Banana Chocnut* Smoothie

The sweltering heat forced me to unearth my dusty smoothie maker from the bowels of my boxes one summer day.  I had overripe bananas and Chocnut* waiting to be eaten.  My bottle of fresh milk seemed to be screaming "Drink me! Drink me!" when I opened the fridge.  Another eureka moment.  Banana Chocnut* Smoothie?  Why not?

It all starts with putting milk and some bananas in your smoothie maker or blender.

Pulse for a few seconds.

Add a few pieces of Chocnut.

Pulse again for a few seconds to mix everything together and voila, you now have your own homemade Banana Chocnut* Smoothie!

Reminds me of Jonah's Shakes in Boracay...mmmm... Dubai is no island paradise like Boracay but this is the closest I can probably get to having a taste of Philippine summer! :)

*Chocnut is a brand for a Pinoy sweet composed of chocolate and peanut.  There is nothing like it anywhere else in the world! :)

A Day In The Life of Receptionist Roma

Whoever said that the life of a receptionist is boring is wrong (though sometimes it can be, like today, hehe).  A cheeky girl thrown into a crazy bunch of office characters makes for a very interesting story.  Names, of course, will be changed to protect the true identities of the characters.

Binding 101

Roma has just finished binding docs for Mr. T.  Upon seeing them on the counter, he carefully inspects the reports and then quips, "You know I'm really annoyed by this."  He then proceeds to insert both ends of the comb rings in the little holes.  "You put them there so that the papers won't fall off."  I cheekily retort, "I wasn't a binding machine in my past life." and then smiled. (Read:  You hired a girl who doesn't do manual labor and has never touched a binding machine till she set foot on this strange land.  Haha!)

Last week, I was binding tons of documents again.  Mr. T walked past me and said, "Oooh, you're becoming an expert binder now."  I laughed.  (Who wouldn't be if you had a thousand pages to bind, hmmm?)  Mr. T:  "I used to bind lots of documents too, about 20-40 copies."  So that explains everything then.  I was learning binding techniques from the master himself.

Coffee Choices

Being a woman of many hats, I also moonlight as a coffee/tea girl (I hate this particular hat by the way, even more than being a human binding machine.).  Sometimes, however, making coffee can be fun, as you will see in the next story.

Director V:  Roma, can I have a cup of coffee please?

Roma:  A big one (regular black coffee) or  a small one (espresso)?

Director V:  I don't know, you surprise me.  

Director V's eyes then turn into slits and he gives me a winsome smile.  I wanted to pinch his chubby cheeks and unbutton his shirt.  But this goes on only in my mind.  Moral of the story:  Never tease the receptionist.  Bwahahaha!

Spelling Bee

A few weeks back, I was given the painful task of conducting callouts to contractors who were tendering for a major project.  If I'm lucky, I get to speak with a fellow Pinoy and assigning a schedule to them is a breeze.  The problem starts when I talk to people from the subcontinent.  Previous encounters have taught me that 1) they speak too fast that everything comes out garbled.  2) they don't listen.  3) and because they don't listen, they ask stupid questions and you have to repeat your spiel that they have been interrupting for the last minute or so.  Oh, and have I mentioned the accent?

Roma:  May I have the names of the persons joining the site visit?

Mr. X says the name in rapid fashion.  I only heard a person gargling what I presume to be the names I was asking for.  I roll my eyes and sigh.  Here..we..go..AGAIN!!!

Roma:  I'm sorry, could you spell that for me please?

Mr. X: yen - eee - yem ..........

Roma:  I'm sorry? (Dear Lord, what did he just spell?!?!?)

Mr. X:  Yen, yen, yen!  (Oooh, somebody's getting exasperated now!  Sir, the feeling is mutual!)

Roma: Yen for?  (OK, maybe if I try to sound like him, I would finally guess the letter?)

Mr. X:  Yen, yen, yen! (At this point, I was stabbing the paper with my pen...)

Eureka moment.

Roma:  Yen for November?  

Mr. X:  Yes, yes, yes!  (Ahhhh, ENNNNN!!! Grrr...)

Roma:  And the next letter is?

Mr. X:  Eee for apple.  (Okaaayyyy....)

Roma:  Oh, AAYYY for apple!  And then?

Mr. X:  Yem.

Roma:  Yem for mother?

Mr. X:  Yes, yes, yes!  (Ohmigoodness, I'm actually getting the hang of it!  Kill me now!)

In the almost two years that I've worked as a call centre agent for both US & UK markets, I have never been placed in a situation where you almost bled over a phonetic spelling.  Maybe I should practice spelling my name now.  Repeat after me:  YAR-OOO-YEM-EEE!

The Newest Bebe In The Family

About an hour ago, I finally received the most anticipated call.  It was my brother on the other line, telling me that his wife had already given birth!  My first question was, "Anong anak?"  My brother, whether he was teasing me or not, asked, "Anong ano?"  I asked in exasperation, "Is it a boy or a girl?!?!"  "Baby boy!"  I let out a little squeal of delight.  As if reading the next question on my mind, Kuya said, "He has a creamy white complexion like his mom but the "internal features" are from me."  Whoa, just an hour after the birth and he's already bragging.  Then he shares his relief over seeing his kid after a loooonnngg wait.  (Oh yeah, I've been anxiously waiting for news since last night and I was keeping my brother company by asking silly questions.)  Being the makulit that he is, he suddenly lowers his voice and tells me, "Don't tell our flatmates because I told them we had a dark-skinned baby girl".  I giggle like I had just heard the most wonderful secret.

