Prince Charming is Dead. No, He Never Lived to Begin With.

I know this has already been said before but SERIOUSLY. Hollywood love story writers and romance novel authors should be exterminated from all corners of this world for creating the biggest lie ever--that there exists a man on this Earth who, after his woman leaves him because she could no longer put up with his jerkiness and boards a bus bound somewhere far from him, would run after that bus while crying and pleading, "Please, don't go, I need you and I love you and I realized how big of a jerk I am!" Worse than creating that lie, these writers have duped women into believing that this kind of guy actually exists in real life. And so when the men in these women's lives turn out to be NOTHING like how they are depicted in rom-coms and  literary works with romantic love as the central theme, they end up feeling extremely disappointed and stupid for believing that Adam Sandler's character in 50 First Dates lives among us. 

I hate to break it to you but no man would go at  such great lengths to not only be with you but to STAY IN LOVE with you eternally. Sure, they put their best foot forward during the courtship stage and the first few years of the relationship. But after a few more years, their true colors come out (I don't exactly know what their colors are when they court you and what their eventual true colors are but I imagine when they decide to pursue you, they display a sundry of happy colors--yellow, light blue, pink, light green--you know what I mean. Upon the lapse of several years of being in a relationship with you, those colors fade one by one to reveal a disgusting version of brown--yes, fecal matter brown.) and you realize that the "best foot" was actually a STINKING foot with fungi, dead black nails and mushrooms happily thriving in the spaces between their toes all along. They stop wooing you and when you express unhappiness and displeasure, hoping that they would get the message and change for the better, they instead say, "Oh well, let's just part ways. Clearly, we haven't been happy. We're really not meant for each other." And just like that, they disappear. No scene of him running after you, telling you how terribly sorry he is and promising (and actualizing his promises) to make up for all his shortcomings. No, none of that BS. The only scene you'll see is yourself alone in bed, crying yourself to sleep each night, and feeling stupid for even placing your faith in him that he was your, ugh, Prince Charming. Oh, Disney fairytale writers should be burned alive too, along with Bruno Mars for writing a song with these lyrics "I'd catch a grenade for ya/Throw my hand on the blade for ya/I'd jump in front of a train for ya/You know I'd do anything for ya/See I would go through all this pain/Take a bullet straight through my brain/Yes I would die for ya, baby/But you won't do the same." Yeah, right. And it is but right that I don't do the same for ya cause indubitably ya're just lying just like every male specie out there.

The moral of the story? Don't wait for a man to make you happy. Be your own happiness, be what makes you happy.  Because if you wait for a man to do that job for you, you will wait unhappily ever after forever and ever.

The Magic of Meshwe

"Dear, you should try T***** Shawarma. It's really good. It's close to the real thing," a friend of mine once told me. Without giving myself an opportunity to blink, I rushed to a nearby mall where the said shawarma stall was located and bought one. When the guy who made it handed it to me, I immediately unwrapped it like an overly excited child, opening a long-waited-for gift on a Christmas morning. I took a bite. After tasting it, all I could utter to myself was, "Nah. This isn't even anywhere near the real thing." It's the same "shawarma" that I have had in the past seven (7) years or so in the Philippines. The white sauce was bland and watery (the sauce of a real shawarma is supposed to be thick) and it kept dripping down my hands and onto my dress. UGH. It had cabbage, cucumber, tomatoes and onions in it. I don't recall eating shawarma in Saudi Arabia with those in it! The beef was dry, gummy and so burnt that I had to exert extra effort to break down the meat in my mouth. Needless to state, I was disappointed. And it's not the first time.

A few months after, my sisters and I discovered a restaurant in Malate that serves Middle Eastern food. Yes, they do have authentic Mediterranean items in their menu but when we ordered their chicken shawarma, our high expectations fell flat on the floor. This is hopeless, we thought. We will never get to taste real shawarma again. *insert weeping face here*

Sometime in August, Nathan Mounayer, a good friend of mine from high school, announced in his Facebook account that he would be serving authentic shawarma and other Lebanese cuisine at Mercato Centrale, located at the Fort, Taguig. While I was a little apprehensive about its authenticity, I nevertheless had a gut feeling that it could be the answer to my almost decade-long quest for the real shawarma. (It may sound a little too dramatic but I'm certain every Saudi kid has been on a similar search ever since he/she started living in the country.)

