We love our bread. We love our butter. But most of all, we love spices.
Every time we travel or come across an ad on social media introducing new spices, we buy them. We have one for every kind of meal served on the table — from just enough zing to the strongest kick that can knock the daylight out of your throat!
Adobo is adobest, sisig is sumisigaw, chichawrong becomes chicharight, and every supper is super!
Spicy. Yup, for the past 64 years, if there are two-and-a-half syllable words that best describe the life I’ve had, spicy should be one of them.
For four years, I walked to and from high school, a kilometer-and-a-half away. Not every day, though. Sometimes, I’d ride behind the tricycle driver for a discounted fare when it’s raining or when in a hurry. I graduated with honors, and yes, with a new pair of trendy, bulky Glenmore shoes. Spicy.
I finished a five-year engineering course in four-and-a-half without a watch. I had the clock tower of Manila City Hall to thank for keeping me on time. During exams, I always positioned myself near the window so I can take a glance at the City Hall clock to know how much time I had left. Spicy.
I worked abroad for five-and-a-half years. During those years, I got to travel to Europe (backpacking) and Asia. Lost my passport, my money, and everything I had to live on in Spain. Spicy.
I got married at 34, shaved my head at 50 accepting the inevitable. Spicy.
The rest of my life you can read about in this blog.
Today is my birthday. I still have to break a 100 in golf! I’ve got something to look forward to. Spicy.
Cheers!
If you’ve been touched, amused, or entertained by this post, or it put a smile on your face, please favor me with a cup of coffee. I will continue writing.
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