I am very excited to see them!  I can't believe I am an auntie already and my mother is officially a granny!  Bwahahah!  It would be so much fun to tease her that she is already getting old - old enough to be called a lola! :)

And yes, I know someone will ask the inevitable about the other bebe - me.  Flashback to one of my conversations with Kuya.  Even before he got married, he has long wished for his kids to take after Leslie - to improve the race, he says.  Now that he has gotten his wish, the pressure is on me to produce tall kids.  He has this vision that the next generation should be tall and fair.  Hence he has this crazy dream for me that the man I should marry must be 6'2" and above.  Erm Kuya, that is literally a tall order!  And so we had a deal - I would raise his kids to be beauty queens and models and he would raise mine to be basketball players/athletes.  Such a riot our family would make!:)

Anyway, I have simpler wishes for our latest Bebe.  I wish that he will have chubby cheeks and a nice set of teeth.  (My brother and I are probably weird in that people are only able to believe we are siblings when we smile - the teeth is a giveaway but to the more observant it is also the naughty glint in our eyes.  That's also weird cos I have big deep-set eyes and he has chinky eyes.)  I wish that he will inherit his mom's penchant for dancing and his dad's skill and enthusiasm for sports.  I have no doubt that he will inherit the wit and intelligence of his parents (This is the auntie bragging now.)  I have also no doubt that he will be very makulit like his mom and dad and auntie (it runs in the family, you see).  I hope that he will be fiercely loyal like his parents, his aunties and uncles and his grandparents.  And I really, really wish he will grow up a charmer and win everyone's hearts (and not break any girls' - please don't take after your parents on this one!). :)  Heaven forbid you turn out to be right-handed or it will be difficult to teach you how to write! (My brother, his wife and I are all lefties.)

We are all happy that you have finally arrived, little bebe.  We will all work hard to give you the best life you can possibly have.  With your birth, we are given the precious opportunity to make your life a little more different and hopefully better than what we have.  Consider yourself lucky, kid, for you will be loved - a lot!  Oh, and be used to the lights and attention, honey.  Auntie's going to make you the family's latest celebrity (I can see millions of photos now!)! ;)

I Pine for Pan de Sal!

In honor of the Philippines' 112th Independence Day today, I shall write about another Filipino staple, the pan de sal.

There was a time when amidst the tik-ti-la-oks (that is how we think a rooster's crow sounds like, as opposed to the more English cock-a-doodle-doo), another dominant sound fills the early morning air - that of little pot-pots (the sound a small horn makes) and young boys shouting in their best "manly" voice "paaaannn de saaaallll!!!". I do not know which one was more effective in waking up the the community - the annoying sound of roosters atop each house patiently waiting for their turn to crow (that's the barrio's version of the alarm clock for you) or the promise of that hot piece of bread to dip in your equally hot cup of coffee.

The pan de sal (which I'm sure our Spanish-speaking comrades would be happy to translate as bread of salt) is a Filipino bread which is a regular a presence in every Pinoy breakfast table. The soft bread with a somewhat crunchy exterior has fed and sustained many generations of Juans (the Filipino's answer to Tom, Dick and Harry). The pan de sal can be eaten on its own, dipped in coffee or hot chocolate or paired with butter, cheese, peanut butter, corned beef, egg, hotdog , noodles - practically everything.

The journey of the pan de sal to the breakfast table is a long but interesting one. They would come out of big, hot ovens at dawn and are then displayed in big metal trays. Some would go straight to recycled big lard tin cans to be perched on bikes or in boxes to be hauled on the shoulders of pre-pubescent boys. The ones who buy them straight from the local panadero (baker) get to take them home in little brown bags that grow moist from the heat of the freshly-baked little pieces of bread. By the time the sun is officially up, everyone, the bakers and bread boys included, would have been enjoying their morning pan de sal.

Fast forward to Dubai, home to many Filipinos working in the Middle East. I have constantly been surprised by the variety and accessibility of Filipino foodstuff here. But none has prepared me for discovering a pan de sal that tasted just like the ones back home. I have tried many but they almost always came short of the real thing. That is, until my friend Ella pointed me to Thousand Island Bakery in Karama. When we first got there, I asked her if she was sure they sold pan de sal because there were no signs saying they sold them. It must have been 8pm already but there was a small queue and they were all ordering the same pan de sal. How strange, I thought. I was a bit skeptical to try as it may turn out to be another dud but since I've dragged myself this far, in typical Roma fashion, I said, why not.

I ordered six pieces (just in case they were really good) for two dirhams. It may sound like they were quite a steal - by Dubai standards, yes, but by Philippine standards, no. I think one piece in the Philippines must cost about 10-20 fils, almost twice the cost here. How to know if it's a good pan de sal? First you feel it. Is it hot? Then you smell it. Is it baked just right or has it stayed in the oven for far too long? Then you break it in two. You'll know it's fresh when the right amount of crumbs fall and the bread is easy to break despite the outer crunchy crust. Then you eat it. An authentic yummy pan de sal does not have any starchy aftertaste.

