to share some valuable lessons I learned during our two-day stint up close with nature....

Never trust the weather forecast. What the weatherman says like a week or a few days before can drastically change in a heartbeat. I learned this the hard way, or should I say, we did. Our first foray into camping turned out to be a not too pleasant experience ( and the kind that we hoped for ) when we were caught off guard with the rain during our stay. Of all the days to be raining, it had to be on our first day and the next day. Fortunately, we managed to set up our tents before the rain turned into a light downpour. We were also thankful for the trees in our campsite that provided a bit of cover. But all in all, I still enjoyed it.

 Happily played "photographer" the entire time and met Ke$ha on the beach.

Be prepared. I find this very important only after. We didn't anticipate the weather changing so we came with just clothes appropriate for hot summer days. We didn't realize that it gets cold during the night, especially when the temperature starts to dip low. The first night, I tossed and turned and was cold, I stayed half-awake most of the time during the night. I couldn't wait for morning to come.

Just roll with the punches. I'd be lying if I say that I was comfortable going to the outhouse or lay down so close to the ground, with just an air mattress in between. I miss the comfort of my own bed. Then there's the issue of not being able to take a normal shower ( the kind I'm used to ). After two days, I feel dirty. I dreaded the time when I need to go to the washroom because I don't like to look at the black void underneath. But then, I think that's the point of camping, to get away from the "comforts" of daily life. Frankly, it was kind of  relaxing to sit on the folding chair, with my feet up on the bench and a drink on my hand, while I listened to the different sounds around me -the rustle of leaves as a light breeze fanned the trees; the somewhat annoying sound of the crows overhead; the happy shrieks of kids while they play at a nearby clearing and the soft rumble of an occasional car as it navigated around the campsite. Its cool that for once, I didn't have to think or worry about anything. My cellphone was stashed safely in my backpack.

 After two days and two nights, we were ready to go. We couldn't wait to get back to our routines. We had breakfast first before we pack our stuff. And after we made sure that everything was in order and our belongings safely stashed in the car, we were off.

I told my sister that I like camping and would like to do it again. She said she liked it too, except for the part when she had to crawl to get into the tent. As for me, I like it. My only concern was going to the outhouse, but I think its way better than having to squat on the bush.Till next time. :-)

Hey, brother and sister.

"I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at." - Maya Angelou

There was a time, especially during high school, when I used to be embarrassed whenever someone asked me questions like, "How many are you in the family?' or "How many brothers and sisters do you have?' I was like, not again. Now, when someone ask me these same questions, my reply to the first would be a brief "Nine." and the latter would take a considerable time while I do the math then I'd say, "I have six sisters and two brothers. And I'm the eldest." Both of my answers would be met with surprise or a "Wow" reaction. And I'm like, yes, tell me about it.

I still can't figure out how my mother ever managed to have nine kids. While growing up, I remembered her being pregnant, then she'd be gone for a few days and when she came back home, she'd have a baby in her arms. I have never seen her in labor or wailing and mouthing off expletives ( just like shown in the movies or TV shows ) because she was in pain. When I was old enough to know what was going on, the arrival of a new baby, like every couple of years or so, has lost its appeal. I started to ask questions and resented the fact that our family kept growing. Of course, my questions were ignored. I heard talks that my parents wanted to have a son, so that was it. True enough, after seven daughters, my two brothers arrived and that's how we get to be nine.

"Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago — the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider.... It doesn’t seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we’ve traveled." - Jane Mersky Leder

Once, someone told me that it must be fun to be in a big family. I thought about that remark for a long time. I think it depends on how you define "fun".  It was never fun for me, at least back then. Everything has to be shared equally and to the last bit or else there'd be "war". My mother has become adept at making sure that food was divided in equal portions,  among us kids. I remembered a particular incident, when she had to forgo her share because one of my younger sister or brother ( I can't remember anymore ) wanted more of something. As I watched her silently, I realized then, that she's not just some woman who had babies all the time. She's our "Nanay" and will always be.

