Cliché

New year. New beginnings. New life. Who in the world doesn't believe these? Well, I do. And with the new chapter I started a couple of days back, I decided to join the bandwagon of writing down resolutions. Fact of the matter is, am not really a fan of prepping a (long) list of new year's resolutions. But I told myself I want to be better. I have to improve myself.

I set two criteria when I wrote down these last night before going to bed. First, they have to be realistic. and second, they must, at all cost, be achieved.

• Read more
• Cook new dishes (It actually means to be more inventive)
• Cook for others
• Travel (somewhere I've never been to) at least twice this year
• Save
• Spend more time at home
• Volunteer
• Care less
• Care more
• Seek a mentor
• Try (and learn) something new
• Find THAT job that I love (which is...I dunno yet what exactly it is)
• Don't. Get. Stuck.

What are your resolutions? Share. Someone might just help you with them.

I'm on Twitter @imavjavier

Go and Share!

It's in the Blood

Here’s how my love for cooking began.

Perhaps one can say that it runs in our family. My grandmother, known to many as Naty, used to own a karinderya in Malate just within the compound of her old house. My auntie Judy was her assistant in preparing and cooking the dishes. Everyday they serve various Filipino cuisines that were really well-liked. Among the popular ones were kare-kare, sinigang, ginisang munggo, pinakbet, adobo and paksiw na bangus. Lunch was definitely the peak time where customers go to her small place and savor the delicious taste of her specialties. Students, office workers, housewives, taxi drivers – they all went to my lola’s humble turu-turo.

When I was in elementary, I used to stay in my lola’s house after school and wait for my parents to fetch me in the evening. Many times when I went there early after class (Primary pupils in Malate Catholic School go home at 12nn), I was surprised to see plenty of people standing outside the compound. I remember vividly that those were customers waiting to be seated. They’d rather stay than go to the other nearby karinderya. They all loved my lola’s cooking!

Her son, my father, most likely inherited the talent. He told me a few times that his family owned a small space in a wet market where they used to sell vegetables. I assume this is through this experience that he learned the knack of choosing fresh ingredients. We had a few talks years ago in the kitchen, while I assisted him, and he taught me some of the do’s and don’ts. But perhaps, my father’s skills were refined when he started working in a professional kitchen.

He worked in a hotel in Saipan in the early 90’s. He went home after a year and continued working in kitchens of various hotels and restaurants. If I remember it right, he started as a dishwasher before he had the opportunity to use knives and ladles and pans. 11 years ago, he found a job in a cruise ship abroad. It was like he started all over again because for a few years he washed, sterilized and wiped dry kitchen utensils and china wares. Yet due to hard work and perseverance he is now an assistant cook. The sad part is, his lack of formal learning hinders him from further moving forward.

During the times when he was at home with us for a vacation, he really cooked a lot (No wonder I gained weight this much. Haha!). I stayed close to him, watched his every move, offered help with the simple tasks like beating eggs, peeling potatoes, slicing onions, etc. I tasted his dishes and tried to remember the techniques of cooking them. Our little kitchen has been the bonding place for both of us; it is where we met and talked and shared stories.

While he is away, I take charge of our kitchen. Although my mother does cook once in a while (Her kaldereta is oh-so-good!), I burn pans and consume ingredients most of the time. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail. My mom and my siblings are my critics. I have been trying new things, experimenting with what’s available at home and following the recipes I see on TV and read on magazines. Sometimes I even put twists into them. But to expand my know-how I know I needed a broader audience. I have been cooking for my friends and put into consideration their comments and suggestions.  Back in college I would invite some of them to come at home. I cooked simple meals and they liked them. At least that’s what they told me.

For some time I forgot about my love for cooking. Crazy, isn’t? Perhaps I got too pre-occupied with the things going on around me; I might have focused too much on what I need to do rather than what I really want to do. But, quite frankly, thanks to Hell’s Kitchen and Master Chef, I was revived. I was reminded of the passion. The flame was ignited.

I continue cooking and experimenting once in a while. I try to be resourceful most of the time, using the available stuff at home. Even if I lack sleep I wake up early in the morning to prepare baon for mama and my siblings. On weekends, I still cook lunch and dinner. But even if my father is working abroad, I am not alone in the kitchen. Freedom, our youngest, always volunteers to do things for me. She asks for instructions, calls me when she’s unsure of something and takes pride of her accomplishments. She is my “assistant”. Oh yes, I see the young, inquisitive and persistent Maverick in her. The best part is, she said she wants to take up culinary in college. I couldn’t be happier.

I owe it to my family, to my father most especially. And although my mother does not cook as often as my papa, she is my number one fan and would always encourage me to go on and do what I really want. The same thing’s gonna happen to my siblings, to Freedom in particular. She’s gonna cook her heart out, do well in her chosen career, and I will be there for her all the way. That’s just how things go in our family.

Few But True

If I were to delete my Facebook friends and keep the close ones, and by close I mean those who I spend quality time with and I know I can count on through thick and thin, I’ll be left with less than ten contacts.

No offense to my FB buddies. But we all know that not everyone in our FB list is the closest pal we’ve got. Some are friends of friends, while others are mere acquaintances. What saddens me is to see most of my contacts have the chance to spend time with their real barkada. I envy them.

I wasn’t the popular guy in high school. Neither was I the smartest nor the athletic, heartthrob type. I was just an average student. And with being ordinary I had a few good, close chums who, admittedly, helped me get through HS. After graduation, I started to lose communication with them one by one. But thanks to modern technology and social networking I am rekindling some old friendships.

Things kind of turned differently in college. I was active and visible; I joined various guilds, won contests in and out of school, appeared in a few productions, and did absolutely well in my studies. I worked with several people, developed rapport and gained confidence with some.