At last, the quest for the perfect pan de sal has ended. I found mine in Karama and biting into one brought back memories of early mornings back home. For that brief moment, I heard the cocks crowing and the boys shouting "pan de saaallll!!!". I smelled coffee and scrambled eggs. It was nice feeling the crumbs against my fingers. Best of all, I tasted home. I wished that the rest of the nine million Filipinos working all over the world (an astounding one-tenth of the Philippines' population) would be as lucky as me to find a little piece of paradise in the lowly pan de sal, the way I did on that one fateful evening.

Cooking For A Non-Filipino

I confess to having modest cooking skills. Ask me to make a pasta dish and I can whip up one for you in a jiffy with even the simplest ingredients. Ask me to cook Filipino food and I would have to think long and hard about it. Suffice it to say that I am not confident when it comes to cooking Filipino food. Ironic but true.

Earlier this week, my friend Craig emailed saying he was free the whole week as his girlfriend was back home (I could feel my eyebrows starting to twitch - in a different time this would have sounded like an invitation to misbehave. Then again this is a different person we're talking about here so no, nothing malicious there.). We should have dinner, he says. He then broaches the idea of cooking Filipino food for him in exchange for hauling my boxes up the bunk bed. In the next sentence he says he will cook British food for me too. Sounds like a fair deal so I agreed, albeit with a bit of uncertainty.

The next few days were spent thinking about what to prepare. My criteria: 1) It has to be edible. 2) I wanted to offer something new for the tastebuds but nothing too exotic. 3) It has to be relatively easy to prepare and must not be too much of a challenge to my modest cooking skills. 4) It must give an idea of what Philippine cuisine is all about.

Adobo and sinigang would probably be the default answers to my query. I've done sinigang (this is my favorite) several times but I was not too sure if I could find the proper vegetables to go with it. I have also tried cooking several versions of adobo but none came out the way I have envisioned it to be (FYI, I almost burned the adobo in my last attempt. This was definitely not an option.).

I then thought it would be nice to let Craig experience the concept of dips. I had to think of a dish that would go well with different types of dips. I thought of putting marinated pork belly in my trusty Imarflex turbo broiler. Then I said it would be nice to have ensaladang mangga (a salad consisting of green mangoes, tomatoes and onions) with matching bagoong (sauteed shrimp paste) and itlog na maalat (salted eggs). Dalandan (Philippine orange) juice would be the perfect partner to quench our thirst. Thus the Filipino summer picnic theme was born.

Unfortunately, the Filipino ingredients can only be found in the older part of the city. Hence, I had to take a 30-minute train ride all the way to Karama (one of the little Manilas in Dubai) in the sweltering heat just to look for salted eggs and green mangoes. I reminded myself that I needed to represent my country well so it is worth the effort. Although feeling very patriotic, I felt like fainting already. (Hey it was almost noon and nobody in their right mind will visit the Karama Fish Market when the mercury is almost hitting 40 degrees - except maybe me.)

Philippine dessert is pretty tricky to make so I decided I would just do a Filipino twist to a regular recipe. I ended up bringing out my stock of fruit cocktail, condensed milk and all purpose cream to create a typical fruit salad. I decided to add little cubes of cheese to the mix for that Filipino twist.

At 7pm sharp, my guest arrived. I was still battling it out with the remnants of the green mango (I do not know how to peel with a knife. Being clumsy, it's most likely that the knife will slide and so will a slice of my skin or worse, a finger.). We talk about how our weekend went (Oh yeah, mine went fussing over what to prepare for you! haha!) and how he took the train to Deira to get his car. I prepare myself for the little speech of what Pinoy cuisine is like. Yikes. (To the uninitiated Pinoys, you might pick up a few tips here.)

I began by telling him that our cuisine is very simple - we season our food sparingly (just salt and pepper most of the time) compared to other Asian cuisines which use herbs and spices extensively. This is where the concept of dipping sauces comes in. As I explain, he sees me bringing out one strange bottle after another (Mang Tomas liver-based gravy, soy sauce, vinegar and bagoong. I give him a little background on the salted eggs (why they had a fuchsia color). I explain what was in the salad.

After setting the table, we pose for a few pics (surprise surprise) then we started eating. As customary, I serve him first. He then asks how to eat the food (Is it the salad first or do you eat everything all at once?). I explain that we all dump everything in the plate and eat freestyle - you can either eat with your hands or use the fork and the spoon. I mention that we do not use knives to cut the meat. I let him smell the bagoong and taste a small bit. I was surprised he didn't scrunch up his face in disgust (like they did with my blue margarita - see previous entry). He just said it smells and tastes a bit strong. Honey, it's okay to say it's smelly and salty. Haha. I then scoop half of the salted egg and he gets the other half. I told him to mix it with the salad. He said it was good. I then pick up my pork belly and use my hands to cut the meat. I told him to try it with the dipping sauces and tell me which one he likes. He thinks the soy sauce vinegar combo was good. We continue to talk about history, cuisine, accents, languages, politics and jobs. He leaves out the fatty portion of the belly but he sees me eating it and he follows suit. It was crunchy and started dipping it in the gravy. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him licking his fingers too. I smile. Success!

It was then time to go. I show him my room and jokingly tell him it looks like a hospital ward now that the partitions are in place. He effortlessly hauls the boxes up while I had to stand on a stool to clear some space. I knew I got the right man to do the job. Haha.