I excitedly told my sisters about it and we all agreed that we would raid Mercato one Friday or Saturday night and taste Meshwe's shawarma together. Sabay sabay dapat, walang iwanan. Haha. But the traitor that I am, I decided to break the pact one Saturday night after an exhausting three-hour class and headed to Mercato.

Filled with exhilaration, I immediately looked for Nathan's stall upon arriving. When I spotted him shaving the chicken meat from the rotating spit, my elation shot up even more and I walked as fast as my legs could carry me. 

When I got there and after my hi-hello-how-have-you-been exchanges with Nathan, I ordered about three chicken shawarma sandwiches, one shawarma plate, and extra garlic sauce. After a while, my orders were ready and it was time to see (or in this case, taste) for myself if there's any veracity to Nathan's Facebook posts that his chicken shawarma is the real deal.

And my reaction after the first bite?

Do you remember that scene in the animated film Ratatouille when the extremely-hard-to-please food critic Anton Ego first tasted Remy's ratatouille, showing how Remy's concoction magically reawakened a comforting childhood gastronomic memory in him?

Yes, I'm referring to this scene:

That's exactly how I felt after my taste buds' first contact with Meshwe's chicken shawarma. It was an utterly delightfully nostalgic experience--the pita bread, the slowly grilled chicken, the french fries, the pickles, and the to-die-for garlic sauce. GOD. That's what I had been looking for during my entire stay here in the Manille! It really IS the real deal. I was almost enchantingly transported back to my Riyadh/Jeddah days when my family and I would go to Batha or Balad on a Thursday night for a little shopping and have chicken shawarma and falafel after. Or those times when my younger siblings and I would save our meager five (5) Riyals allowance, use the money to buy shawarma and hold a "shawarmafest" in the house while our parents were out. Or those times when I would get good grades in school and my father would reward me with shawarma. Haha. Yes, I've always been shallow.

Meshwe's shawarma indeed allowed me to relive memories of my home (to this day, I consider Riyadh/Jeddah as my home)--that's how authentic it is. And because it enabled me to somehow re-experience my life in Riyadh/Jeddah (and of course because it's beyond mouth-wateringly delicious), I kept coming back almost every Saturday night. My sisters and I would have it for dinner and breakfast the following day. It was something that became part of our weekend routine, a tradition--until, sadly, Nathan announced in Meshwe's page that he would no longer be serving in Mercato. *insert weeping face here* It really broke my heart not only because my sisters and I would no longer get to taste authentic Lebanese shawarma (at least until Meshwe resumes operations *crosses fingers*) but, as Nathan's good friend (we knew each other way back in high school; we were both officers of our school's Student Council for the same term), I was really rooting for him and it was just heartrending to see him and Meshwe go...especially after he informed me that his stint at Mercato was actually based on a contest and the reason for his leaving was he didn't win.

(Readers, brace yourselves for a lengthy rant after this sentence.)

Boo you, judges! I don't personally know you but who are you to judge the authenticity of a real Lebanese shawarma when, I'm quite sure, the shawarma you have tasted all your lives are the bland, watery ones being sold at the mall food courts and LRT/MRT stations? Who are you to say what's authentic and what's not? You guys are like Paula Abdul as a judge in American Idol--for the love of God, she can't sing and she was engaged to judge a singing contest!

I may not be an established food blogger--or a blogger at that--but having spent 18 years of my life in Saudi Arabia and having eaten mostly Middle Eastern food (of course, shawarma included) during those years should vest me (and other similarly situated Riyadh/Jeddah OFW kids) some degree of authority to say what's real, authentic shawarma (or falafel or kabsa or garlic sauce) and what's not. So whatever you say doesn't matter. I have tasted Meshwe's shawarma and other offerings and yes, they are the real deal.

The first time I tried Meshwe's chicken shawarma. That's Chef Nathan and me, giving him and Meshwe my stamp of approval. :)

Falafel Sandwich. This was a new addition to Meshwe's menu and I loved it to bits.

The Morning After: Using the remnants of the garlic sauce to add flavor to my egg pandesal sandwhich for breakfast. :)

Shawarmafest with my sisters on a Saturday night!

Top photo (L-R) Chef Nat; his younger brother, Noel; myself; my nephew, baby Big Mac; my younger sister, Nellie. The photo below shows my sisters enjoying their shawarma like a boss! :)

To Chef Nat, this is just a temporary setback and I have faith that you and Meshwe will go a long way. I'm not just saying this because you are my friend but because your Lebanese cooking is the real thing. You know what you're talking about when you say Meshwe serves authentic Lebanese food. No bluff, no exaggerated claims, and no overrated praises.

