A WALK WITH PURPOSE

​Today, I walked alone—a chance to listen to some of my favorite oldies and love songs on Spotify.

But somehow, my walk became more than just a walk.

I found myself thinking about Lea Salonga, my son’s friend and classmate, whose mother, Ligaya, has been a close friend of mine since Lea was in Grade 1. When Lea got the role of Kim in Miss Saigon, I was the first to learn about it at school. I have watched her journey with pride and affection through the years.

Before I started walking today, I turned on Spotify and searched for some of Lea’s Disney Princess songs. I listened to Reflection from Mulan. As I listened, I wondered: Do princesses reflect on their lives, too?

Then I turned the question toward myself.

At my age, have I reflected enough?

I recently learned that reflection is better achieved through focus rather than frequency. So today, I focused.

My thoughts turned inward, and I realized how blessed I am. I have good health, especially for my age. I am still physically able to walk, to move, to enjoy the simple things around me. My life is simple. I have peace. There is no drama, and I feel loved.

Every birthday, I write and share my reflections. I look back at the previous year and ask myself: Did my life improve? Did I meet the goals I set for myself? Am I better than I was last year? Have I grown wiser?

Then another of Lea’s songs came through, The Journey.

Once again, I looked deep inside and thought about my own journey through life.

Am I better than I was last year?

When we are young, we seem to want everything—and always more of everything. But growing older has changed that for me.

Today, I want life to be simple. No unnecessary hassles. No complications. I have learned to muffle the unwanted noise, in every sense of the word.

What I want now is simple:

Peace.

And perhaps that is the most meaningful reflection of all.

A HAPPY ACCIDENT IN THE KITCHEN

​Last night, I thought I had dinner all figured out. I would simply open a can of whole-kernel corn, slice some potatoes for French fries, and serve them with thinly sliced pork barbecue, pounded tender with my meat tenderizer hammer. I thought they would make a simple, satisfying dinner.

But there was a hitch. Sadly, I had picked up the wrong can at the grocery store and didn’t realize it until I opened it. Instead of whole-kernel corn, I found myself staring at a can of creamed corn!

Fortunately, I still had some fried rice left over from the other night, so dinner was saved and turned out just fine.

But then came the question: What was I going to do with the opened can of creamed corn?

My helper suggested eating it as it was, or adding milk and crushed ice, the way it is sometimes enjoyed in halo-halo. Instead, I decided to turn it into corn cream soup.

After searching for the right recipe, I was torn between making a simple vegetable corn soup or one enriched with cream. The un-creamed version won—Jim prefers his soup without cream.

 

Here’s what went to my little kitchen experiment:

• Sauté minced garlic, grated ginger, and chopped onions.
• Add grated carrots, thinly sliced beans, chopped celery, chopped red bell pepper, and two thinly sliced shiitake mushrooms.
• Put in 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp garlic powder, 1 tsp ground black pepper
• Cook the vegetables until thoroughly tender.
• Stir in one can of creamed corn.
• Add ½ teaspoon each of sugar and balsamic vinegar. Regular vinegar works, too.
• Add 3/4 cup water or 2 cups if you want more soup, just thicken with a tablespoon of cirm starch. 
• Sprinkle with thinly sliced spring onions and celery. 

And there it was—a delicious bowl of homemade corn soup, born from a simple grocery-store mistake!

It turned out to be the perfect comfort food for a cool, rainy day. Warm, nourishing, and soothing, it was more than just soup. It was comfort in a bowl—something that warmed both the body and the soul.

Sometimes, the best things in the kitchen happen when things don’t go quite as planned.

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THE JOY OF WALKING ALONE

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I enjoy walking alone as much as I enjoy walking with friends.

I must admit, though, that walking with a buddy is so much more fun. There is always something to talk about, and in every conversation, I seem to learn something new. There is always something to laugh about that makes the morning even more enjoyable.

But when no one is around, I don’t fret. It’s not as if the whole world has failed to show up! I certainly won’t ask, “Where have all the flowers gone?” Instead, I take it as an opportunity to turn my attention to Nature’s beauty.

I turn on Spotify, put on my favorite playlist, and enjoy the music as I walk.

Then I begin to notice the world around me. And sure enough, I often discover something interesting to write about. I admire the leaves of the plants, still glistening after the rain. I breathe in the fresh scent of the grass, stop to admire the blooming flowers, listen to the sounds of the morning, and greet the people I meet along the way.

There is so much to see and appreciate when I take the time to look.

I know many people feel lonely or bored when they are alone—not only while walking, but in everyday life. My cardiologist once told us that many of her patients, mostly seniors, say that boredom is one of their foremost concerns.

Recently, I read that perhaps the true measure of a person’s happiness is how content they are when they are alone—not when surrounded by family, bonding with friends, or enjoying a party. I have observed this in myself, and I totally agree.