I'm just glad that I have survived another first. I realised it was tough answering questions from a foreigner. In effect, the dinner was not only an opportunity to showcase my country's cuisine but also a chance for me to tell people about my country and its rich history (the question about what the Philippines was called before the conquerors came was tough - must search for a clear answer on that one). It was also a good opportunity to show them how other people live and hope that they begin to appreciate the kind of lifestyle that they lead in Dubai.

On another note, it was fun having somebody over and just enjoy free-wheeling conversation. It's been a while since I've had conversations about culture, etc. Perhaps my time in Dubai is not yet done. There's still so much to learn about the world and if I have to cook for each and every single new expat friend I meet then I will. Just don't ask me to cook adobo. For now. :)

Blue Margarita

The other day, the office went for drinks after its very first team meeting. Everyone was already holding a beer or a glass of wine by the time Maria and I arrived so we ordered our own drinks as well. Mine came in a sexy glass, blue liquid swirling lazily while the lemon slice sat stoically on the rim. Someone exclaimed, "Ooohh, that's a fancy drink with sugar coating the edge of the glass!" It was salt actually. I smiled and sipped a little. The cool blue color was deceiving, it seemed, for the mixture left trails of heat in my throat. I loved it!

Soon, people began to notice and ask, "What's that you're drinking?" One of the directors asked if he could taste it. He must have probably regretted it as his smooth face crinkled like he tasted some acid poison. "What's in there?" "Oh, just two shots of tequila, one shot of gin, lime juice and blue curacao.", I replied coolly. Look of shock. Someone got the glass and sniffed it. "Oh, it's terrible!" She hands it to the next girl and she does the same. "How can you put such a terrible thing in your mouth?" I look at Maria and we exchange smiles. These people don't know how Filipinos drink.

Midway through my drink. Somebody comes over and asks if I'm tipsy yet. I say no. Another look of surprise. The talk then shifts to finding a boy for me. They ask if I found anyone cute in the pub. I say no. Someone points to a guy playing pool. "How about that?" No. "Why?" Cos he reminds me of Simon Cowell and he's got man boobs! They laugh. I return to watching the guys playing pool. The director pokes me and asks, "Are you talent spotting?" I say no (Hell no, there aren't good-looking men here except for you and a few of the guys from work - hahaha! Seriously, the place was filled with fat old fogeys and scrawny yuppies.). Someone prods me again for my type. I tell them I like guys who are tall, has broad shoulders and closely cropped hair. As if that wasn't specific enough, she asked which color I preferred. I said I like the fair-skinned and the brown ones. Another look of mild surprise. I silently wondered why. These people don't know that those are typical Pinoy preferences, tsktsktsk.

We revert to the topic of alcohol. Maria and I get a lesson on Drinking in the UK 101. I make notes in my head. Everybody seems to dislike tequila except for one who confessed that he was once a member of a tequila association in the UK. We tell them that we have Red Horse, a Philippine beer which tastes stronger than whatever it is they were drinking. We managed to convince one director to try it so Maria will bring him some next week. I wonder how he'll find the only beer that I seem to like. :)

Then it was time to say goodbye. The same director asked if I could still walk after drinking the blue margarita. I enthusiastically said, "Of course!" Subtitle: "Hello, that's just two shots of tequila...not enough to make me crawl! hahaha!"

On hindsight, I am amused at how they reacted strongly about drinking my margarita. These are people who enjoy a drink and end up drinking a tad too much most of the time. Perhaps it's just another cultural difference. I grew up in a nation which loves to drink too, only our alcohol is much more potent. We are a nation whose first taste of alcohol would either be Ginebra San Miguel (gin) or San Miguel Pale Pilsen (beer) or a local beer called lambanog, a type of wine made from fermented coconut. I am definitely sure those have higher than 5% alcohol content. Perhaps it is another facet of our macho culture. The girls I know are also mostly hard drinkers, preferring tequila and vodka over beer. Being a third world country with no extra cash for fancy stuff to spare, drinking is kept very simple. Sometimes we only have water as a chaser, soda or powdered juice mix if you have a little more money, hehe. The blue margarita is already too posh for this girl's tastes but one glass of it is hardly enough to make her even tipsy just the same. As for me, I'm always just happy to have a drink. After all, the goal is not to get drunk but to chill out. That is exactly what happened last Thursday night.

Cheers!

A Breath of Fresh Air

My relationship with boys is always hit-and-miss. There have been jerks, yes, but I have also found gems. I find that boys make good (if not sometimes better) friends than girls. They listen to you sans the drama and can be very brutally frank. You can ask them to drive you around, treat you to dinner, etc. They are fun to have around and may sometimes treat you roughly like you were one of his crew. But when you cry or feel down, they will do everything in their power to cheer you up. This entry is dedicated to my unexpected "heroes" who have been a constant presence in my oftentimes chaotic life in Dubai. *Names were changed to protect the privacy of the individual.

Meet Nate. The boy who always greets me when he passes by reception. The boy who would not let a moment pass without making his observations known. "You look nice, Roma." "Smile, Roma. What's wrong?" "You're wearing your hair up today, Roma." The boy who likes to learn a Filipino word or two and would surprise me by getting the accent spot on. The boy who likes to say "Kumusta ka?" when he calls. The boy who enjoys eating Piattos, Tortillos, Skyflakes and even pancit. I call him pseudo-Filipino. The boy who likes to feel like he is my protective older brother when in fact he can be considered my little brother. Once, when he learned that I was going out with a guy I hardly knew, he said "Call me if he's a bad man. I will come and save you." "You should always tell someone where you are, who you're going out with, what time you're supposed to be back, etc." Geez!

