That I Am Grateful

Love creeps up to you in unexpected places.

To me it came in a campsite in Marbella, amongst the laughter and company of friends and little children. In the sea of people I knew and knew not, I have found a kindred spirit whose culture and life experiences differed from mine but who might as well have been cast from the same mold.

If I were less romantic, I would have called it by its proper name - positive assortative mating - but being of the literary kind, I would prefer a meeting of soulmates. But because many people find love like that, it doesn't make us more or less special.

Yet over a decade later it still fascinates me how in the many subjects of social and political importance, more often than not, my views are shared and validated by the same person whose perspective matters to me the most.

Are we together because we are like each other? 

Or are we like each other because we are together? 

How much of the other person have we become? 

Where do you end and me begins?

For sure, we are no longer the same people we were in our reckless 20's, where a whirlwind romance led to marriage and a sudden move abroad to face a future that we have not planned for. But they say that when you experience the uncertainties and disappointments we did in our youth and get through them unscathed an unresentful, we have grown well. And we have, like two trees that share the same roots, stretching outwards but firmly planted in the ground.

For despite our intertwined state, I am able to enjoy the company of people whose interests you wouldn't necessarily share (Korean dramas, girls night outs and weekly book clubs) or meet up with friends in exciting new places we haven't been to. But even then, when I encounter a line from a book that I would think most fascinating, I couldn't wait to tell you about it. When I find myself, in an ordinary day or on a trip with friends, confronted by an object of beauty or an experience that moves me, I would think of you, and wish that you were there too.

Of love and its many definitions, that must be one of them. The desire to share what is beautiful and inspiring with another person.

But being British, you would rather that it's definition is practical of course and expectedly so. A study has claimed that 'British couples in particular care about family, sharing household tasks equally and about definitions of proper behaviour'. In that way, we are no exceptions to the rule and in the many occasions that I would feel grateful that my efforts at maintaining the roots of our tree are equally (and sometimes more than) reciprocated, I am duly reminded that to expect less than what I deserve is a disservice to the parties involved.

Still I feel grateful.

That on a cold and rainy day, there is somebody who will share his warmth. 
That on a particularly difficult day, there is a voice that calms and reasons. 
Than on an ordinary day, there are memories that makes me smile, of seeing the same thing and at the same time with somebody who I would happily share it with over and over again. 

That over 10 years ago, in an unfamiliar place, I have met somebody with the face of a stranger but with a heart after my own.

I Never Wrote You a Love Poem

We do not sing each other love songs
Or write poems or prose on Hallmark cards
We never bother with red roses
Or give surprises on special days
We do not go to fancy places
Or lock our hearts on lover's bridges

Instead,
We listen to birds sing to our hearts
Speak with fondness that need not be penned
We plant seeds that grow with seasons
Make memories on just normal days
We take long walks on the countrysides
And leave our shoe prints on the dirt tracks

No,
We do not speak of love, not really
But tonight, the moon was beautiful
The flowers in the garden have bloomed
The scent in the air carries longing
That I thought of you, quite far away
And finally wrote you a love poem.

The Lion King: A Magical Spectacle

Sat in the Grand Circle of the Lyceum Theater in London while waiting for the seats to be filled up, mostly by students on a day trip or tourists on a short visit to the British capital, I started to feel slightly apprehensive on whether the theatrical version of the Lion King we were about to see would live up to its critical acclaim. 

As a child, my siblings and I were obsessed with the 1994 Disney movie we kept replaying the VHS tape until the rented video nearly got broken. The coming of age movie theme and the memorable songs has made it until now my favourite cartoon film of all time. When I found out about the West End version, I've put it forward on our annual list of Things To Do and John booked the ticket for a day out in February. 

My husband and I are avid theatre-goers, preferring this medium to film, which made me feel more queasy about dragging him all the way to London with a late night train to catch that same day and a baby (who was left with his grandmother) to tuck in bed before midnight. But when the show opened with a bright orange sun rising over the African jungle followed by a procession of animals through the audience including a sizeable elephant, the child in me was reawakened and all cynicism replaced with awe. 