I grew up knowing that I have to keep myself in line and have to set a good example for my younger siblings. My parents didn't have to talk to me about this but it was assumed and I figured that since I'm the eldest, it is expected of me. There were times that I wish I have an older brother or sister. And even now, I still think how nice it would be to have an older sibling.  Wishful thinking, I suppose.

"Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring — quite often the hard way."- Pamela Dugdale

One day, my brother and I had the chance to chat on Facebook and after the usual exchange of Hi's and How are you's, we get to talk about things, way back when he was younger. He reminded me how ill-tempered I was and how scared they were when I get angry. And I thought to myself, he remembers.  One time when I found out that my mother was pregnant for the eighth time, I gave her the cold shoulder. I didn't talk to her for a few days but I also looked up baby boy names, secretly. I wasn't sure if it was just pure coincidence, my mother gave birth to a baby boy. They were all happy. I was happy. A few years after that, another baby boy arrived. For some reason, I doted on my younger brothers. When I was away at school, I used to save part of my allowance so I could buy presents for them when I come home for a visit. Too bad they both didn't get to spend a lot of time with our father because he passed away too soon.

"Our siblings. They resemble us just enough to make all their differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long." - Susan Scarf Merrell

I don't see my younger siblings as often now since I moved away from home. We don't talk much. They're miles away, they may as well be in a different world. But whenever we do get to talk, I am transported back in time and sometimes, it feels like I've never left.

One day, while I watched the movie "Cheaper by the Dozen", I thought about my brothers and sisters and was inspired to write. Hence, this post. I guess the movie reminded me of them, who knows.

Summertime sadness.

"In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." - John Muir

Lately, I have no interest to update my blog. Nothing much is happening in my life anyway. Once in a while, I make an exception though. I mean, hey, life's too short to worry about stuff like, life not exciting enough. But just to give you a heads up, what I've written here is far from exciting so....

 Summer is definitely upon us and it makes me painfully aware that Nancy is not here. She used to say that she can't wait for summer to come so she can sit outside and enjoy it. We'd talk about the flowers and have cold drinks. While she'd bask in the sun's warmth, Moxie and I would stay in the shade and cool ourselves. Sometimes, I wish for rain to come so I can go for a run and have a good cry, while at it.

Happier times.

 I think I never learn. I told myself a few times, not to get attached and care too much about someone. Or not feel too happy about what's going on in my life. But I did the exact opposite. I care about Nancy and now she's gone. I went "crazy" with running ( and I still am ) and my feet acted up. I thought life was good  then things change.

I try to look for distractions anywhere I can find it, however short-lived. I went hiking with Rita and her friends. One day, we found ourselves on a slippery, seaweed-covered  rocks on the beach and as I inched my way through it, the thought of slipping come to mind. The possibility of a fall or twisting my ankle scares me but at the same time, gives me a rush. Physical pain, sometimes is some form of distraction until such time when it gets too much that I have to reach for Ibuprofen. Hiking on the trails give me an illusion that I'm out for a run. Time spent outside makes me feel good. But after it was over and done, I'm back to square one. Then one time, I turned my attention to vodka ( with orange juice ) and for awhile there, I had the time of my life. Until the next morning, when my head felt like it weigh a ton and my stomach felt weird that my appetite eluded me for a day.

 So what brought this on? I guess, I'm sad. See, I'm not even sure that I am. Probably, because I had no reason to, until of late. And it's more noticeable because I haven't been to my "happy place" in a long time. I'm not the type who dwell on the not-so-good things in life. Perhaps, because I don't usually think about them, until now. Too much thinking has its downside I suppose. 

Better get back to my reading. And learning new words.

One mouth-watering lasagna-making day.

Just to be clear, before I go any further, I’m not responsible for this mouth-watering activity. Rita is. Because whenever someone asks me if I know how to cook, I can’t really give a straight answer. Oftentimes, I’d say, I don’t know but I’m willing to learn, if needed. But enough of that.

