This past spring was my first in Europe. Somehow I'd never been on the continent in time to catch the season, always arriving too early or too late. Since living here, I've discovered that truly spring is a reward, a tasty treat from heaven, the biggest picker-upper of all. I cannot stress this enough. After the harsh winter, part of which was spent involuntarily skiing on my boots on the way to the office each morning, every sweater-less day has gained newfound value and significance. Sunshine makes happy.
F took me on a trip to Keukenhof as we were en route to Brussels on one of our commuting days. The Keukenhof is the world's largest tulip garden. I had been fantasizing about it for years, since I was a little girl and saw my first tulip. I believed somewhere across the ocean there was this country just bursting at the seams with these beautiful (and, in the Philippines, rather expensive) flowers, and someday I would run along its bountiful fields. It turns out that running is not entirely possible as these well-guarded flower beds are part of a multi-billion dollar industry. But they're amazing to look at from afar, aren't they?
I was not the only one smitten with tulips. The Keukenhof is a big favorite among septuagenarians and Japanese wedding couples looking for pictorial locations. The garden boasts of - count them - 7 million bulbs, a boast that I believe entirely. I died and went to tulip heaven. Or Lisse, the Netherlands. 
Of the 7 million, it was difficult to pick favorites, but these certainly made an impression:
{Yellow Gold, a personal weakness}
{Pink Floyd}
{Beauty Queen}
{Orange Emperor - what a lovely riot}
{Eskimo Chief - I'm sure they meant to say Inuit}
Keukenhof opens only two months a year. The rest of the time the tulips need their rest - all that preening cannot be easy. I'm glad I got to glimpse them, and fulfill a fantasy from childhood.
26 June 2009
Fields of Keukenhof: For all my tulip needs
White-gloved
He got me posting again.
I was about to tuck into bed when the news broke out on CNN, and I could not look away. I'm so sad about Michael Jackson's passing. I feel for his kids. I grew up listening to his music. I always thought that he was deeply unhappy, though I'd be the first to admit that I don't know him at all, inasmuch as he "belongs" to the public that's trained its sights on him since he was five years old. I'll always wish I had been at one of his concerts.
Thank you for the music, and for teaching me a thing or two about dance.
And a personal fave - my Pops is named Ben:
Rest well and be at peace, Michael.
07 June 2009
20 May 2009
Girlfriend
For a few days I was back in Brussels. Not for any reasons of sentiment, but because I had to take care of business. I picked up my little shiny piece of Belgian-ness, only slightly better than Godiva: my residency permit. It allows me to prolong this year in Europe and keep the party (ha!) going. It took ages to arrange for this card, but the people at the desk for étrangers were incredibly polite and helpful, that I'm not complaining one bit about having to make the trip from Paris for this.
Coming back for the residency permit is also a great excuse to spend time with the friend with a heart of gold, P.C. Over steaming orecchiette pasta that she formed last night with her own hands and her clucking that I seem even tinier than the last time she saw me - I swear underneath all the tight-fitting clothes and eyeliner is an Italian nonna - we catch up about her latest exploits. Invariably, the discussion turns to boys, they who seemingly fall from trees and land at her feet. We indulge in ice cream before dinner is ready, drink too much, cuss once in a while, say irreverent things, mercilessly gossip, and together miss and long for other people we know who are no longer in Brussels, this city of hellos and inevitable good byes.
P.C. is someone who would do anything for a friend. Her friendship is not easily earned but once you have it, you get a wellspring of fierce loyalty and devotion and incredible generosity. I am friendly and sociable, but I will admit that I rarely let anybody get too close. I've had few girlfriends over the years, opting for the simple, uncomplicated company of boys.
More importantly, I grew up with a twin sister who is all the best friend one could ever wish for, relieving the urgency to make other friends. But once in a while, you get to meet people like P.C., who are all heart and warmth, who show what it is like to stand up for the people you care about and to give and give and give some more, who are kind and understanding to a fault.
What I admire about her is her honesty. In a city like Brussels, where everyone puts their best foot forward and strives to make the most winning impression, she's a breath of fresh air in her loud, vibrant, none-too-bashful, Italian way. We worked in the same office, often typing away side by side till the late hours of the evening, trying to please some distant, implacable supervisor with our zeal and dedication. With P.C., there was never a dull moment. We'd have little dance breaks in the middle of the room. (We have our own choreography to "Poker Face", which goes well with our Lady Gaga-esque hairstyle.) She'd pop the window open to smoke in the non-smoking building. We'd raid the fridge in the pantry down the hall for chocolate and alcohol clearly marked as the property some nameless bureaucrats of much higher pay-grades.
Or we would attend every single reception and cocktail there was - and in the circuit of the European institutions there are a great many - sending an SMS to each other after we've staked out the event and the open bar. Being an effective networker, P.C. knew how to work a room and get introduced to everybody. She'd be laden with business cards before the night was over. So she would drag me along and introduce me, the lone Asian girl in the European crowd. Before we'd make it to the buffet, she'd have air-kissed maybe 20 people, she was that popular.