Meet Spartacus. Married to one of my closest friends. Has a naughty mind that only gets challenged further when I am with them. Every scene we watch gets attacked by his twisted humor. At times, we would even say the same thing. We like to annotate each scene and would dissolve in laughter after giving the most innocent dialogue the dirtiest meaning. He does not have qualms posing for the camera and I have no qualms ordering him around. The result? The silliest pics in the world! The man who can easily beat me when it comes to talking. The man whose idea of happiness is drinking Red Horse while strumming his guitar, or sitting down and having the most passionate of arguments. The man who would willingly answer my questions about hmmm... and share his stash of hmmm videos for the purpose of educating me and getting me out of the rut I was in (a twisted form of therapy don't you think, a therapy that only rivals that of my brother...bwahaha!). The man who willingly shared series after series, movie after movie because he did not want me to stay alone in my room crying like crazy.

Meet Chuck, the chill out dude. Nothing fazes him and just welcomes everything with a smile. Likes to ask how I am, writes me long emails and has the patience to read my even longer replies. Is very open-minded about other cultures. Thinks there is nothing wrong with watching a movie alone. Cool about everything - from asking him to have coffee with me, planning to help me finish my booze stash, have dinner and even watch a movie. Also cool about giving a hug and receiving a buss on the cheek. Likes to put Xs on his messages and I do the same because it's not a big deal. Other guys would have probably thought I was into them or something. Today, I was taken aback when he said that since he will be free the whole week, we should have dinner and I have to explain the Filipino words in Facebook. Drives a hard bargain too - he will haul my boxes up for me if I give him a taste of Filipino food. I have already agreed to his terms and in turn, he has promised to let me have a sample of proper British food.

The common denominator among these three? They are all committed to the women they love. What I appreciate the most though is that they are able to carry on with having female friends. I think life is telling me that not everyone is like the jerks I have known previously and that I just have to open myself to the possibility of enjoying the company of people - single or married. Having these three around is indeed a refreshing change and thanks to them, I am starting to have faith in people again.

Of High Heels, Makeup and Other Girly Stuff

I am not your typical kikay (someone who is girly-girly) girl. I cannot be bothered to wear sophisticated makeup everyday. I shun from wearing high heels because I don't want to get more calluses and would like to walk briskly sans the hassles. I am lucky to have what I call "sexy hair", meaning it perpetually looks like I just tumbled out of bed. I never have to comb it all the time (I only do it once - after taking a bath) to keep it in place because it looks prettier messed up (I can comb it using my hands and you would not notice the difference, haha!). Suits the messed up, highly irrational, low maintenance owner well, if you ask me.

However, as part of my Scorpio nature to transform, I occasionally heed the call to beauty - and try to stick to the routine for as long as I can. As some of you may know, I have just gone through a rough patch in my life - no thanks for trying to upset the balance of almost every aspect of my life all at the same time (moving house, getting crap at work, cutting ties with someone dear, wanting to give up and go home, etc.). I knew that the time will come when I will get tired of crying and fretting over things beyond my control.

High Heels

The whole process started when the decorative strap of my favorite pair of shoes snapped. Digging through my pile of unpacked stuff, I found my pair of Charles & Keith "sexy heels" which I specifically bought for the staff party last year. I eyed them tentatively because I know these will kill my feet if I stood on them for long hours. Unfortunately, there wasn't any working pair that I could wear to work. It took time before I got used to the heels but I also began to understand why lots of women wear them. Aside from the obvious increase in height, heels make you stand more straight, make your legs look longer (thankfully I've got shapely legs) and make your butt look bigger (which I unfortunately do not have! hahaha!). Of course a little visualization helps. I always have a mental picture of a beauty queen parading in her evening gown & swimwear or a model gliding down the runway. And so it is like this for me everyday - swaying my hips gracefully in an effort to keep my balance - I can see my mother laughing at me now. :)

Blue Eyeshadow

I must confess that among all the articles of makeup, the eyeshadow is my favorite. It highlights and gives character to my best asset - my peepers. After experimenting with metallic hues, natural colors and different shades of blue, green and purple eyeliner pencils, I decided to go after the blue eyeshadow I've been pining after for a long time. The eyeshadow palette comes in six different shades - from the metallic bluish white color to a smoky dark blue. Each day brings a new set of possibilities and the combination I pick depends on my mood. I love, love blue! :)

Eyebrow Threading

Again, I am blessed with having tamable eyebrows - not too thick that it needs massive reshaping and not too thin that I need an eyebrow pencil to actually draw an eyebrow. The process was quick but not altogether pain-free. I could feel a tear threatening to fall. I fought hard while keeping my eyelid relaxed as the lady threaded my eyebrows, little snip-snips echoing in the background. When it was time to open my eyes, I felt a sense of relief - eyebrows came out very nicely, thank you very much. Neater eyebrows really open up the face. I immediately raise one eyebrow and project. Perfect!

Manicure, Pedicure, Footspa

I made a second trip to the salon the following week. I must have missed my monthly treats back in Manila (FYI, for these three services, I paid four times the amount I would pay back home. It then makes more sense to just do these at home, although much remains to be said about how I do my nails - haha!) that I decided to close my eyes and treat myself for more pampering. One Filipina attended to my feet and another one attended to my hands. I felt like a princess.

