The Engagement. 28.09.2018

It was a regular Friday.

Me in my jeans and shirt and James in his bermudas, shirts and slippers. When he said he got off from work early, I didn't suspect.

Dinner was fancier than the usual. It was at Botanico. But even then, no suspicions because this dinner was planned weeks ahead. We wanted to try their food because we were in love with their place.

That night, the place was filled with beautiful people. When I say beautiful,  I mean people who dressed up and took the effort to look nice on a Friday night. And us, of course we were underdressed. But I guess as a consolation we were beautiful too. Nasa kalooban nga lang :P

We were escorted to the table and was asked whether we wanted still or sparkling water. We chose still.  When it came, it was a big bottle of Evian (I told James it tasted like tubig na galing sa poso).  The menu said it was $8. For a bottle of water.

For appetizer, we had classic ceviche (in other words kilawin) and Cold pickled beef tongue with pickled celeriac, mustard caviar, chipotle mayonnaise and fried capers (in short, lengua).

Kilawin

Lengua

James' main was Truffle Conchiglie. It was amazing! (i wish i was too at describing flavours)  Mine was Peri peri chicken. I found it to be just ok but James was more appreciative and yes, he has more complex taste buds.

Fresh pasta cooked with caramelized onions, truffle paste and Parmesan, topped with sautéed wild mushrooms, slow-cooked egg yolk, and seasonal truffles.

Deboned half chicken, marinated with grilled peppers and citrus peels, served with grilled avocado and hazelnut polenta.

For dessert, we had lemon grass panna cotta.

Lemongrass-infused Panna Cotta served with ginger ice cream, Granny Smith apples, and lemon meringue.

Dinner was perfect. The food was superb. Outside, there were fairy lights and a live band was playing Jazzy Bossa Nova-ish kind of music. Perfect setting for a romantic engagement.

"Little did u know how your life would change after dinner." - James

But it did not happen there.

We were so full from dinner so we opted to have a long walk. We headed to the foliage garden. We sat on a bench, soaking in the tranquility of the place while looking at the stars. From there, we could still hear the music from the restaurant so it was all nice. (I shouldn't mention that I was getting bitten by mosquitoes because that would tarnish the picture-perfect setting but it's just so tempting to say so).

Then he said, something sticky fell on his neck. I offered my wet wipes but he refused and instead opened his bag to get his "bimpo" aka the box.

We stood up. Hugged. Then he said his back was aching so he bent down. I saw a red box. My eyes went big but I pretended not to see it because I didn't want to ruin his surprise. I didnt know that he intentionally wanted me to see the box. So he bent down again, and at that point, I couldn't stop myself from asking if it's a box.

He stood up laughing. And I BAWLED. For a looong time. It was unexpected. Me the stoic girlfriend crying and stomping my feet at the sight of a ring?  No way. I didn't dream of this. But it did happen. I was crying noisily and in the midst of it telling him that I hope no one is in the area otherwise they might call the police thinking that someone is having an emergency.

After a good 5-10 minutes, he asked me while laughing "are you ready?"

I nodded.

And just like in the movies, he bent down on one knee and said

"Im sorry I cant bend down very long so this is a short version.  Sweetheart, in the past one and a half years that we've been together, you've made me the happiest man alive. You gave me a reason to be happy, to look forward to the future. You gave me stability, and most importantly, because of you I know what it means to be truly and deeply in love. And I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel the same way. Lori Jane Masil Pasaraba, Will you marry me? ""

I said yes and cried again.

And in Ted Mosby voice "And that kids, is the story of how your father proposed to your mother."

Tribute to our home

I am not afraid of typhoons.

Growing up in Aparri, it's a norm for us to welcome several typhoons in a year. We're like a tourist spot for typhoons. Typhoons visit us before going to Ilocos or Basco and eventually to HongKong or Taiwan. 

As a young child, I remember typhoons as moments when my siblings and I would stay upstairs and watch roofs flying like Aladdin's flying carpet.  If it comes at night, the fear would come not from the possibility that it might destroy our house but from the howling of the wind while we are trying to sleep because it sounds like what one would expect from a ghost.  As I grew older, my mother would ask me and my siblings to put rags or old clothes at the window sill to prevent rainwater from seeping through. If it's signal #3, we would tie our window handles to the grilles for reinforcement. My father would always have his flashlight beside him in case of a power outage at the middle of the night.  

Post typhoon, people are like mushrooms. They would sprout by the roadside to survey whose roof has been flown, which house has been destroyed, whose coconut tree has lost its fruits, how many electric posts or lamp posts have been toppled (this will indicate how long would the power outage be), whose carabao drowned in the river, etc etc. At home, we would be happy because our rainwater tanks would be full serving as an assurance that we will have enough drinking water until the summer season.  By dusk, people would go to the stores to buy kerosene for their lamps.  The following day, we will be back in school. If the chairs are wet, we'll bring them out to dry under the sun. Same with the books. The chalks and erasers too. 

This was our routine. 

From my young mind, typhoons were a hassle, not a disaster.  This was probably due to zero human casualties (as much as I could remember) at the end of it. And largely, because we were lucky to always had a home where we could sleep warmly at night.

Last Friday night, Typhoon Ompong made a painful impact in our lives. It massively damaged our home. 

Our home is 50+ years old. It was built in the 1960s when my uncle was in the Navy. The main house is a small square-ish type, about 40 sqm. As with every Filipino family's expansion plan in the past, my parents would extend it every time we would have extra money until it became bigger.

It was a humble home filled with many memories.  The sweet memories of Christmas mornings where we would wake up from the sound of our relatives voices in the kitchen. Christmas parties for me and my siblings' friends and classmates. Learning how to ride the bike from the living room to the kitchen. Navigating my way through itchy sacks of rice during the harvest season. The sound of my mother's voice once she comes back from the market.  Or the sound of my mother's voice on Saturday mornings asking us to get up and start helping with the household chores. Opting to spend an entire Saturday cleaning it when I was in high school.  It's a house where relatives, neighbors  and friends could always drop by for a cup of coffee and tinapay or a meal.  A house where neighbors and relatives could always borrow a salop of rice. Or ask for a gallon of drinking water from the tangke when theirs run dry.  It's also a place for more sombre occasions, the most recent of which was my father's wake 8 years ago.

From then, our house had nobody to constantly give shelter to. If my mother had her way, she would prefer to stay there for it is where she feels really at home. I understand. We understand. It is the house that she and my father had nurtured for our family.

Both of them have aged so much. My mother and our house. And both of them still try to nurture each other. Unfortunately, our house is much weaker. Maybe because compared to my mother, it's receiving less love and attention. We rarely go home to visit it. It doesn't receive regular check-ups and care (renovation).  Every time there's a news of a typhoon in Aparri, I pray that our house could withstand it. I imagine it to be a frail elderly who is still subject to the harshness of life. I know one day it will cave in. 

Learning about how strong the typhoon was, I was expecting to hear bad news about the house. Confirming that expectation was painful. I cried for a long time. It's a strong reminder of the passing of time. It feels like holding on to something that inevitably goes away. 

Seeing this photo, I still feel proud of how strong it is. This has withstood 50 years worth of typhoons. And even if the roof and one side of the wall has been damaged, it still stands. 

Thank you house. 

This is our house in June this year. Im glad that my boyfriend, my sister's husband, our friends and relatives still managed to see it in its original structure before it caved in.