I triumphed over the temptation to let my feet lead me to a fast food chain at Pondok Indah Mall (PIM) yesterday, the 1st of January, 2010.
The Friday Mass to commemorate the Feast of the Solemnity of Mama Mary and First Friday ended quite late - and by the time I reached PIM, I was quite famished. As I passed by a doughnut shop, I could literally feel that 'empty carb' craving on my teeth. But I walked passed it, with determination and, to some extent, exasperation (with myself. I mean, there I was, entertaining this thought, on the first day I was supposed to implement it! Discipline, discipline!).
Safe.
364 days more to go.
Friday, January 1, 2010
A Year of Freshly Cooked Food
THE BEGINNING
December 26, 2009
--------------------------------------------------
2009 was all about getting back to being healthy.
In the run-up to 2009 (and probably a few years before that), I admit I was remiss and abandoned the strict regimen which marked my lifestyle for a decade and got too indulgent. I thought I had saved enough "good health" to entitle me to "undo" it - first, only by a bit; soon enough by a whole lot.
I soon learned Mother Nature cannot be fooled, and rightly enough, I did get quite sickly. Add to that the stresses I was undergoing at the time - a second relocation to another country in less than 3 years, a new round of adjustment, the challenge of learning a new language just to make myself understood for the simplest of tasks such as asking a taxi driver to get me from Point A to Point B, a miscarriage, forging a new career path, wrapping up my Master's, my postgrad diploma and a trade research project.
As I slowly nursed myself back to health this year, I began to observe how dependent I've been to the modern convenience of fast food chains. Sure, given a reasonable amount of free time, I still took to my kitchen to bake, roast and cook. I made salads. I dug into my cook books and relived the joy of discovering wonderful new meals between their pages.
The health benefits of these home made treats were however undone by the frequency by which we ordered that late night meal from McD or KFC. My husband and I work till quite late and by the time we triumph through Jakarta's unforgiving traffic jams, it usually would be around 930pm (or later). And at 930pm, even the most dedicated of cooks would probably have only enough energy to lift the phone and call the delivery hot line of the chain which delivers the fastest.
And I suppose this is the reason why these fast food chains flourish and sprout in weed-like fashion. They capitalise on the weariness of modern life - the same weariness that saps you of the energy to make a decent meal for yourself.
But not any more.
As the last quarter of 2009 began, I decided to start getting back into that strict regimen which saw me at my healthiest. Fish and poultry. Veggies. Salads. Sparing dishes of red meat. When I felt the urge to reach for the fast food hotline, I would make the conscious effort to call one of the many freshly cooked outlets in Jakarta and ordered an item which I knew would be cooked from scratch.
I never realised how difficult nor how dependent I had become until I started 'correcting' what had now become almost a knee jerk reaction.
Hence, these two resolutions for 2010
For 2010, I have decided to take on the challenge of avoiding fast food chain foods altogether, 'fast food chain' being defined as the likes of McD, KFC, Wendy's and which also includes Pizza Hut, Domino's pizza. Not a bite, no matter how difficult the situation may be.
I will also revive my almost anal fixation to take in fresh food and veggies on a daily basis, and fruits other than the usual apple and orange. Soursop would be a good start and bananas. And drink caffeine-free drinks like ginger tea.
Phew.
I'll only stick to two for 2010, because I know myself. The first resolution is difficult enough but just sticking to Resolution #1 would be incomplete without Resolution #2 complementing it.
Let's see how far this goes.
Here's to 2010!
PS: Being the fair person that I am, these resolutions only apply to me and not the Geek. Seeing how he's off to Manila for 4 weeks, it would be an injustice for him not to sample that most delectable of Filipino fast food indulgences: Jollibee Chickenjoy.
PPS: And no, I will not use these few remaining days of 2009 to indulge in these now-taboo edible delights. Lord, help me!
December 26, 2009
--------------------------------------------------
2009 was all about getting back to being healthy.
In the run-up to 2009 (and probably a few years before that), I admit I was remiss and abandoned the strict regimen which marked my lifestyle for a decade and got too indulgent. I thought I had saved enough "good health" to entitle me to "undo" it - first, only by a bit; soon enough by a whole lot.