Of course, the saying “No man is an island” has its truth. We need people. We need family, friends, laughter, and companionship. But I have also learned that being alone does not have to mean being lonely.

For me, solitude is simply another way of enjoying life.

Sometimes, it is good to walk alone, listen to your own thoughts, notice the beauty around you—and most of all, love your own company.

A LITTLE BLESSING, A LOT OF HOPE

​I was happy to see that, despite the two weeks of almost nonstop rain, Jim’s little bell peppers managed to ripen. The rain had been so relentless that he finally had no choice but to harvest them.

Sadly, this is all that remains of the plant. Even the seedlings my brother gave us did not survive the wet weather.

But there is still a little reason to be hopeful. Our helper thoughtfully saved some of the seeds and dried them, ready to be planted again.

So, while this little pepper plant may be at the end of its life, its seeds carry the promise of a new beginning.

And that, I suppose, is one of nature’s quiet lessons: sometimes, even after something is lost, there is still hope for it to grow again.

MY PAPA’S SOURSOP TREE

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Every time I see a soursop, locally known in the Philippines as guyabano, I remember my Papa.

He had such a green thumb. 

Gardening was his passion. Our front lawn was filled with ornamental plants, while the backyard was planted with fruit trees. 

Among all the trees he grew, the soursop was my favorite.

I was told that he had wanted to study agricultural engineering in college, a career that was not considered prestigious in his time. Orphaned at a young age and lovingly raised by his grandmother, he was encouraged to follow in the footsteps of his cousins and become a lawyer or a doctor, because those were the professions most admired by society then. To please his grandmother, he eventually enrolled in law at the reputable Ateneo de Manila University.

After World War II, he brought his wife and two children to his mother’s hometown, where their clan was well established. A generous piece of prime property in the best part of town was set aside for him. There, he bought a tractor and managed the vast rice lands he had inherited from his grandmother.

The soursop tree stood in our backyard, the only one among many chico trees. From the kitchen window, it was impossible to miss. 

Beneath it, Papa built a chicken coop.

After school, when I wanted a snack before dinner, I would climb the tree and eat the ripe fruit right there among the branches. 

Then I would hear the seeds dropping onto the iron roof of the coop below. That sound has stayed with me through the years, as clear and real as it was then.

It is one of the sweetest memories of my childhood—as sweet as the soursop I used to eat from my Papa’s tree.

BLUEBERRY PANCAKES AND BACON

I decided to have Pancakes and Bacon again for breakfast. Another cloudy and rainy day seemed to call for comfort food. This time, I made Blueberry Pancakes!

I’m posting this because I lost the photos from my last pancake post. So here they are! Notice that the blueberries were chopped, unlike the traditional way of adding whole blueberries to the batter. Take a look at the photo showing the inside—you can see the little pieces of blueberry throughout the pancake.

Today I couldn’t help taking a photo of the Bacon while they were cooking. I love to watch them curl as they turn crispy. 

Now, following my last post, you may be wondering: Did Jim go out driving around or walking?

Yes! He went out for a walk but was caught in the rain after only 1,500 steps. He couldn’t help himself, even though Celine and I had decided otherwise. 😂

They say the weather is fickle, like women. But Celine and I were decisive! We knew that drizzle could turn into big drops without warning.

Back to the pancakes—oh yes, here’s also a photo of the Manuka honey from Cheska, a pasalubong from her trip Down Under. 

Another indulgent breakfast! I’ll make it up for lunch and dinner today.

DRIED DILIS FOR BREAKFAST—A HUMBLE FOOD, ELEVATED

Dried baby anchovies, locally known as dilis, are on Jim’s breakfast plate today, together with dried hasahasa and plain scrambled eggs.

Cooking dilis to perfection is something I would never delegate to my maid. Timing and focus are crucial. Cook them a minute too long and they become bitter; take them out of the skillet too early and they won’t be crispy enough.

These dilis came from Tess, one of the tasty fares from her hometown in Samar. Once, I turned them into an appetizer, inspired by what the Thais do in Bangkok—cooked until crispy, then made into a sweet, salty, and spicy snack. Many of our friends bring them home as pasalubong for family and friends.

When I was young, dilis was considered a poor man’s meal. Today, with creative chefs everywhere, this humble little fish has been elevated into something extraordinary. You can even find it served as part of the appetizer offerings in Japanese restaurants.

Btw, I am staying faithful to my regular breakfast today: oatmeal and scrambled eggs with tomatoes, onions, and malunggay leaves. No indulgence today—my health comes first. 

Our fruits remain the same: papaya and a few blueberries.

Sometimes, it’s amazing how a humble food from our childhood can find its way onto a much more sophisticated table—and still taste just as good.