 

I can't wait for the day when my sisters and I would be able to hold shawarmafest on Saturday nights again courtesy of Meshwe. Inshaallah, we won't have to wait too long. But in the meantime that we can't have that yet, allow me to thank you for bringing authentic chicken shawarma, falafel sandwich, and garlic sauce in Manila. And because of Meshwe, I was also able to see some IPSJians whom I haven't met in so many years so thank you for that too.

 

:)

 

P.S. This is a repost from Meshwe's Facebook page: "If you live near Fairview or Novaliches Lagro, you could order from us for pick-up. A minimum order of 10 sandwiches is required. :)"

 

So if you are a resident of that area (lucky you!), go ahead and treat yourself to real Lebanese goodness. You may also contact Meshwe at 0927-663-8764. Bon appetit! :)

 

 

Once Upon a Time in a Psychedelic Dream...

 

...a girl wishes for things she knows she will never have. Or thinks will never have.

Every morning, the sun's piercing light wakes her up and she wishes the sun would never rise again. She summons the strength and courage to get out of her uncomfortable bed that kept her in a half-asleep-half-awake state all night and face what she knows would be another lackluster day.

She goes into the bathroom and before she positions herself under the shower, she pays the wall mirror a visit and stares at her reflection for several minutes. As she looks at herself, a myriad of thoughts go running in her head, most of which are wishful thinking. I wish I had the courage to run after my dreams, she often tells herself. But she knows that even if she could be in possession of that amount of courage to push her to chase her dreams, she knows that her unfortunate circumstances, which she has no control of, will always keep her hands and feet bound. They will always keep her in this cage that has provided her a risk-free, safe environment in which she could at least thrive and survive day by day.

As she goes to that place which she neither loves nor hates, she asks herself, "Are you happy?" But she brushes that question aside and just goes on to thank the Almighty Deity for keeping her alive and providing her a life that perhaps some would even envy.

She arrives at that place, sits down and does what she has to do for the day. Every once in a while, her mind goes adrift to a region of her memory that she often visits. Once again, she sees herself standing in front of a rowdy but adoring crowd, singing and losing herself in the music. The crowd applauds and she feels that this is the world where she belongs. She knows and people know that music is the only thing she was great at. That's where she feels most useful, happy and content.

 

That world was supposed to be her home. But she had to abandon it in favor of practicality. "You will never be able to feed yourself in the future if you live in that world," her elders warned her.

She snaps back to reality and continues to work on the day's assigned tasks. Before she knows it, the sun has already resigned and temporarily abdicated the throne to the darkness, the moon and the stars. She decides to stay a little longer because she likes working in utter silence and solitude.

When she finally runs out of the creative energy that pushes her to finish off her work, she decides to call it a day, turns out the lights and leaves.

On her way home, she finds herself thinking again. On most nights, she concludes that she is useless and unneeded in the unfamiliar place where she is. She is a stranger to this place. And quite obviously, she's not too happy about that.

If I can't be in the world that I first called home, then there must be some place else where I can find, at least, fulfillment, she tells herself. She wants to be in a place where she would feel useful, where she would find something to be passionate about. But where is that place? How do I get there? How do I know that that is what my heart desires? And what if I fail at finding the happiness and contentment that my heart seeks in that place?

 

When she asks around in the hopes of finding clarity and enlightenment, she instead receives responses that cause her to be more confused than she already is. "If you stay there, life will be a lot better for you, you'll see," they say. To her, it then becomes a question of choosing between present fulfillment and future contentment. But is there really contentment in store for her in this place in the future?

 

She gets exhausted from all the thinking she does in a day that more often than not, she forgets dinner and chooses to succumb to the call of her bed. Before she shuts her eyes, she stares at the ceiling, letting her thoughts play around in her head until she falls asleep.

Hours later, the sunlight will rudely rouse her from her sleep. And her day will proceed just the way it did the day before, perhaps with minor, trivial deviations.

 

Until she knows with certainty what her heart and soul desire and until she becomes brave enough to let her desire forge the path of her life's journey, her psychedelic dreams, unrealistic as they may be, will help her get by in her almost lifeless daily life. Maybe in this particular day, she will see herself signing copies of a novel she wrote. It's about how a faint-heartened girl, frightened of taking risks, finally found the courage to believe that her unfortunate situation is not caused by the circumstances she thinks she has no control of but by her combined fear and unwillingness to take that one big leap outside of her comfort zone.