It was in second year college where I worked in a small group of people for an advertising project. We were tasked to launch our own agency and part of the job was, of course, to think of a company name. We had several ideas then but we settled for MiDAS. We thought we can turn everything we touch into success, that we can achieve anything, and that nothing is impossible. We did pretty well during the launch. But what I didn’t see coming was the effect of the project to us. Because we worked well together, we decided to stick with one another for most of our other school assignments. We lost a few members along the way but welcomed new ones that made the team stronger and better. The working relationship, later on, developed into a deep, meaningful friendship.

We supported one another in every undertaking – school projects, student elections, competitions, financials, family problems, dealing with partners and ex’s, dealing with professors. We lied, encouraged, inspired, fought for one another. We’ve seen one another eat, sleep, brush teeth, stumble, get broke, cry, disappoint, fail, get humiliated, fall in love, fall out of love, fall in love again, laugh, fight  back, succeed. Name it. Once I thought that we were the dream team. We accomplished things because we know our strengths and weaknesses. I can’t claim that we were the best but I know we were strong. Yet, just like in any aspect of life, change is inevitable.

We still kept in touch after graduation. We hanged out for several occasions, updated one another of our job applications, shared news about our alma matter and stuff like that. I tried to arrange a get-together during our anniversary but everybody started to get busy. Very busy. At some point we lost communications. I reached out, reminded them how much I miss them and tried to set a reunion once in a while. I’d say I tried my best but I grew tired. And to see some of them go out and enjoy their time together without inviting the rest was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Somehow I felt it was just me who wanted to keep the group together.

MiDAS was my refuge. It was like a new found family. I know I could count on them for whatever. I did what I could to keep it alive and bonded but some things are out of my control. No matter how hard I try to reach out to them, if they are not willing to exert effort, it’s just useless. Oh, yes! For the past years since graduation there is one day in a year where MiDAS would be complete – post Christmas celebration. For me, it has just become obligatory rather than a whole-hearted gathering. Why only once a year?

But despite a depressing reality, life goes on. I can no longer live in something that doesn’t exist anymore. I have to blame myself though for being sentimental. But I have learned to know where to stand in somebody’s life. MiDAS was a college group. And college ended three years ago.

Less than ten FB contacts aren’t bad after all. No, it’s not bad at all. As long as I know my friendship is being valued, as long as I know I can count on that person, as long as they are true, I couldn’t be more thankful. 

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Mav's Toque

This morning I finished four episodes of Hell's Kitchen Season 1 (yeah, I just got out of the cave) and two more tonight. It was exciting and thrilling to watch. I was revived of my old dream.


Once our GM asked me what would I be had I not pursued my current career. I said I might be doing documentaries; capturing interesting yet socially relevant stories.  Either that or becoming a chef. (A combination of the two would be awesome!) Yes, I love to cook. It's my most favorite house chore. I don't mind spending hours in our hot, incomplete and tiny kitchen; preparing food is something  I am most willing to do all day.


My knowledge in cooking is very limited. I get to pick a few tips from watching TV shows and by searching the internet but I want to learn more. I want to experience working in a restaurant kitchen: chopping meat on thick chop boards, baking new dishes I don't know, presenting food flawlessly on clean chinaware, wearing that white buttoned uniform while being formally taught by a well-experienced chef. But, frankly, I cannot afford to go to a culinary school.  I once planned of joining a reality show though but, due to very limited time, I let it pass.  Sayang.  Maybe next time. 


Now I am confused. I have already started a solid career but I realized my desire to cook dishes and make people happy through my cooking is still burning inside me. I hope that it will happen someday.  Should opportunity present itself again I am not gonna let it pass. I will grab it, learn from it and improve myself through it.


I'm gonna have my own restaurant someday.

24

I've been working on this article for my new blog site.  It’s supposed to come out on my birthday. The thing is, I couldn’t finish it. Probably because I’m trying too much, thinking I’d gain people’s attention by writing impressively.  But long ago I’ve been taught that writing is a way to communicate; an opportunity to express one’s self and not to impress others.

So here I am now being true to myself.  Scribbling the letters with all faithfulness to what I really feel and to what I truly want to say.  It’s just simple. In my twenty-four years of existence, I can say that I have matured.  And I’m continuously working to be a better person.

My life experiences may not be as complicated or as challenging as those of other people.  But just like anybody else, I had my ups and downs, sweet and bitter moments, laughter and tears, peace and anxiety.  I’ve been insecure of other people’s talents.  Uncertainties have scared the hell out of me. And, lately, I’ve been so awfully anxious about a lot of stuff going on around me. Likewise, I've fallen a hundred times and hurt many people. I lied. I cheated. I refused to help. I cursed. I judged. I took advantage. I cried. But life goes on.  

I’ve had some regrets, yes.  Yet I know I cannot live a life full of guilt.  Moving on is the only way. Part of it is to accept who I am, what I can and cannot do, embrace my gifts and be thankful for all the blessings I receive.  Actually, if I take a careful account of my fortune, I could brag on my most valuable treasures: I have a stable job that lets me do things I like, a healthy and loving family, few but true friends who never fall short in fulfilling their duties as my ate’s and kuya’s (that is because they are more mature than me), an affectionate dog who makes me smile every single day, a vigorous and fit body that can finish a 10-kilometer run *ehem*, and so on.

I guess all I’m trying to say is, I’ve somehow come to know myself. In some ways I’ve accepted my weaknesses and used well my strengths to be the best person that I can be. When something is not meant for me, I’m learning to let go.  Yet if I badly want to earn or win something, I realize I have to work hard for it.

There are thousands of things I still need to learn and discover.  But I am more confident now. I am ready to confront the challenges that lie ahead. With patience, tolerance and understanding, I know I can.