Rita is an excellent cook, as evidenced by my thickening waistline.  No amount of running can compensate for the second helpings that I usually have of almost everything that she puts on the table. The kitchen always smells so good when she’s around, that it’s hard to stay away. I don’t want to stay away. Much more so when I get to lick a wooden spoon, smeared with something decadent or get a whiff of something that makes me heady with anticipation. 

Lasagna, let me count the ways.

The first time I had homemade lasagna ( which Rita made ) was a life-altering moment for me, in a way that, I won’t be able to eat lasagna again without having to compare it with the one she makes. It is delicious. I’m trying to remember the way it melts in my mouth and takes me to “lasagna” heaven. Writing about it now, makes my mouth waters. And makes me hungry too.

Since I came to stay with them, I think this was the third time that I get to see first-hand all the work involve in making homemade pasta, in this instance, lasagna. The first two times, Rita was with a group of friends. Last Wednesday, it was just the two of us. And had the music on. She had all the dough made the night before. I watched her rolled and cut them into pieces before she put them through the pasta maker (I’m not really sure about the name so I’m just guessing here.) The entire process is fascinating. I am fascinated.  

Back to my story, Rita work tirelessly that day. She had two huge pots going on the stove. We had two tables covered with tablecloth where the lasagna was laid out to dry. And to make myself useful, I helped her in whatever that needs to be done. I was at the sink doing the dishes. Occasionally, I asked her questions, about this and that.  But most of the time, I just watched her work.

It took us almost the entire day to get everything done. And its kind of neat that I get to actually take part in it. Thanks to Rita. :-)
 

Confessions of a reluctant caregiver, in retrospect.

I had the chance to go over my blog one day, and came across  a post  I wrote four years ago. It was about my feelings and thoughts of working as a live-in caregiver. At that time, I was scared of being not up for the job and doing something wrong. I remembered crying after the first week in my first job because I was overwhelmed.

A lot has changed in four years. My fear of being not up for the task or making mistakes disappeared. Although not entirely, but I don't think so much about them anymore. Instead, I focused on doing my job well and think of ways to do it better.

I didn't plan on becoming a live-in caregiver. I had grand plans for myself, unfortunately, they didn't pan out. I guess they weren't meant to be. I didn't  realized that I'd be doing something far more remarkable.

The first time I met Nancy seemed like ages ago, when I think about it now. At that time, I felt anxious about starting a new job and all. She made me forget that. One thing I'd always remember is that, after we were introduced, I felt like I've met her before and have known her for a long time. She held onto my hand and gave me a smile. Right there and then, I knew that we're off to a good start and we'd get along fine. And we did. Besides, she reminded me a lot of my grandmother. Nancy was the first person to point it out to me that I'm a runner because I love to run. She worried about me getting cold and not having enough to eat. She told me, more than a few times, that  I'm part of the family.

I was away for a month to visit my family, so Nancy had to go to respite. I assured her that I will be back and that  time would just go by so fast, for the both of us. I came back and was happy to see her again. I'm sure she was happy to see me too. But a few days later, she died.  After that, the days went by in a blur. I'm sad and I feel lost. Whenever someone asked me how I'm doing, my usual reply of "I'm good." comes in handy. I'm not really sure if I do feel good though. But I try to. I know that death is an inevitable part of the human condition. I get that Nancy was 93 years old and had various ailments, that came with being old. But I wasn't prepared and was caught off-guard when she passed away. I always thought that we still have a few more years to hang out together.

I've been told how good I am with her. But the the thing is, it was a team effort. I wouldn't be able to do my job well if Nancy was not that good-natured and amiable. And easy to get along with. Through the course of time that I worked for her, sometimes, I felt like I was a drill sergeant, that went over our routines like clock work. Of course, I always tell her to feel free to say something if I get way out of line. But she always tells me that she had no complaints and assured me that everything I did was perfect.