The show brought the African Savannah in all its colourful glory with a cacophonous cavalcade that took our breath away. The impressive animal puppets absorbed the human body into a whole Serengeti of stylised animal shapes, capturing the essence of the animals in the wild while nodding subtly to the human faces of Africa. It was a thunderous spectacle of live theatre with so much thought and detail that went into the choreography it was of little wonder that more than 10 years after its debut in London, even a mid-week matinee show can still command a full house. 

But it wasn't just the visual pageantry accompanied by African drumbeats that made the musical so popular, it also caters to different audiences who would leave the theatre with something to take. My special memories are the shared scenes between father and son, when Mufasa took Simba to the top of Pride Rock to marvel at the extent of the kingdom he would someday inherit and the lessons he attempted to impress on the curious cub. One particular line struck me, when the young lion repulsively pointed at the ugly vultures feeding on dead animals and his father told him that they are only doing what they are meant to do, that everything exists in a delicate balance called the Circle of Life which we would all do well to respect. That awareness is something our own child will also be taught. 

The Lion King is a definite must see, the West End version was nostalgic, breath-taking and soul-stirring, well worth the £45 (cheapest) per ticket  we had to pay. 

The Circle of Life: Image from weblink.

The Sun Rising: Image from weblink.

A Day Like Any Other

Today I won't be getting a 'surprise' bunch of flowers and a box of sweets. We haven't booked a fancy restaurant for an evening meal. Dinner will be a homemade meal of whatever cravings I have at the moment. And like every other night, we would be sat in front of a warm fireplace watching an hour-long BBC documentary on I-player before turning in for the night. 

I hold no grudge against Valentines Day although never once in my 28 years has it been different from any other day. And no, marriage has certainly not made me less of a hopeless romantic, it has in fact made me more aware of simple joys and little acts of love everyday. 

This morning, I noticed how the orchids in our front room have started to grow more buds. When we bought it in early autumn from a bargain shop for  £1.99, we estimate it would last at least before winter. But six months on it is still in full bloom, flowers seem to blossom well in a loving home. 

This is true with all the flowers in our garden where despite the unpredictable weather, the winter pansies are thriving, the spring bulbs are coming out and the leaves of the roses are starting to come back to life. They are the flowers that I get everyday, regardless of the season, not ordered from a florist but lovingly tended by my husband's own hands. 

And because today, we are allowed to be cheesy, this is what he has to say about this subject: 

"Love is not a sudden outpouring of rain but the gentle drizzle that keeps the garden in bloom all throughout the year."

Flowers, poetry and love ~ no, they don't need a special day to be celebrated. 

The Moon Smiled That Night

The last days of summer brings with it an air of disquiet, as any change in life often does. With the days slowly getting shorter and the gusty winds starting to accrue, it is tempting to stay indoors. And that was what I had intended to do on that afternoon in September after the chores have been done. 

But John had a different idea: the sky was clear and the sun was out that so why waste a perfectly good opportunity to enjoy the great outdoors, he reasoned.  

Last minute whims like these are somewhat made easier by the fact that we live in one of the greenest cities in Europe, surrounded by 2million trees which equate to four mature trees for every person living here. Within five minutes from our house is an open countryside called the Loxley Common, a beautiful patch of green in the fringe of Sheffield popular for bird-watchers, dog-walkers and students of geology.

So at six o’clock that day with still a few hours before sunset, we walked hand in hand along the path made by generations of walkers. The ground along the tracks is strewn by wild flowers that have grown to almost human proportions. We followed the path that led us along the slope of the hill where the heathers have fully bloomed into its beautiful shade of purple. At a lover’s seat we sat down to take on the beauty that nature so abundantly displays. Across the horizon, the top of the houses from the northern side of the city looked like pieces from a board game. But the urban flurry is lost in this piece of heaven where the only sounds you can hear the occasional barking of dogs and the random singing of birds.

We stayed there for a while and I uttered a silent prayer for the many little things that make our cup overflow and most of all, for the ability to see these blessings as they are thrown our way. 

We went straight to the local public house for dinner, a treat we seldom indulge in. It was already dark when we came out and the moon followed us to the car. I remembered reading about a lover who declared: 

"I will give you all the flowers of the mountain."

The author noted that poets in love seem to have very little notion of reality. But at that moment I knew exactly what the poet's muse would have felt , for my own beloved could just as well have said: 

"I will make the moon smile for you."