07 October 2011

Ya Allah, why would you give me something that's not good for me (if indeed it's not good for me)?

Love,

Confused Me

At the End of the Day, All I Got is Myself.

About a few weeks ago, I had a dream that a certain guy (he doesn't exist in real life) was attempting to rape me. He was able to subdue me, holding my arms against my chest as forcefully as possible to forestall any form of resistance from me. As I struggled, I was looking at you, standing from a distance. I was tearfully pleading for you to help me. Oddly, you just stood there, watching me about to be ravaged by this beast. 

I struggled some more. Luckily, I was able to free myself from the clutches of my would-be-rapist. When I did, the first thing I did was--no, I didn't bombard the rapist with slaps and kicks--run to you and hit you in the face. I was angrily shouting, "You p****! How could you bear watch me get almost raped by that monster?!"

And then I woke up.

I thought then that it was just a bad dream. Never did it occur to me that it was premonitory of what was to happen last weekend.

I always thought of you as the best of all the best friends I have, that you would defend me whenever the need for it arises. I always thought of you as my protector. I always felt secure and safe whenever you're around. But not anymore.

Well, this is not the first time you watched me drown to save yourself. It's not surprising, really. But I'm going to make sure that this will be the last time. Because from now on, I'm going to look after myself. That's how it should be done.

I'm not bitter. What's happening does make me sad but it makes me feel more grateful...because it is a wake up call, a realization that, at the end of the day, all I have is myself to rely on. And I should start making myself stronger to face life's battles all on my own.

All these years, I've been too complacent about taking care of my own self. I'm not going to worry about that, you're there to take care of it for me. That's always been my mentality. But not anymore. It's about time that I become the woman I claim to be--INDEPENDENT, STRONG-WILLED and SELF-SUFFICIENT.

Thank you for the times that you did take care of me and for the times that you were there for me. Above all, thank you for just letting me drift away, alone in the midst of what's happening right now...because I'm re-learning how to be the woman I was before I met you--strong, independent and unafraid to be alone.

It Will Never be Easy.

Of course you're thinking that it's easy. God knows that it's not. Not at all. But it wasn't easy for me to be there either.  It was a difficult choice, this decision I made. At the end of the day, I had to choose a path that would lead me to a journey of growth -- as a person, in terms of my career, and in terms of charting my own destiny. 

I may appear selfish. But I'd been selfless during all those times, always doing the best I can to make you happy, to make you proud. Despite all of that, you never appreciated what I was trying to do for you. You never made me feel that my hard work was worth something. No, you never made me feel that you were proud of what I had accomplished. Never.

So I thought it was time to think of the things I want for myself and actualize them, to chase my dreams and try to attain happiness -- happiness that does not involve pleasing you.

Have I achieved those goals? Yes, I guess. Or maybe I'm halfway there. And the best part of it all is the peace of mind that ensued after I removed myself from such a suffocating environment. 

But has it been easy? No. It hasn't been. And it never will be. My mind still wanders to your direction at times. My heart does ache for you. But I have to keep going no matter how difficult things get for me in this journey. Because going back will not make things any easier for me...for you.

Yes, it Still Makes Me Cry

The void in my heart is still there even after all this time--that void that should have been filled with your love. And to this day, it still makes me break down into tears like a newborn child.

Marry Me, Ya Habibi.

Dear Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammed bin Rashid al Maktoum,

It's very hard to recall your name but I don't care. You have a very beautiful face that's easier to remember. Please look for me and marry me. Soon.

Wassalam,

Nesrin

P.S. I wouldn't mind if I'd be the 2nd, 3rd or 5th wife. And I also wouldn't mind if you want me to give you 20 children. Anything for you, ya habibi.

Wake Me Up!

Today's one of those days when I don't feel like getting out of bed in the morning (but nevertheless have to because there's work to be done), when I dread facing the day, when I dread staying in the office the whole day, bored to death. 

Well, it's not just today that I've been getting this feeling. I've had it for several weeks now. I feel like I'm stuck in a rut. I wish there's something exciting that would come my way, you know? I don't want my life and career to be so routinary and mechanical.

Please, ya Allah. Let something huge and exciting jolt me wide awake. 

Black and White

So yeah. I changed my layout and design. I've been obsessing over black-and-white themed photos lately, hence the change. What do you think? I'll really appreciate your thoughts.

:)

NBC