I soon learned Mother Nature cannot be fooled, and rightly enough, I did get quite sickly. Add to that the stresses I was undergoing at the time - a second relocation to another country in less than 3 years, a new round of adjustment, the challenge of learning a new language just to make myself understood for the simplest of tasks such as asking a taxi driver to get me from Point A to Point B, a miscarriage, forging a new career path, wrapping up my Master's, my postgrad diploma and a trade research project.
As I slowly nursed myself back to health this year, I began to observe how dependent I've been to the modern convenience of fast food chains. Sure, given a reasonable amount of free time, I still took to my kitchen to bake, roast and cook. I made salads. I dug into my cook books and relived the joy of discovering wonderful new meals between their pages.
The health benefits of these home made treats were however undone by the frequency by which we ordered that late night meal from McD or KFC. My husband and I work till quite late and by the time we triumph through Jakarta's unforgiving traffic jams, it usually would be around 930pm (or later). And at 930pm, even the most dedicated of cooks would probably have only enough energy to lift the phone and call the delivery hot line of the chain which delivers the fastest.
And I suppose this is the reason why these fast food chains flourish and sprout in weed-like fashion. They capitalise on the weariness of modern life - the same weariness that saps you of the energy to make a decent meal for yourself.
But not any more.
As the last quarter of 2009 began, I decided to start getting back into that strict regimen which saw me at my healthiest. Fish and poultry. Veggies. Salads. Sparing dishes of red meat. When I felt the urge to reach for the fast food hotline, I would make the conscious effort to call one of the many freshly cooked outlets in Jakarta and ordered an item which I knew would be cooked from scratch.
I never realised how difficult nor how dependent I had become until I started 'correcting' what had now become almost a knee jerk reaction.
Hence, these two resolutions for 2010
For 2010, I have decided to take on the challenge of avoiding fast food chain foods altogether, 'fast food chain' being defined as the likes of McD, KFC, Wendy's and which also includes Pizza Hut, Domino's pizza. Not a bite, no matter how difficult the situation may be.
I will also revive my almost anal fixation to take in fresh food and veggies on a daily basis, and fruits other than the usual apple and orange. Soursop would be a good start and bananas. And drink caffeine-free drinks like ginger tea.
Phew.
I'll only stick to two for 2010, because I know myself. The first resolution is difficult enough but just sticking to Resolution #1 would be incomplete without Resolution #2 complementing it.
Let's see how far this goes.
Here's to 2010!
PS: Being the fair person that I am, these resolutions only apply to me and not the Geek. Seeing how he's off to Manila for 4 weeks, it would be an injustice for him not to sample that most delectable of Filipino fast food indulgences: Jollibee Chickenjoy.
PPS: And no, I will not use these few remaining days of 2009 to indulge in these now-taboo edible delights. Lord, help me!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Transferred Thoughts #6 - The 9:30 No. 33 Man
A good part of my life in Edinburgh saw me blogging on another social networking site. I wrote about all the new experiences I was going through, and moments like this.. which convince me that some concerns about our desire to be good - truly good - remain universal.
———————————————————————————————————————-
12th August 2005
i started the day with the intent of getting to work before 8:30 a.m. i got off the 33 at Shandwick Place at 8:25 a.m — loads of time for me to get to Drumsheugh Gardens before 8:30 a.m. but, as fate would have planned it, i got in at 9:15 a.m.
this explains why.
a frail, old blind man got on the 33 at the Nicolson Street bus stop. other commuters helped him get on the bus, but otherwise, he was travelling alone. he alighted at the same stop i did at Shandwick Place. at first, a fellow passenger guided him to the bus doors. since i was near the door, i decided to help him off the bus too. once on the sidewalk, he then asked either of us helping him to lead him to the taxi station right in front of Ryan’s Bar, just off the bend of Queensferry Road. at this juncture, my fellow good Samaritan rushed off to work, leaving him with me.
the long and short of this story was, when he learned that the taxi station was moved from its original location to a temporary taxi bay just near the Greggs store, he asked me if i could walk him to the Boots branch along Shandwick Place. by then, we had crossed the other side of the street. it was 8:50 a.m. — missing my 8:30 a.m. target was a foregone conclusion.
once at the Boots store, i learned from the reaction of the ladies at the Dispensary (the Pharmacy) that he was a regular. he’d been showing up at 9:30 a.m., almost every Friday. asking them to call a cab for him. on a previous occasion, he had left the store - too impatient to wait for the taxi to arrive.