While waiting for their work to be finished, I asked them how long they have been in Dubai. The pedicure lady answered seventeen years and the manicure lady proudly said she has been in Dubai for twenty-five years! I was floored - how can somebody stay in a foreign place doing something that does not earn much for such a long time? I wondered aloud how long I will be staying in this crazy city. They both said they liked Dubai and that the city has been good to them. We then launch into a long discussion about our country's current state of affairs and both of them have expressed dismay and hopelessness about the Philippines. In the same breath however, they said that they would also like to go home, if only for a visit. The ladies also expressed frustration about Pinoys back home who think that just because you are living abroad, you live comfortably and have lots of money. These girls just gave me a lot to think about!!!

The mani-pedi-footspa treat went very smoothly if only for the pedicure lady's "attack" on my nails: "Bakit ba ganoon, malaki ka namang babae, napakaliliit ng mga kuko mo?!?" (Why is it that for a big woman you have the smallest nails?). I just said, "Well don't you like that, at least you can paint my nails in no time!" The manicure lady agreed, saying she had a customer with the largest nails that she would pay extra because one bottle would not be enough to paint her nails and feet. Ah well, you can't really tell what strange remark would come next so I decided to pay and say thank you.

Haircut

It was more of a trim actually. Seven months after having my long locks chopped in Manila, it was time for my bi-annual (Yes, I only have my tresses cut twice a year. Thanks to a round face and wavy hair, I can never wear my hair very short.) meet with the salon scissors. The lady just fixed my layers and blow-dried my hair expertly to give it a much-needed body. I must have been pretty pleased with the outcome that I decided to take pictures when I got home. (See Facebook album "Roma Version May 2010"). One picture ended up looking very flirty - I like! hahaha! I guess it's back to the blow-dry - leave on conditioner routine in the morning, argh! Ah, the price one pays for vanity and its upkeep!

The makeover seems to be working its magic. The girl with the mischievous eyes and smile is back - and people are starting to notice that. (Or maybe they just pay more attention now because they all have to pass by reception and I am the only one sitting there now. Haha.) It must have done wonders to my confidence as well, especially now that I am starting to say hello to the world again (but the heels are just strictly for work - I don't want to punish myself too much!). To the people who were generous with the compliments - thank you for noticing. For the rest of you, watch out as the process of transformation continues! ;)

Just So You Know...

Dear Stranger,


Some 18 weeks ago, I wrote this in my status: My heart will eventually grow tired of missing you. 18 weeks later, my heart does not seem to show any signs of exhaustion. Allow me to share with you the stuff I've been meaning to tell you since we told each other off on the last day of January.
 

I wanted to greet you on your birthday but thought it a waste of time since you never bothered to greet me on mine.

I wanted to tell you how moving out and living on my own was both a dream and a nightmare.

I wanted to tell you how I hated having to do my laundry (surprise! surprise!) only because I had to use a knife to open the washing machine door.

I wanted to tell you that I now know how to clean a squid and even learned how to clean the bathroom, toilet and all.

I wanted to tell you how embarrassed I was to learn that there was a Muslim in the flat, and I learned that while I was cooking pork adobo.

I wanted to tell you about the numerous cooking experiments I did, from the ones that turned out great to even the ones that were hardly edible.

I wanted to tell you that I still watch American Idol every Thursday and Friday night and I remember you telling me that the show was rubbish.

I wanted to tell you the latest happenings at work - particularly about someone who left the company on allegations of fraud - a bit sad really cos he helped a lot of people, including you.

I wanted to tell you that someone is giving me grief at work and how I wished you were there to cheer me up. Everyone who knows the story try their best to make me smile. They promise me that everything will turn out fine. Somehow, I don't believe them as much as I do when it comes from you.

I wanted to tell you that the office is moving to a new location and that we are busy cleaning up everyone's mess. I saw the note on your old desk. I saw my handwriting on a note which says this SIM card used to belong to you.

I wanted to tell you that I am moving to a place closer to the new office as well. After 3 months in my own room & bath, I'm going back to sharing, but only because I might get sent to site in one of the projects in Abu Dhabi.

I wanted to tell you that I'm working part-time as Maha's document controller. I know you will laugh because it just goes to how she does really like me and for the nth time, I don't know why.

I wanted to tell you that our common friends have been asking me about you. I just tell them I haven't been talking to you for months now (because I chose to and you must have probably come to your senses too). It's sad that they think we are really good friends because you yourself dont see it that way. I just dont know what to tell them if they ask why we are not friends in Facebook. If you have an answer, let me know.

I wanted to tell you that the last two months have been tough for my heart and for my sanity. More than not being able to talk to you, it hurt that you threw all my efforts to show you how this friendship meant to me out the window. I am reminded why I have built walls and took pains selecting my friends carefully - because I want to spare myself the pain of having to lose them.

I wanted to tell you that I still miss you everyday and I wish I can still tell you random stuff like I used to because I found comfort in sharing these things even though you think they're just nonsense.

I wanted to tell you that at night, when I really feel sad, I hug my pillows tight and think of the times when I could still hug you, say, "Make space for me, old bear!" and say good night.

I wanted to tell you that even though you've said several times that there will be better sounding boards etc, I was not looking for better. You were serving your purpose and that was enough. It is totally a different matter though when it comes to love as I am in agreement that yes, I do deserve someone better.