Because that night the moon did. And I smiled back. 

A Dose of AMS: On Love

The Scottish writer Alexander McCall Smith, the author of The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency and many others, is now my favourite author mostly because of the deep and profound reflections usually mouthed or thought of by his rather flawed but interesting characters. They are people I can easily identify with, some of them even think like me and think of others the way I would have thought about them (which is not always the right way admittedly). 

This particular lines from his Isabel Dalhousie novel, The Charming Quirks of others, is one of those thoughts that could have been my own and because I couldn't have written it better, I would love to share it: 

"We do not need to look for reasons for love - it is simply there; it comes upon us without invitation, without reason sometimes; it surprises us when we are least expecting it, when we thought our hearts were closed or that we were not ready, or we imagined it would never happen to us because it had not happened before. But if I were to ask myself why I love you, or perhaps try to find what is the main cause of my being in love with you, perhaps it is because you are generous in spirit. It is not because you are beautiful, not because I see perfection in your features, in your smile, in your litheness --  all of which I do, of course I do, and have done since the moment I first met you. It is because you are generous in spirit; and may I be like that; may I become like you -- which unrealistic wish, to become the other, is such a true and revealing symptom of love, its most obvious clue, its unmistakable calling card."

Unexpected Treasures

When John came home on Thursday evening, I had a guilty look on my face. Before I could even explain, his gaze fell into the object sitting on the dining room table and he laughed. 

"If I was the one who found it, I would have bought it for you too," he said. He knows me too well to understand that there are temptations I couldn't resist. 

I was on my way to an early morning appointment with the dentist when I happened to pass a charity shop in Middlewood Road which specialises on vintage items. I went in and voila! The most beautiful object of my fancy happened to be on display: an old treasure chest in amazing condition there was no way I could have left without it! 

It's always fascinating what one can find in charity shops, how one person's scrap is another's treasure. This is the beauty of upcycling and it is rather popular in the Western world. 

The danger of course is that one could get carried away. A recent example was my shopping spree on Saturday morning where I discovered some lovely fabrics, threads and buttons which prompted my soon-to-be next hobby: sewing (which means that baking has now become an old subject). For a tenth of their original price, I was very tempted to buy them all. I stopped short just in time, thanks to financial constraints and space issues. It was rather difficult but there is of course that comforting thought that there will be another day for shopping. 

Three Years Today

Summer of 2009 was a rather eventful season. I have just turned 25 going spinster (and the butt of the family joke 'Never been kissed, never been touched'). I have finally crossed the other side of the border and stepped on Spanish soil only after a year of living in Gibraltar. I have bought myself a Nikon D60 before boarding the ferry to Tangiers and was rather proud of my first SLR outputs. To top it off, our British friend said my photos 'captured the atmosphere' of the place.

Just days after we have crossed the Straight of Gibraltar, we embarked on another weekend get-away with friends in a campsite in Marbella. Encouraged by his interest in my photography, we started a conversation and over the course of the weekend, discovered a similar outlook in life and the same passion for travel and adventure.   

I have written about the man of my dreams long before I met him. I have waited and prayed for him over the years. So when he finally found me, I already knew but I had to keep my fingers crossed that God would also know I was ready.

That weekend was followed with four days of subtle flirting over our Facebook statuses, a text message with an 'x' and an eventual confession through an electronic message. There was nothing British 'Do you fancy going out for a drink' about it nor my response a hard-earned Filipino 'Yes' after long periods of courtship. It was as unconventional as only two non-conformists can get away with. 

So on this very night 36 months ago, to top up an already eventful summer, I had my very first kiss in the middle of a dance floor, with half of Gibraltar dancing to the classics of Abba. It was long and sweet, and everything I have dreamt it would be like. 

What followed is an exciting roller coaster ride involving weekend trips in Costa del Sol and Portugal; European city breaks; getting married; moving to Britain; becoming a football (supporter's) wife; learning to be domesticated; crossing the Bosphorus and meeting our Turkish family; driving around the English countryside; visiting my family back home; losing our passports in Central Europe; driving around Scotland and reaching Wale's highest point. This kind of lifestyle has once or twice left us broke and unemployed yet inspired and worldly-wise. Perhaps success has evaded us but happiness has not, and for that we are blessed.     