"sir, how many times do we have to tell you, we are a pharmacy, not a taxi service??", the Boots lady said, her voice raised with marked irritation.
"can’t you see i’m blind?! i can’t call a cab for myself. i can’t afford someone to help me go around!"
although i could see where the Boots people were coming from, still, i thought they could have shown more compassion towards the guy. he wasn’t disrupting the store. he wasn’t causing them trouble. alright, maybe he was inconveniencing them a little bit. but the store would definitely benefit from extending a little community service, wouldn’t it?
after extracting a promise from the old guy (i never got his name. he never asked me for mine.) not to fight with the ladies & to wait for the taxi to collect him; and extracting a promise from the Boots ladies that they would call a cab for him, i made a quiet exit, and rushed to work.
it would have been a genuine good deed had not it been for the fact that post priori, i could feel a part of me slighted by the old man’s omission. true, i never did ask if he usually hailed for a cab here. but he could at least have told me about his regular Friday morning Boots routine. i would’ve still have helped him get a taxi, but maybe not from Boots.
the duality of our actions and how they dwell in shades of grey.
something to mull over a warm cup of green tea.
———————————————————————————————————————-
———————————————————————————————————————-
12th August 2005
i started the day with the intent of getting to work before 8:30 a.m. i got off the 33 at Shandwick Place at 8:25 a.m — loads of time for me to get to Drumsheugh Gardens before 8:30 a.m. but, as fate would have planned it, i got in at 9:15 a.m.
this explains why.
a frail, old blind man got on the 33 at the Nicolson Street bus stop. other commuters helped him get on the bus, but otherwise, he was travelling alone. he alighted at the same stop i did at Shandwick Place. at first, a fellow passenger guided him to the bus doors. since i was near the door, i decided to help him off the bus too. once on the sidewalk, he then asked either of us helping him to lead him to the taxi station right in front of Ryan’s Bar, just off the bend of Queensferry Road. at this juncture, my fellow good Samaritan rushed off to work, leaving him with me.
the long and short of this story was, when he learned that the taxi station was moved from its original location to a temporary taxi bay just near the Greggs store, he asked me if i could walk him to the Boots branch along Shandwick Place. by then, we had crossed the other side of the street. it was 8:50 a.m. — missing my 8:30 a.m. target was a foregone conclusion.
once at the Boots store, i learned from the reaction of the ladies at the Dispensary (the Pharmacy) that he was a regular. he’d been showing up at 9:30 a.m., almost every Friday. asking them to call a cab for him. on a previous occasion, he had left the store - too impatient to wait for the taxi to arrive.
"sir, how many times do we have to tell you, we are a pharmacy, not a taxi service??", the Boots lady said, her voice raised with marked irritation.
"can’t you see i’m blind?! i can’t call a cab for myself. i can’t afford someone to help me go around!"
although i could see where the Boots people were coming from, still, i thought they could have shown more compassion towards the guy. he wasn’t disrupting the store. he wasn’t causing them trouble. alright, maybe he was inconveniencing them a little bit. but the store would definitely benefit from extending a little community service, wouldn’t it?
after extracting a promise from the old guy (i never got his name. he never asked me for mine.) not to fight with the ladies & to wait for the taxi to collect him; and extracting a promise from the Boots ladies that they would call a cab for him, i made a quiet exit, and rushed to work.
it would have been a genuine good deed had not it been for the fact that post priori, i could feel a part of me slighted by the old man’s omission. true, i never did ask if he usually hailed for a cab here. but he could at least have told me about his regular Friday morning Boots routine. i would’ve still have helped him get a taxi, but maybe not from Boots.
the duality of our actions and how they dwell in shades of grey.
something to mull over a warm cup of green tea.
——————————————————————————
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Slowly, Surely
I've never been a patient person. I like tasks done quickly. There seems to be an internal schedule in my head constantly reminding me, within reasonable constraints, of what should be out and what should be done on a daily, monthly, and annual basis. And where I should be at a certain point in time. I dislike waiting.
