Soul Highway

Pinoy palate

I’ve been here in the US for six months now and I’m beginning to crave for familiar tastes from home. Like halang-halang (spicy chicken in coconut cream) and steaming pochero (beef stew with a smattering of vegetables), a dish my friends and I would order back in the days when we still had time to go out and have a beer. Or two. Pochero is really good for hangovers.

I think it’s almost inevitable for Filipinos who have left the country to hunger for bulad (dried fish), dipped in patis (fish sauce) and suka (vinegar). Yummy. I could easily get one from a Filipino store nearby but I don’t want the neighbors to hold a rally outside the apartment because of the smell.

Heck, I wish I could have a banana blossom salad right now. Or tapsilog. Or tuyok-manok. And the list goes on and on.

I contented myself with mangoes I picked from the grocery store. They didn’t look and taste like Cebu’s famous mangoes, but they weren't that bad either. At least they satisfied my hankering for mangga that very day.

My pink toes

Years back someone forwarded an email listing the “things your mama said and should have listened to.” In the middle of the list was this rule: Make sure you wear clean underwear in the event you wind up having sex with someone. I am paraphrasing but essentially that was the gist of that particular survival tool. I thought it was funny. Plus, you and I know it makes hygienic sense.

I have found a parallel to the embarrassment of being caught with pants down, dirty underclothes exposed. To that list I add: Avoid wearing socks that may put you in an awkward moment before government security officers.

Two weeks ago I was at the Capitol to attend a pre-hearing event on a re-introduced veterans equity bill, braving the icy weather and long commute. The objective before the leaving the house was simple: keep myself warm, really, really warm. I wore knee-high toe socks for my heeled black boots. The socks have a hint of pink on it. Okay, more than a hint.

Socks that should not have been worn for public inspection.

Two hours later I was standing in line to get inside the Cannon House where members of the House of Representatives hold office. My feet were warm and I felt good, excited in fact to be doing field work again. One of the inspection officers, who looked like he could swallow me whole, motioned me to move through the security scanner. A beep went off. I thought to myself, “Oh dear, this is not good.” And then the dreaded order:

“Take your shoes off.”

When you’re in front of these officers, there is no room for hesitation. I quickly unzipped my boots and basked in that moment of shame, striped blue and pink toe socks and all. I passed the scanner test the second try and I valiantly put on my shoes and walked into the building. I also silently cussed the silver studs on my boots.

My day was only redeemed by the conversations I had with Filipino community leaders lobbying for the bill and the amusement on the husband’s face when I told him what had happened. He warned me about me the pink socks. I should have listened. I could afford to laugh at myself now. Darn, that was shameful. Shamefully funny.

Sa bisaya pa, gi-ahak.

At the House of Representatives' Cannon House where I met Maj. Gen. Antonio Taguba (ret) of the US Army. He is known as the Fil-Am general who exposed the Abu Ghraib prison abuses in Iraq in 2004.

Proclamations, declarations

Love was in the air a couple of weeks back. How was your Valentine’s Day? I know a lot of people refuse to conform to the commercialism attached to it, but judging by the number of men who gave flower shops and jewelry stores a boost in income that day, V-Day is not going to disappear anytime soon. Men complain it’s too much pressure. Women expect to be surprised. Such is the set-up.

“Where are my roses? Where are the chocolates?” I told my husband in mock disappointment.
“First of all, you don’t like roses. Second of all, you don’t eat chocolates,” said he. He was right – I prefer daisies, and I don’t have a sweet tooth.

The husband and I did find alternatives for us to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I woke up with a card sitting in front of the computer. He received a poem via email at work that same morning. He treated me to dinner at a jazz bar and restaurant. I indulged him by hanging out at a music store where he tinkered around with toys for the big boys. The aforementioned events interspersed with sappy but sweet declarations of you-know-what.

Naive scribblings of young love on the bleachers of a basketball court. Remember the time you wrote your crush's name on the arm rest of your chair back in high school?