4/8/2017

I write this because a lot of things happened today.

There was an earthquake.

I watched a lot of award-winning chefs.

I also realized that I could die tomorrow, or in this instant.

Time flies very fast. (This one is courtesy of a 60th birthday party I attended today too)

And that I really want to cook again.

The last one was a bit of a curve ball. I have no idea where that idea came from, as these days, I’m pretty happy with occasionally cooking for myself, the fiance, or for the family during the holidays.

I have mostly resigned myself to writing about food.

I met one of my old culinary school classmates in a regional dinner in this Madrid Fusion Manila. She now was the executive chef of a big hotel in Batangas, and as we were talking and doing some catching-up, I had the big bad feeling of…regret.

Visuals of what could-have-beens flashed in my head, and I remembered how much potential I had as a cook. And hey, two of the people who taught me how to cook were on the Madrid Fusion stage, so really, I was ripe of some good ole fashioned self-reproach.

So the whole time today, I’m thinking and feeling two things—that some of the things I’m thinking are possible, OR all these new (and old barely resuscitated) dreams are too late.

Le sigh.

And this is not something that I should really be thinking now, I’m thinking. (Dang, I think too much!) I have a lot of things on my plate– getting married, moving houses, the summer season (which is always big for my business), my lack of waistline, my costume/outfit to the britney spears concert, the articles that I still have to write, and have I mentioned my lack of waistline already? Yep. Lotsa things on my plate.

So why am I thinking of this stupid thing?

I blame the earthquake.

But as firm believer that things happen for a reason, then maybe I’m supposed to get these thoughts, and my gut is supposed to clench every time that I do, or that my head wants to explode because I cannot deal with time running out.

Just breathe.

That advice was given to me by my fiance last week when I was having a faux-nervous breakdown. You know the type where you want to quit everything but you know you can’t cause no one is going to do it except you anyway? So you just cry, keep outwardly calm, but inside you’re like ‘Lord Jesus help meeeeh!’ and carry on. THAT kind of thing.

I blame the earthquake.
Nothing like the swaying of a building that you’re in and a forced evacuation to give you some some perspective.

The truth is, I’m still in that half-shit phase where I don’t know what to do, or if I should do anything and wait for the time that it’s right, or some shit like that, which usually doesn’t really work anyway, because at this point– I don’t know the shit I’m supposed to do anyway!

Or maybe I’ll just keep thinking about it. It’s holy week, and that’s a good thing to do during this time, right?

Reflect, genuflect, and just effing figure things out while not too eating much, and possibly exercising, because sacrifice.

So 4/9/2017, waddup?**

**article writing for this started at 4/8/2017