I am certain this does not strike any of us as surprising. Why? For the simple reason that we know, from personal experience, that every day and almost on a regular basis, we find ourselves handling deadlines as they fall due. Some days, we're miles ahead of them. Other times, we beat them by a hair's breadth. All sorts of deadlines - personal, professional. And everywhere imaginable - left, right and centre. We're surrounded by them.
Current zeitgeist impresses on us that if we're not fast enough, if we can't get things done as they happen, that's tantamount to disaster. We're seen as incompetent, substandard, inadequate. Add to that the fact that often, there's a penalty for missing a deadline. You're served notice, someone threatens to sue, you get demoted. Either way, you're made to pay for not being fast enough. For missing deadlines.
When it comes to prayerful petitioning, we tend to be impatient too. I tend to be, admittedly. For example, when I ask "Lord, make me a better person" or "Lord, let my trainees learn and not forget" - there are two things I am certain of. One is God will grant the request. Second is I always think it will come soon. I'm always wrong when it comes to the second one.
Why does God, almighty and powerful, make us wait? I could throw you all the arguments and the verses, but here is one article which I feel captures it all.
Why Does It Take So Long?
by Rick Warren
“The Lord your God will drive those nations out ahead of you little by little. You will not clear them away all at once” (Deuteronomy 7:22 NLT).
Although God could instantly transform us, He has chosen to develop us slowly. Jesus is deliberate in developing His disciples. Just as God allowed the Israelites to take over the Promised Land “little by little” so they wouldn’t be overwhelmed, He prefers to work in incremental steps in our lives.
Why does it take so long to change and grow up? There are several reasons.
We are slow learners. We often have to relearn a lesson forty or fifty times to really get it. The problems keep recurring, and we think, “Not again! I’ve already learned that!”—but God knows better. The history of Israel illustrates how quickly we forget the lessons God teaches us and how soon we revert to our old patterns of behavior. We need repeated exposure.
We have a lot to unlearn. Many people go to a counselor with a personal or relational problem that took years to develop and say, “I need you to fix me. I’ve got an hour.” They naïvely expect a quick solution to a long-standing, deep-rooted difficulty. Since most of our problems—and all of our bad habits—didn’t develop overnight, it’s unrealistic to expect them go away immediately.
There is no pill, prayer, or principle that will instantly undo the damage of many years. It requires the hard work of removal and replacement. The Bible calls it “taking off the old self” and “putting on the new self” (Romans 13:12; Ephesians 4:22-25; Colossians 3:7-10, 14).
Growth is often painful and scary. There is no growth without change; there is no change without fear or loss; and there is no loss without pain. We fear these losses, even if our old ways were self-defeating, because, like a worn out pair of shoes, they were at least comfortable and familiar.
Every change involves a loss of some kind: You must let go of old ways in order to experience the new.
I am certain this does not strike any of us as surprising. Why? For the simple reason that we know, from personal experience, that every day and almost on a regular basis, we find ourselves handling deadlines as they fall due. Some days, we're miles ahead of them. Other times, we beat them by a hair's breadth. All sorts of deadlines - personal, professional. And everywhere imaginable - left, right and centre. We're surrounded by them.
Current zeitgeist impresses on us that if we're not fast enough, if we can't get things done as they happen, that's tantamount to disaster. We're seen as incompetent, substandard, inadequate. Add to that the fact that often, there's a penalty for missing a deadline. You're served notice, someone threatens to sue, you get demoted. Either way, you're made to pay for not being fast enough. For missing deadlines.
When it comes to prayerful petitioning, we tend to be impatient too. I tend to be, admittedly. For example, when I ask "Lord, make me a better person" or "Lord, let my trainees learn and not forget" - there are two things I am certain of. One is God will grant the request. Second is I always think it will come soon. I'm always wrong when it comes to the second one.
Why does God, almighty and powerful, make us wait? I could throw you all the arguments and the verses, but here is one article which I feel captures it all.
Why Does It Take So Long?
by Rick Warren
“The Lord your God will drive those nations out ahead of you little by little. You will not clear them away all at once” (Deuteronomy 7:22 NLT).