Three years today, life as we knew it, took on a different light. But for two people who have spent every single day together since then (apart from the few weeks before and after our wedding day), it has always felt longer than that.  

Dinner by the Docks

Sitting by the dock. Eating fish and chips. Watching the sunset. Bliss!

In its heyday, the Kyle of Lochalsh had been abuzz with tourists staying overnight for the next day trip to the spectacular Isle of Skye. After the controversial bridge linking the island to the rest of Scotland, the visitors skipped the town and what is left felt like a bleak little town gloating on its former glory. 

This impression might seem rather harsh and is largely owing to the two uneventful nights we have spent in the Kyle Hotel, a run-down building that has definitely seen better days. From the dull white exterior which looks like it hasn't had the service of a decent architect, the inside wasn't much to look at either. The long, dark and tight hallways would remind you of Asian horror flicks. The thin strips of walls would wake you up in the middle of the night to the voices of drunken Americans stumbling their way to their rooms next door. The rooms themselves were small and dingy, the sort of place where you couldn't wait to get out of. But for all your woes, they charged more than the lovely bed and breakfasts in Edinburgh. 

We have never met any locals, not on the street and not even on the hotel where we were served by nervous looking young women from other parts of Europe wearing all black and would jump at the orders being barked from the other side of the kitchen doors. But these people smiled and offered a good service at least, making it easier to gobble the greasiest English breakfast we've ever tasted. 

No, I wouldn't say the Kyle of Lochalsh is a romantic place. But one evening in May, after a long day of travelling half-way through Scotland, we had dinner by the docks. Eating our humble fish and chips from a take away (owned by an Aussie), we watched the sun as it was about to set at half-past ten in the evening while the pigeons hovered around us, waiting for their leftovers. 

I live for special moments like this. 

Where the Rainbow Ends

"This must be heaven, this is where the rainbow ends. " ~ A Wise Man

Today hasn't been the best of days. I went to see the GP complaining about stomach pains (someone has been  sticking needles to my voodoo doll, my sister said) that keeps me awake in the early hours in the morning. I've also been coughing some gooey substance that doesn't look so nice at all. Then when I went to the pharmacist this morning, they couldn't dispense the medicine because of some IT malfunction so I was told to come back later in the day. 

But I was working from home and I was loathe to leave the workstation unmanned so I asked my husband to pick them up. Minutes later, rain poured heavily amidst a bright sunny sky so I was naturally worried that he had been caught on it. 

Then the rain stopped and I heard him shouting from downstairs "Olivee look out the front window!" 

And there it was, the spectacle of a rainbow just in front of the house. He rushed back to share with me that magical moment before it fades away and it has made my day look so much brighter.  

It's always nice to be reminded that I have found my heaven on earth, right where the rainbow ends. 

The Andalusian Dream

The first time John invited me over for dinner, he took out a road map of Andalusia, that most beautiful piece of land area that is the South of Spain. He pointed out the places he wanted to go to -  Jaen...Granada...Cordoba...Seville...they were just names to me then. But it showed me a hunger for travel and adventure, a hunger I also feel. I told him that he should take me with him. 

When people ask me how I met my husband, I would reply that we have met where our dreams crossed paths. His was to escape the country of his birth to a place where there are no chilly winters but days filled with glorious sunshine. Mine was to explore a world bigger than the pages of my books where one can live in the mountains and can still embrace a civilised way of life. Our choice of professions (as a nurse and an accountant) brought us to Gibraltar and allowed us to have a taste of our dreams. 

On our first weekend get-away we went on a crazy drive up to the mountain top city of Ronda. We've been to more romantic places since then but that one had been definitely special. We strolled under the orange trees planted along the stone paths. We marvelled at the magnificent beauty of nature that awaited us from the viewpoint. We rested under the delightful warmth of the afternoon sun while the gentle breeze kissed our cheeks. 

In Spain, you forget the time but you always remember the littlest of details of those special moments. 

Leaving Gibraltar meant John would have to defer his Andalusian dreams for three years at least. It wasn't an easy decision to make and in times of difficulties it would often haunt us. We have left behind well-paying jobs, a supportive church family and above all else, the warm weather.