I wanted to tell you that I have already accepted that your healing time with me is done. You have stretched me in more ways than you could ever imagine. Now it's time to look for someone else to heal the scars that you have left.

I wanted to tell you that I accept things for what they were and there could be nothing more (you liked to asked that question before). I have envisioned from the very start that someday things will change between us but never in my wildest imagination did I think that you would throw the friendship just like that.

I wanted to tell you that it's been a year since we first kissed. I still remember cos it felt like I was jumping off a cliff with you every single time. It will take a while before I do such a crazy thing again. I decided to jump then just to see how it feels like to free fall. The next time I jump, it will be one with purpose - it will not merely be a game but a decision to fully commit to jumping with the person, possibly for the rest of my life.

I wanted to tell you that I understand that I was the easier one to give up but I want you to know that though you might think this is the best way to shield me from more pain, it still hurts...a lot.

I know you might not appreciate my sharing all these to you, dear stranger. I am telling you these because I want to as I am no longer bound to listen to you say no. I am happy for the space but I am also sad because I lost a very dear friend. I hope the time comes when I will no longer have to grieve for this loss. I hope it comes really soon but in the meantime, my heart will continue to miss my makulit bear.

Like Clockwork

Since I moved to Al Barsha almost three months ago, I had unconsciously fallen to a morning routine, so precise in fact that I only need to look at the people around me to know what time it is.

Alarm starts ringing at 5:00 am, after which I tumble grumpily out of bed to cook rice in my baby rice cooker (it can only hold 3 cups). If I feel extremely industrious, I put my laundry in the washing machine for 50 minutes. I then collapse in my bed for another few minutes before I finally "wake up" at 5:45 am, cook my food for breakfast and for work, eat, watch the Bold & the Beautiful rerun (my morning guilty pleasure), take a bath, get dressed, and hang my clothes. I shut the door of my room either at 6:50 or 7:00 am.

I hail a cab for a 5-minute, 10-dirham ride to the Mall of the Emirates Metro Station. I can catch either the 7:01 or the 7:11am train. Maybe I should not be surprised that other people succumb to the same morning routine as I do. If I catch the 7:01 train, I will be on the same train as the light brown-haired girl who works at the Dubai Aquarium. If I catch the next train, I would be sharing the ride with an African Muslim girl wearing a fancy pair of shades, a tall skinny girl who works at the Dubai Mall and a blonde European girl in a suit who listens to her iPod while reading a magazine or an Economics book. If I see the oriental guy who always wears a white shirt & black pants to work (and he apparently works at the Burjuman Centre) walking, that means it's about 7:05 and we will both have time to catch the 7:11 train.

At 7:23, the train stops at the Dubai Mall/Burj Khalifa Metro Station. I reach the bus stop some 3 minutes later. After about 5 minutes, the bus takes about 15 minutes to reach my stop at the Palace Hotel, after dropping workers in the Dubai Mall. I know it is already 7:45 when I see the tall Japanese woman dressed in chic black clothes waiting at my bus stop. Sometimes there was even enough time in between to exchange polite smiles with her. Everything works like clockwork, at least in the morning. I wonder if they also feel disoriented as I do when I miss the train I usually take. There is comfort in seeing the same faces, taking the same places in the train and knowing you're right on track to start another day.

Brellie

My red violet umbrella sat briefly on the table, waiting for me to finish scribbling on a receipt to get petty cash. "What are you bringing a brellie for?", asked one of my colleagues. I was stumped for five seconds. Brellie? Oh, umbrella! It was another lightning bulb moment (but at the same time I was telling myself how fancy that term was). My turn to respond: "Why? It's hot!" She and another colleague giggled as if I said something absurd. "Oh, other people would just bring out the olive oil and put it on their skin!"

Suddenly it occurred to me that I was talking to people who rarely have the opportunity to enjoy the sunshine - either because it's too cold or it's just too darn rainy and gray (or grey as they spell it). Of course they would only use the umbrella for rainy days!!! I felt I had to explain myself. I told her that we Filipinos use brellies not only to shield us from the rain but from the sun's rays too. I shared that we don't want to get our skin too dark or our hair too fried. Unlike us though, they seem to revel in the sun's mighty glow and consider it as a perfect opportunity to get a little color, if not a tan. No wonder they love Dubai so much!

Here in Dubai, it is the umbrella that distinguishes us Filipinos from the rest of the expats (although the Indians seem to be catching on the practicality of toting one - or maybe they have Filipino friends/girlfriends). Owing to its dual purpose for us, it is no surprise that when there is a sudden downpour, Filipinos are most likely the ones to remain the driest (I have observed this when I took the bus one rainy afternoon). While everyone is rushing to the nearest shed for cover, Filipinos calmly dig into their bags (and there are some men who do this as well) and dish out their folding brellies (Come to think of it, they all seem to be the folding kind as I haven't seen big umbrellas in the streets of Dubai). In the summer, when the rays are too piercing for comfort, we do the same. Or maybe it's just plain Pinoy vanity. Some of us have to protect our newly-treated hair or our newly-bleached skin, you know.

Slipping

Just when I thought I finally found the strength to put everything behind me, I stumble yet again.

I have failed miserably.

I am disappointed with myself.

I must be punished for not sticking to my promise.

Yet I feel grateful in a twisted sort of way. Today the doors of communication opened just enough for me to have the opportunity to throw back the words he said to me.