Although God could instantly transform us, He has chosen to develop us slowly. Jesus is deliberate in developing His disciples. Just as God allowed the Israelites to take over the Promised Land “little by little” so they wouldn’t be overwhelmed, He prefers to work in incremental steps in our lives.
Why does it take so long to change and grow up? There are several reasons.
We are slow learners. We often have to relearn a lesson forty or fifty times to really get it. The problems keep recurring, and we think, “Not again! I’ve already learned that!”—but God knows better. The history of Israel illustrates how quickly we forget the lessons God teaches us and how soon we revert to our old patterns of behavior. We need repeated exposure.
We have a lot to unlearn. Many people go to a counselor with a personal or relational problem that took years to develop and say, “I need you to fix me. I’ve got an hour.” They naïvely expect a quick solution to a long-standing, deep-rooted difficulty. Since most of our problems—and all of our bad habits—didn’t develop overnight, it’s unrealistic to expect them go away immediately.
There is no pill, prayer, or principle that will instantly undo the damage of many years. It requires the hard work of removal and replacement. The Bible calls it “taking off the old self” and “putting on the new self” (Romans 13:12; Ephesians 4:22-25; Colossians 3:7-10, 14).
Growth is often painful and scary. There is no growth without change; there is no change without fear or loss; and there is no loss without pain. We fear these losses, even if our old ways were self-defeating, because, like a worn out pair of shoes, they were at least comfortable and familiar.
Every change involves a loss of some kind: You must let go of old ways in order to experience the new.
Monday, August 10, 2009
That Well-oiled Cog
I wrote this note almost a year ago after attending the graduation ceremony of the University of Indonesia's Faculty of Computer Science. The Geek teaches there, and when wisuda time comes, I attend the ceremonies. To see the hope on the faces of these new graduates, and to ask myself the question: Who among them will move the wheel of life in the right direction?
My circumstances have changed. I no longer lecture but am back practicing. But let me say the aspiration remains the same: to be that well-oiled cog in this system we refer to as "fair", "just" and "the backbone of a civil society". Let it not break on my account. Let me move it in the right direction :)
-------------------------------------------
29th August 2008
Boisterous happy laughter floats from the foyer below as I type this note. The graduation ceremonies at UI's Faculty of Computer Science just finished, and whilst families, friends, well-wishers and the new graduates mill about the Fasilkom complex, the happiness (and perhaps relief?) of reaching this milestone in one's life is undeniable.
I've always been ambivalent about graduations. From kindergarten to elementary, all the way up to law school. I've even skipped two graduations because after a while all one really wants is the assurance that one truly can move on after spending time learning theories. I suppose I am not so much a lover of theory as I am an eager supporter of putting theory into action. Seeing how the theory holds in the real world. But I acknowledge as much that one needs to learn the theory well enough to critique it.
This is not to say I thought going to school, university or even pursuing my postgrad was a horrible experience. At its worst, I found the classroom regimented and a place where ideas - ironically - went to die. (Rote memory was never a favourite exercise, but it did instill discipline and taught one to remember.) At its best, under proper tutelage, the classroom was *the* place to exchange ideas and challenge the status quo. It was the birthplace of fresh notions where the pursuit of the truth was practiced. But it wasn't all that bad. When the classroom became too stifling - or worse too dull - school and uni life offered alternative fora for intellectual stimulation.
Now the tables are turned, and I find myself the lecturer, not the student any more. I am learning a number of lessons as I handle my students both inside and outside the four walls of the classroom. I realise now, more so than I did before, that the process of learning is two-way . A lecturer can prepare way ahead of any lesson and devise all manner of entertainment to keep one's class engrossed and the discussion lively. But the most fertile of ideas die in the wasteland of a lazy brain; and it is counterproductive to let the majority of one's class suffer on behalf of the solitary slacker.
Still, finding one's self a cog in the wheels of several lives that turn and shift from one point to another - affecting your students' lives simultaneously - is enough to make one stop and think how a not-too well oiled cog could disrupt one life. Or many. Perhaps not too badly that one could recover from it or seriously that the whole wheel is permanently broken.
Doubtless, one aims not (or strives not) to be that erring cog. So endings such as the ones I partook of tonight would remain the rule for many, and not the exception.