It was a privilege to work for her. Aside from the financial aspect that came with the job, working for her has opened my eyes to the intricacies of being an elderly and what it feels like to be one. She showed me the importance of family and their support. But most of all, she made me feel that I belong and for once, I did something right and somehow, made a difference in her life.

It is the "heart" month, what the ____!!!

As I was going over my blog, one night, it occurred to me that it is February. It's no wonder I started seeing hearts on TV ads and cutesy stuff. It makes sense, Valentine's Day, is a few days away.

The subject of romance and love is not lost on me. It becomes all too popular during this month and heavily commercialized, not that it matters. I am single and not seeing anyone. And fortunately, not looking. But it doesn't mean that I'm averse to relationships. I just know that it's not for me. If it works for others, then good for them. But just because I'm not dating doesn't mean I don't appreciate "romance" and things like, love stories.

"I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude." - Henry David Thoreau 

Just in case, you find yourself alone on Valentine's Day, don't feel bad or feel sorry for yourself. Grab something to eat ( I'm not saying, you go on an all-out binge, though. ) and have something to drink ( I don't suggest that you get drunk, especially if you're driving.). Then get comfortable on the couch and watch a movie. It doesn't matter what kind of movie it is. But if you're up for something romantic, I have a few suggestions. I've watched them more than a few times.

• Something Borrowed
• Made of Honor
• You've Got Mail
• Pride and Prejudice
• The Lucky One

Or, if you're into TV series, I recommend BONES ( Booth and Brennan's chemistry is great. You'd enjoy this show if decomposed bodies doesn't gross you out or if you don't mind Brennan's lengthy explanations of things. )And then there's Matthew and Mary from Downton Abbey. I especially like their story. But after the death of Matthew in Season 3, I lost interest in it. I suppose, they're the only reason I watched the show in the first place.

On a more serious note, really, you don't need to feel sorry for yourself if you're alone or unattached ( or whatever politically correct term there is ) on Valentine's Day or any other day, for that matter. I mean, you owe it to yourself not to. I'm single but I don't feel sorry for myself. I think there are far worse things than being single. And I don't think it makes me less of a person because I am unmarried or not dating or whatever. Sure, you get all these comments and what not, about how come you're single or not married or not dating. Sometimes, people think it is odd. The trick is to just let them talk and speculate, until they get tired of it. Eventually, they do.

So cheer up and have that drink!

Happy Valentine's Day!

The numbers don't lie but I don't want to die ( I mean, go on a diet.).

Home-made pizza. 

With a new year upon us, people ( well, some anyway ) get into this habit of doing the "resolution" thing. And always, most of the time, it is geared towards getting fit--say like, exercise more, eat healthier and so on and so forth. I think it is a commendable undertaking, one that requires a strong resolve and commitment. Something that I'm not too keen on taking on.

I'm a "food person", whatever that means-- the only thing I can come up with, as some kind of an explanation, is that I love to eat. I rarely say "No" to food. I am all for it. And to be hungry is something I don't want to get in to because "I'm not myself when I'm hungry." ( To quote a Snickers chocolate bar ad. )

So, for obvious reasons I can't go on a "diet" or try to follow one because I know I'd end up not doing it. A few years ago, I put on excess pounds, that got me the moniker "Pooh" and "Panda". I was so fat that I was mistaken for being pregnant. And one time, when I had to buy a shirt and needed a size past large, I was directed to check out the men's section. Embarrassing, I know. But it took me awhile to realize that I need to do something about it.

I get to play with my food and eat it too.

Anyway, I did lose weight. And what drastic moves I did, you wonder. For starters, I didn't "starve" myself. By this, I mean, I didn't skip meals. I even eat more. I think the only thing I did different was I started running. And to have the energy to do so, I need to eat more.

