Strange Brew

My Chinese colleague Chen made me the strangest brew I have ever tasted.  Now I am not a fan of tea (or hot drinks in general) but of course I could not refuse.  After all, it isn't everyday that somebody makes tea for me.  I gave it a shot...

and regretted it after.  First of all, it looked something like jutes swimming in hot water.  This was supposed to be green tea, "Good for the health!" as Chen said.  It was green, sure, and it indeed tasted like it when the warm liquid touched my mouth.  It was a different story as soon as I swallowed the tea. The bitter taste started creeping in like ants crowding over a mountain of spilled sugar.  Blech!  I took another sip to give it another chance but it was no better than the first.  Ah well, at least I tried...and perhaps the same can be said with certain experiences and with certain people you come across in life.  We meet people who leave a bad taste in the mouth but we still give them another chance in the hope that the outcome this time will be different.  In the end, you realize that you just never really liked bitter.  You can only give yourself a pat on the back for having at least tried.

The Birds Are Falling

I'm going to try my hand at short entries with pictures for a change....

28 January 2011.  I was hurrying on my way to the metro station but I just had to stop and finally take a photo of this eye-catching graffiti.  It was one of those "artistic" shots that you so luckily stumble upon.  I wondered who made this given that a construction site would probably be the last place one would think of writing such a cryptic message on.  Interestingly enough, as soon as I reached the platform, the skies began to get dark and a thick cloud of sand covered the horizon.  It could very well have been an ominous sign to the unexpected sandstorm that lasted for about half an hour.  And perhaps that day, a few birds fell indeed.

My Thursday Surprise

Thursday led me to a small flower shop to buy a bouquet of flowers for a colleague who was leaving.  As soon as I entered, I knew something in me ticked.  I suddenly forgot that I was in the middle of a bustling commercial property.  Time stood still as I looked at rows and rows of pretty flowers in different colors, shapes and sizes.  A smile slowly formed.  I felt like Rosalinda*, in her flower shop.  My reverie was interrupted by a kabayan** who promptly asked how he could be of help.  I answered, albeit in a distracted mechanical manner, that I was looking to buy a bouquet.  Mr. Florist asked what her favorite color was and I told him I had no idea.  He then asked how I wanted the bouquet to look like.  My gaze shifted between looking at him helplessly and looking at the flowers in awe.  The roses, mums, lilies and hydrangeas all seemed to say, "Pick me!".  I was confused.  Forced to make a decision, I pointed at something blue, yellow, white, purple and green.  

While Kuya Florist was arranging the flowers I picked, I decided to make small talk.  I told him he was lucky because he is always surrounded by beauty.  I asked if it was easy to arrange flowers and he said it was.  I asked if he could teach me how to do different types of flower arrangement.  Kuya Florist said I could drop by after work or on Saturdays.  "Proomisssse?"  "Promise!"  I still couldn't take my eyes off the blue flowers.  I asked if they were artificially colored and he confirmed.  "Paborito mo ang blue, ano?"  (Blue is your favorite, right?).  He then decided to throw an extra flower for me and picked a blue rose (Good choice, Kuya!).  I beamed.


I then approached the owner who was manning the counter.  I told him I liked his shop and cheekily asked if I could learn flower arranging there and work on weekends there.  The owner was amused and said he would allow it but I won't have any salary.  I agreed and told him I would swing by one Saturday.  I was pleased with myself because I now have something new to do.


Kuya Florist approached me and showed the finished product.

After which, he handed me my special gift:  my very own blue rose. :)

I walked out of the shop feeling like a million bucks.  The blue rose seemed to catch everyone's attention and perhaps so did the mysterious smile pasted on my face.  I was the happiest girl in the world.


*Rosalinda was the name of the character (she sold flowers) that Thalia played in the hit Mexican telenovela of the same name.
**kabayan (aka kababayan) -  from the same country

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.