My circumstances have changed. I no longer lecture but am back practicing. But let me say the aspiration remains the same: to be that well-oiled cog in this system we refer to as "fair", "just" and "the backbone of a civil society". Let it not break on my account. Let me move it in the right direction :)
29th August 2008
Boisterous happy laughter floats from the foyer below as I type this note. The graduation ceremonies at UI's Faculty of Computer Science just finished, and whilst families, friends, well-wishers and the new graduates mill about the Fasilkom complex, the happiness (and perhaps relief?) of reaching this milestone in one's life is undeniable.
I've always been ambivalent about graduations. From kindergarten to elementary, all the way up to law school. I've even skipped two graduations because after a while all one really wants is the assurance that one truly can move on after spending time learning theories. I suppose I am not so much a lover of theory as I am an eager supporter of putting theory into action. Seeing how the theory holds in the real world. But I acknowledge as much that one needs to learn the theory well enough to critique it.
This is not to say I thought going to school, university or even pursuing my postgrad was a horrible experience. At its worst, I found the classroom regimented and a place where ideas - ironically - went to die. (Rote memory was never a favourite exercise, but it did instill discipline and taught one to remember.) At its best, under proper tutelage, the classroom was *the* place to exchange ideas and challenge the status quo. It was the birthplace of fresh notions where the pursuit of the truth was practiced. But it wasn't all that bad. When the classroom became too stifling - or worse too dull - school and uni life offered alternative fora for intellectual stimulation.
Now the tables are turned, and I find myself the lecturer, not the student any more. I am learning a number of lessons as I handle my students both inside and outside the four walls of the classroom. I realise now, more so than I did before, that the process of learning is two-way . A lecturer can prepare way ahead of any lesson and devise all manner of entertainment to keep one's class engrossed and the discussion lively. But the most fertile of ideas die in the wasteland of a lazy brain; and it is counterproductive to let the majority of one's class suffer on behalf of the solitary slacker.
Still, finding one's self a cog in the wheels of several lives that turn and shift from one point to another - affecting your students' lives simultaneously - is enough to make one stop and think how a not-too well oiled cog could disrupt one life. Or many. Perhaps not too badly that one could recover from it or seriously that the whole wheel is permanently broken.
Doubtless, one aims not (or strives not) to be that erring cog. So endings such as the ones I partook of tonight would remain the rule for many, and not the exception.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Transferred Thoughts #4
Staying Afloat
Friday, April 15th, 2005Some people dream of being rich and famous, hitting the limelight, their names on the lips of millions.
During the dying moments of my 33rd birthday, I realised i was not immune to this, and made plans of crashing my way into life with a big splash …
So today, I alighted the - what a coincidence! - 33 as it went down Dalkeith Road and signed myself up for some swimming lessons at the Royal Commonwealth Pool. (d’oh! what were you thinking???)
My friends in Edinburgh say that for someone who lived in an archipelago like the Philippines, they find it strange to learn that I can’t swim.
‘Not even like a dog paddles in the pool?’, they enquired.
‘Nope’, say i.
‘Lassie, yer a bit irregular, aren’t ye?!’
hmmm…
Anyway, going back to swimming.
My earliest memories of my (futile) attempts to formally learn how to swim go back to when I was 17. It was the summer I finished high school and was waiting for classes at UP to start. It was a summer of aimless existence and I was desperately looking for something to do. During my musings, I remembered how my sister and I tried to learn it whilst visiting my dad’s hometown in Southern Leyte, near the sea which washed over a small strip of beach belonging to my grandparents. We failed miserably at this, and ended up gulping down generous amounts of (salty! bleeech!) seawater. I decided to remedy this. So i enrolled for swimming lessons.
How I wished I went for ‘Adult Swimming Lessons’ then!
The first day of those lessons found me the oldest student amongst a group of pubescent kids! AAAAAAAaaaargh! Imagine the embarrassment!
The funnier thing was these kids seemed to take to water like fishes do! Didn’t the odd absence of terra firma bother them one bit? Or the fact that people have *died* while in the water? Or the fact that while submerged in the water, you are actually subjecting yourself to a body big and powerful enough to engulf you? (of course, these may well have been issues exclusively plaguing a sure-footed Arien like myself, and not something kids concerned themselves with!)
Needless to say, I finished the course.. and never attempted to swim in a pool again.