But one dream had to be put off for another: of a border-less world which no longer requires visa applications and immigration queues. My dreams over his, his sweetest sacrifice.

I would like to think that it hasn't been futile. During the last two years, we have definitely grown much wiser and more confident. We now have a much better idea of what we want out of life, where we want to be and how we will get there.

Our Andalusian dream is as alive today as it has always been. Before we will know it, our barefoot toes will once again be playing with the soft sands on the shores of Costa del Sol where we once watched the golden sun set over the horizon.

The Value of Presents

I have never been good at buying presents for any occasions. I was always able to get away with creating them so I never bothered with actually buying them. 

So when my gym buddy asked for gift ideas for his girlfriend's 30th birthday, I couldn't actually help. He is taking her to London to watch a West End show that is meaningful to both of them but he was worried that it would fall short of her efforts during his own 30th. 

My life is really simpler, I told him. One of the best things about being married is that you share a single bank account. We have never bought each other presents because we already get to buy the things we want when we go on shopping spree (budget-permitting). 

My husband's 30th birthday present was a video collage of the first three decades of his life, that was everything he needed to feel special (I'm sure!). There was no surprise birthday bash, just a family dinner, because a cold February in England is an awful time to gather everyone. 

But on my birthday this year, I demanded a present in a cheeky 'What am I going to get on my birthday' which was met with a look that says 'You mean you're supposed to get a present?' but was responded with 'You can get anything you like' (secretly saying, 'as though you don't do that already').

It was a a camera necklace I wanted.On a shopping trip with a friend, I found a cute pair of camera earrings in a shop called Claire's but they didn't sell the any camera necklaces that would have been lovelier. So I said I wanted one but I want it to be a surprise and he had to buy me the perfect one. 

And he did! On my birthday, I opened a tiny box with the most beautiful red hand-made camera necklace (made in the UK, not China) and I was the most happiest wife in the world. I showed it off proudly to friends and family, a £5 worth of accessory, made precious by the time spent on reading reviews and searching for the perfect present that only a husband like mine can afford. 

I still believe that's the joy of receiving the perfect gift: getting something more than you have expected, not because of how much it is but because of how meaningful it is. 

The Colour of Beautiful

Her skin, the colour of mellow bronze, glistens brightly against the summer sky. Her hair, thick and startlingly black, dangles loosely like the waves of the raging ocean. 

In the Western world this is how I have often been described, the colour of my skin and the texture of my hair is something most of them aspire. 

Where I came from, I was just plain 'maitim' (dark-skinned) with a very messy hair, not fitting of the nation's idea of fair skinned and stick straight-haired "beautiful". 

The happy childhood memories are somewhat marred by the playground banters that centred on the colour of my skin. Before Coco, my family nickname, became associated with Chanel, there was a Filipino song “A coconut nut is a giant nut” that followed me throughout my younger years. Then growing up, the usual compliment (or lack thereof) I would receive was that I “would have been beautiful if you had lighter complexion”. Some people had other ideas “You are lucky for the colour of your skin", they told me."You will be very popular with the foreigners” as though I am an exotic commodity who will peddle herself to the first bidder. I resented that most.

There was nothing I wanted more than to be considered ‘normal’, I didn’t even ask to be beautiful. I would have been tempted to pay for whitening products like most of my compatriots have done but I was sensible enough to realise that true love looks beyond the colour of my skin.

And indeed once in Europe, true love eventually found me. In a story that seemed like The Ugly Duckling coming to life, I have found the place where I can be myself, with dark skin and curly hair, and still be beautiful. 

We Didn't Come Here Looking for Love

From the Rascal Flatts Lyrics: 

"She didn't come there looking for love, and the cool thing was, neither did I"

This is an on-going Scrapbooking Project that would chronicle our life in Gibraltar and its still in its early stages. Hopefully it will get finished before we can finally go back to settle down in the warmer climates of Southern Spain. 

A Garden That Blooms Every Day

I don’t get an occasional bunch of flowers to surprise me, I get to have a garden that blossoms everyday. Love is not about grand romantic gestures but little things that keep the spark alive. 

When God Answers Prayers

It was the day after my 25th birthday. It was the day I stood up in front of the church congregation for a last-minute testimony to thank God for the quarter of the century past. It was the day I met my Destiny.