For me, food is too hard to pass up, especially desserts. I have this reasoning that, I should eat and enjoy food while I still can and not worry too much about calories. I'm not saying that I eat like there's no tomorrow or in excess. Of course, there's always the second helping but I know when to stop when I've had enough. Just because I profess to love food and eating, doesn't mean that I'd eat anything there is. I have reservations too, mind you.

I also enjoy an occasional drink or two.

I don't step on the scale every day to check my weight and fuss about it. It's pointless. One thing I know for sure is that, it is nowhere near the ideal weight that I should be in, especially if I want to run faster. Of late, I've been bogged down with this idea---lose weight---just so I can run a bit faster than what I normally do. An acquaintance told me that running is easier when you're lighter. Now, that got me thinking too.

But really, no amount of resolve will stop me from having another slice of cheesecake or a couple more biscuits. Or an extra butter tart or another piece of fruit cake. Perhaps when I get so desperate ( I'm not sure when that will be though.), I'd put blinders on or stuff my nose so I'd be oblivious to the sight and smell in the kitchen.

For now, I'd enjoy food as I can. And run on the side, I guess.:-)

The year that was 2013...lessons learned.

"Life is made up of moments, small pieces of glittering mica in a long, stretch of gray cement. It would be wonderful if they came to us unsummoned, but particularly in lives as busy the ones most of us lead now, that won't happen. We have to teach ourselves how to make room for them, to love them, and to live, really live." - Anna Quindlen

As evidenced by three filled Moleskine notebooks, I can say that I've been busy with writing last year. It's kind of fun to flip through the pages and get a scribbled ( sometimes, a hasty and sloppy one ) reminder of what transpired on a particular day.

I started writing in a journal, more than a year, after I first arrived in Canada. I find it cathartic, besides, I've always like to write. It gives me an excuse to hone my writing skills. Not to mention,"talking" to myself, without anyone thinking I'm mad.

Before I completely get into 2014 and get silly, like come up with New Year's resolutions ( that I won't follow through ), I thought it'd be a good idea to take a trip down memory lane and reminisced the year that was 2013 and the lessons learned....

One of the things I'm thankful for, is my sister. Our get-together once in awhile is something I always look forward to.

Sometimes, life sucks, but live anyway, rather than just exist.

I have had my fair share of unfavorable events or circumstances ( or whatever you may call them) that at some point made me think of going down the bay and jump in the water. ( I've been warned though, that the water would be cold, especially at this time of the year, so clearly, I have no intention to drown myself.) There are things I've hope for that never came through. I've been disappointed, frustrated, annoyed, angered... ( I've run out of adjectives here. ) But the thing is, I'm still here. For all the crappy stuff that happened in my life, I'm still alive. And for me, that counts for something. I could mope and wallow in self-pity, but I know I won't get anything good out of it. So, I choose to live instead and move on.

Courage is not the absence of fear.

This I found to be true. I've done things where I put up a brave front, when the truth is, I'm a bundle of nerves inside ( sometimes to a point where I get an upset stomach ). I learned that being brave, does not necessarily mean that I'm devoid of fears and uncertainties. The following quote summed it up.

"Courage to me is doing something daring, no matter how afraid, insecure, intimidated, alone, unworthy, incapable, ridiculed or whatever other paralyzing emotion you might feel. Courage is taking action, no matter what. Be afraid. Be scared silly to the point you're trembling and nauseous, but do it anyway!" - Richelle E. Goodrich

Being thankful for everything, either good or bad, goes a long way.

It's hard to feel grateful when things aren't going the way I want them to be. Often, I'd be more inclined to "rant and rave" or turn the music up. ( And this, I'd probably do within the confines of my bedroom, especially the "rant and rave" part, if I ever get to it. ) Or worse, "confront" the powers that be, why He's picking on me. But I realized that, giving thanks despite all the disappointments and frustrations in my life, somehow takes away a bit of the pain and heartache. Being thankful always remind me that no matter how bad my day is or how boring my life seem to be, there's always tomorrow to look forward to.