However, from time to time, I did feel some regret that I never tried to seriously re-learn it again. My first trip to Boracay was one such instance. I was with friends and colleagues from work who - fearless in their knowledge that they could brave the sea - marvelled at the wonders lying under the clear blue Boracay waters. Whilst i had to suffer the disgrace of holding onto a lifeline, kept afloat by a lifesaver. That very moment, I would’ve traded some time off at my local well-being centre for time spent re-learning how to swim.
Upon returning to Manila, the normal routine of work and life once again overtook this plan to re-learn swimming, but thoughts of it did linger in my head.
When i was packing my suitcase in July 2004, headed for Edinburgh, again, I debated whether I should purchase a swim suit in Manila. not that I was hoping for the Earth to reverse on its axis and find Edinburgh all of a sudden awash in warm, bright sunlight. But I did hope that maybe with the prospect of having enough time on my hands, and lesser matters to be responsible for, I would finally brave the waters. The memories of previous visits to Scotland convinced me that bringing a swim suit might be a sign of too much optimism. I ditched the plans to bring a bathing suit.
Having the Royal Commonwealth Pool nearby, with its indoor swimming pool and its waters kept at a constant 24C, is enough to inspire even the most sceptical (read: moi), though. Of course, it also helps that lessons are affordable and that instructors are always helpful (this latter bit is clearly hearsay. i am merely relying on feedback provided by a mate here!)
Anyway, the first lessons will start next sunday at 9:00 a.m. :-) I’m half-anxious to take another plunge at this activity, and half-relieved to know that at this stage in my life, I still have enough resolve to have a go for swimming one more time.
Who knows, eh? I just might float!
Transferred Thoughts #3
6th April 2005
PS: Hubs did notice when he came home! In his own words, ‘it’s hard to miss 4 flower pots by the CPU, love!
i, greenthumb
As at the time of writing, my husband does not know that I have converted a portion of our second bedroom-cum-study into a makeshift orchid nursery.
Coming from a 9:40 a.m. appointment at the doctor’s surgery along Dalkeith Road (and bearing a clean bill of health, provided I take paracetamol and not engage in strenuous activities) , I took a quick detour to that Mecca of DIYs, Homebase, which was just a short walk up the road, past the Royal Commonwealth Pool. My violet dendrobium (at least that’s what the label at IKEA said it was) had outgrown its pot and was in need of re-potting. I also intended to get a second orchid, preferably one which bears white flowers, to provide some contrast to our (newly painted! whopee!) kitchen wall.
Being the daughter of an agriculturist, I grew up seeing my dad meticulously attaching newly sprung orchids onto pieces of driftwood and using either dry coconut husks or wood shavings as a medium to capture much needed moisture for the roots. Of course, that was in Manila, where orchids are kept in the shade but definitely outdoors. It doesn’t take much imagination to guess the fate that awaits an orchid left out against the Scottish weather.
A quick discussion with a Homebase store assistant revealed that orchids in Scotland are not re-potted using wood shavings. I asked him if they had wood shavings for sale, and after seeing what I perceived to be a puzzled look, quickly explained that I intended to transfer an orchid which had now grown too big for its pot. That’s when I learned that they’re re-potted in orchid compost - an interesting concept, which I will tell my dad in the next letter I write to him.
I also managed to obtain a dendrobium which bears white flowers - although at first glance, it did look like it needed re-potting too. There three visible groups of stems growing from the same pot, and albeit, competing for nutrients in the compost (which, notably, was made of very dry wood shavings!).
It took two hours to transfer the orchids - and another half hour for me to decide and act on my decision to transfer my aloe vera. So now, four pots of newly transferred orchids stand beside our CPU, hopefully recovering from the ‘trauma’ of literally being uprooted and relocated to a new home. It will take time for the roots to find their way through the compost, but with some luck (touch wood to cancel the sight of a black cat! If you're perplexed, see my PPS below), I might do Dad some justice here!PS: Hubs did notice when he came home! In his own words, ‘it’s hard to miss 4 flower pots by the CPU, love!
PPS: I just saw a black cat cross the street perpendicular to our flat! NOTE: - must write about how huge cats are here! they make my cats in Manila look malnourished!)
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