I am too honest for my own good. Is that something I also need to apologize for?

I only had the truth to answer for his "sarcasm". Once again, he did not believe them. Or was he just fishing and using my answers to stroke his ego again? Is this another trap that I led myself into?

I feel like gagging. My chest tightens at the thought of what I had just done.

I wish somebody would intervene and pull me out of this rut. Taking the first step must have taken all my strength already. Maybe if someone would just continuously talk and spend time with me, I may not have to think about the void that he chose to leave. I already tried seeking solace in solitude. I cannot go on like that forever because I like connecting with people.

I am scared, really scared.

I hope today will be the last time.

I hope I can forgive myself for what happened today.

I hope that tomorrow when I wake up, I will not have to silence my mouth, mind and heart.

Good Friday

*This is a belated post.

It is finished. Allow me to use one of the Seven Last Words as a jump-off point for my blog entry today. After my self-imposed two-month no communication with someone, I think I have now finally come to terms with the fact that we have reached the inevitable end. Taking one last look at the empty profile (this person has practically hidden everything from me - find someone else to stalk, he said), I say goodbye and with one click, he was officially gone from my Facebook list of friends.

It was not always like this. There have been countless "goodbyes" in the past. I never understood why he wanted to stop the friendship altogether. It upset me so much that I ended up dissolving in tears most of the time. Then the goodbyes were disguised into "the need to step back", "we will still talk but not as much" and "it's not that I don't want to be friends with you but I just can't". Yet after each agreement to set a considerable amount of distance, everything went back to where it once was. Unfortunately, the circumstances only served to bring us together. With each trial that came, each one was there for the other, offering comfort even though sometimes it was not even physically possible. Perhaps, remaining in contact served as an escape from reality. The conversations served to retain a sense of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic existence. In the real world, we both had our demons to face - work and the lack of it, stress around the home, etc. In the virtual world of text and online chats however, we could revert to our crazy, annoying and yes, our flirty selves and derive simple pleasure from random conversations and cheeky banter.

Perhaps it was a mistake for me to think his constant presence was commitment - that we were eye to eye in valuing the friendship that we had. Perhaps it was naive of me to trust that he would be able to separate the Roma who played along with his game in the past and the Roma who was genuinely a friend to him. I thought it was enough that I stood by him even though he had repeatedly treated me badly. I looked at him with love and compassion. He looked at me with lust (or at least that was what he was trying to project).

And so after seeing him for the last time on New Year's Eve, he said goodbye. I said until then. Since it was the New Year, it was high time that we finally keep our promises and that to me meant keeping my silence and not keeping in touch. Lo and behold, he started communicating again, days after saying goodbye. I thought it was okay to revert to old ways and make him my sounding board again. I told him how sad I was that another batch of people from work whom I've considered my friends already were leaving work. I might as well have been talking to a totally different person. Suddenly, I was being called obsessive, pathetic and having a thick skull for I allegedly could not get the idea that he does not want to be my friend anymore. He told me to take a long hard look at myself in the mirror. All I saw was him. For every accusation that he hurled at me , I saw him doing the exact same thing. Why then must I take the sole blame for everything?

It was then that I realized that nothing was ever going to change if I let this person remain in my life. He was simply too proud to acknowledge responsibility for what had happened, too proud to admit that he needed help in staying away from me, too proud to admit that the game he initially sought out to play turned out to be anything but. I needed to get out to finally protect myself from all the hurt that he has caused and could still possibly cause. I have told him before that I will remain his friend for as long as he wants me to. The fact that he finally said it and that he asked why I consider the people I work with as friends when they were only workmates were the last straws. Thus began the real journey to goodbye.

I read in a book that 60 days is enough time for someone to decide whether it was still worth talking to the estranged person. I figured it was worth a try. If he can't cut ties with me, then I will, if only for my sanity. I wanted to make sure that I was finally okay to do it, sans tears.

The next 60 days were tough - I was battling with disillusionment, betrayal and sadness. I could not believe that someone you cared for deeply would say those things. These feelings would hit me like a traitor and I ended up crying at odd times. My friends could only watch in helplessness. They knew I only cried when I was angry or sad. This time it was both. I lost a friend after all and it was never easy for someone like me. I needed space to grieve and thus shut myself from the world.

I still miss him but I only need to recall the words that he said to make those thoughts of reconnecting vanish. It will be a long time before I can say that I have completely healed from this experience. They say the first step is always the hardest to make. I am glad to have finally made mine and I hope that this will be the start of better things to come. In death lies the hope of rising again. My redemption will soon come, I just know it. It was a good Friday indeed.

Go get married!

I was asking an associate director about the Canadian immigration process. In the middle of his long explanation, he stopped and exclaimed in his signature passionate way, "Why are you thinking about this? Go get married! Then you'll have peace of mind!" I started laughing heartily...the suggestion was absurd but it does make sense. Getting married is the most convenient route to changing passports. Very wise words from an old wise man but that is not a road I am prepared to take just yet! ;)

Postscript:

I do realize that it's been 366 days since I last wrote an entry here. I think I'll start blogging on a more regular basis, chronicling random conversations and observations. My mind is filled with things to write every morning as I half-walk, half-run towards the train platform. After all, these little snippets are part and parcel of my Dubai odyssey. :) To the ones encouraging me to write again, your prayers might just have been answered! :)