I can remember it almost so vividly now. I stood up with all the confidence I could muster. I stared at the friendly faces looking back eagerly at me. I opened my mouth. Then as expected, I started croaking like a frog. But it didn’t matter. I was in the company of the people who would listen anyway.

I have spent twenty-five years walking with God, sometimes stumbling along the way but always getting up stronger after the fall. Most of the time I have been stubborn, insistent upon my desires but I learned that whenever I let go, I could never fall. There have been moments I have faced uncertainties, battled with indecisions but never once did I doubt the existence of the Force that answered my prayers more than not.

But I also do remember telling everyone how despite all my blessings, I still somehow felt disappointed because I was living a life so different from the one I imagined I would have at 25. How I was scared that I would never experience what most people already have. And yet how, despite the gloomy future, I remained hopeful that I am still to see the fullness of the plan my Master has drafted for my life.

I had no idea then that the wheels of destiny started to turn that day.

It was at a joint birthday celebration where the rest of the Filipino community got together a few hours after I finished with the Open Arms. Drinks, Filipino dishes, karaoke and photo sessions are the flavours of the day. And of course, Tita’s friend from the hospital would be coming along later that night.

Most of my friends have met him in April, three months after he came over from the UK with a six-month contract as a nurse at the hospital. I have heard stories about him and received invites to go out with them for drinks or coffee where he was also expected. I was never interested; I couldn’t be bothered to be “talking in English”. Besides, I have never been sociable with men, how much more with men from another ‘planet’,.

So I only had a quick look of him that night (and I thought he’s cute). I wasn’t able to witness his videotaped karaoke performance of “I Swear” in his more-than-one-glass-of-wine state as I was busy with my photo shoots and playing with the little kids. He couldn’t even remember me from that day. I was just “one of faces”.

After becoming an adopted member of the Filipino community in Gibraltar, we’ve met a few more times during the gatherings and the special events but we never talked. Except on one occasion towards the end of July when we celebrated the receipt of our schengen visa with a picnic at the Rosia Bay. It wasn’t even a conversation; I just answered a question or two but that was when he first remembered me.

Then Morocco happened, a reluctant trip I took in August because I wasn’t allowed to take a previously booked holiday in Rome. And so in Tangier where Santiago (of ‘The Alchemist’) began his search for his Treasure I began the quest to follow my greatest dream.

It may be the mystique of the tiny alleyways all over the Medina or the magic of the exquisitely made carpets we have both been talked to buy. It may be the smell of the incense from the little shops along the way or the taste of the kuskus from the local restaurant where a di Caprio movie was shot. It may be the atmosphere of adventure after crossing the seas to another continent or the tone of romance looming over the air. Or maybe all that conspired in merging together two different worlds in one universe.

But nothing magical happened then, except perhaps it made him realize that I was indeed more than just a blur in the traffic of faces that walk past his mundane existence.

When we met again in a camping trip to Marbella, I found myself being drawn out of the cocoon that was my comfort zone. Before I knew it I was talking about myself as I would to people I have known for years. Suddenly I was stripped off my inhibitions, fears and insecurities. And the consciousness dawned on me: this is the man I have only dreamt and written about.

It was such a painful realization because I remembered a Jane Austen quotation from Northanger Abbey:

"No young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman's love is declared, it must be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her."

But instead of wallowing over my confusion and building more walls that would block the imminent heartbreak I thought I was meant to suffer, I prayed like I have never prayed before. Yet more than a prayer from a weeping child desperate for a toy that would easily break, I surrendered my heart. Because I know He will lead the way, however long it will take for me to get there.

Then just when I least expected Him to, God answered my prayers—a bit too quickly. It was scary at first. Some people thought it was too sudden, how he didn’t even need to earn my heart. I have always been the predictable one: practical and ‘too analytical’. But when I made my plunge into those waters, the first one I’ve ever made in my life, I’ve let go fully.

There was never an ounce of regret. There were no what-ifs. And yes, he is everything I have ever written him to be, his love more than I have ever hoped I could find.

So when he knelt on his knees and asked for my hands, I couldn’t say no. He didn’t really need to ask. I knew of his existence long before I’ve met him. I knew of his love even by just the look in his eyes. I knew of his promise of forever, the moment God answered my prayers.