Now she tells me that she likes this boy, and it has been a while since she has liked anybody as much. But he is bad news, she laments. And I say, You would not have it any other way. And that is true: she is particularly attracted to the type that breaks hearts and leaves women crying in their wake. This one is not an exception, as his history and track record are well known in this tiny circle in which we all move. So it is good that I've come to Brussels to knock some sense into her head, she tells me as she convinces me to give her a pep-talk, perhaps not different from the one she's been giving herself for days now. And I don't need to say much really, she knows what I think (along the lines of: "Be yet not so stupid").
But she also knows I won't get all judgy and preachy, she won't hear any I-told-you-sos from this corner. I'll be right here, a bucket of ice cream at the ready, spoon in hand, and the assurance that it will be alright.
This photo is of three nymphs at the Louvre. I wish I knew the name of the figure. This instantly made me hear Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" in my head.
17 May 2009
In Brussels I fell in love
It was someone new. Who made me laugh more boisterously than usual. Who made me want to style my hair every day, pay more attention to my nails and take up makeup in earnest again. And wear heels!
Who reminded me how sweet champagne was, and how considerably it improved my French and my dancing. Who chided me for taking myself too seriously, who said I looked nicer if I smiled more.
Who swore to me that tomorrow will be spectacular, that 2009 was still going to be my year, and that I am all sorts of amazing. I partook of this Kool-Aid unreservedly.
Who inspired me to learn more about the world to match the fervor that burned brightly inside. Who showed me how it was to be perfectly content with a wordless stroll across the city, feeling with each step how far I've come in this young life.
Who told me what I was missing, and that it was alright to demand it. Who taught me alone was not the same as lonely. Who said what mattered most was that I could be true to myself.
Brussels will always be a special place for letting me see myself with new eyes and say, "You're not so bad. Not so bad at all."
A life update: Yes, still here
I thought it best to blog now so as to arrest rumors of my alien abduction. I'm still very much amongst you. I'm just around, dear friends, lurking on some of your blogs, though painfully aware I should be spending a bit more time on mine.
Many times I've found myself back on this page, on this blog that's been dear to me, and being at a loss for words. There's just much to express lately that it can get overwhelming at times, and to figure out where to properly begin can be quite challenging. It reminds me of a state a friend once described: "to laugh and to cry with the greatest force of your life". Not being able to decide which, I chose to still the fingers that touched this keyboard.
This year of peregrination in Europe (as so beautifully put by the lovely Lala) has not been without challenges and tumbles and prickly patches. I've written about some here on occasion. I also remain incredibly aware of the many wonderful breaks I've had all this time, the kindness, the generosity, the sheer goodness of life and people. Truth be told, the good severely outnumber the not-so-much.
So I've moved on from Brussels, the place that surprised me by being dear, for whom I have unexpectedly fond feelings. I'm still figuring out my next moves. I get asked countless times about what I am going to do next, enough to make me want to pass around FAQ sheets to people I meet. And the answer to that - well, honest to God, I have no idea. It's terrifying, yet also quite liberating. I've ceased being in control, and am not unlike the leaf that falls into a stream, caught in the slow current that decides the new places it will go.
These days I am a tireless cover letter factory, churning out one application after the other, day after day. I've been here before. That's a truly sad observation and quite the commentary on my current state of affairs. Alas, one cannot pause from the paddling. I cannot dwell on the emails left unanswered, the phone that is not ringing, the jobs that are not materializing. Girl has got to hustle. Self-cheerleading is a life-skill.
These days I have also been reflecting, and spending no small amount of time on it, on a relationship that I treasure and value, and to which I attribute why I am in Europe in the first place. (There isn't much more I can say about it here.)
That essentially is what has been filling my days.
Well, that isn't completely true. Another part of this update is that I am now living in Paris, with my much-beloved sister. It's springtime, arguably one of this city's better seasons. I've been fixing up healthy, hearty meals at home and for my sister's lunch box. My cooking skills have tremendously improved, after several crafty experiments in our tiny kitchen. I surprise myself with my abilities, frankly! Only last week, I perfected a lemon risotto of shrimp and asparagus. (It turned out pretty darn good, and that wasn't just the white wine talking!)
I've also been going to the gym and working out regularly. I'm one of those people who can blissfully tune out, iPod in ear, and just start taking out their cares in the world on the treadmill or the rowing machine. By doing this at least three times a week at two hours each visit, I have been making amends for months of mindless consumption of pommes frites, chocolate and artisanal beers. I'm still paying for my Belgian excesses. Being able to work out again and get into a fitness regimen is something that makes me happy these days.
When I'm not training to be a kitchen goddess or throwing around kettlebells, I go for walks around this beautiful city. Paris has done wonders for my spirit. I'm surrounded by so much careless, relaxed beauty and languid grace that I find myself whispering frequent thanks to the higher power that created the heart that can appreciate. Indeed, above all, gratitude.
30 April 2009
100 days
Yes, yes. I know there was a lot of governing and serious business going on in President Obama's first 100 days in office. But these images of him with his family are just precious, even inspiring. Never has the White House been awash in so much love and affection.
A slideshow here from the Official White House Photostream on flickr - with more photos of Obama undertaking his presidential duties.
