That Time of the Month

Weather Forecast: An full moon that looms overhead could bring out the Jekyll & Hyde in you.

The first few days of being left alone in our flat proved to be liberating. Ever since Marie had started working, I would spend my time -- apart from job hunting of course -- doing what most young people hate to do: household chores. But I didn’t mind. In fact I was a bit excited. For me, it was an acknowledgement of this newfound independence. The idea of learning something on my own and at my own pace made me appreciate such things that other people used to do for me. And it was easier than I thought.

Of all the chores, doing the laundry using the washing machine is my favorite. It would do its job of washing and drying clothes with the least human intervention. Pressing the start button would give me about 40 minutes to do something else. So I picked up a broom and a rag. The marble flooring actually made the few dusts and fallen hair strands easier to sweep. And with just 2 fairly organized occupants, cleaning the tables on the living and dining areas were no big deal.

During elementary school vacations, my parents would ask me and my siblings to help out in household chores. I remember that my favorite back then was polishing the floor using the “bunot” (dried coconut husk). Sweat would drip all over my body like a leaking faucet as my legs and feet slide the lowly bunot back and forth until the floor became so shiny that a passing ant could see its reflection. Black & Decker eventually made that chore a thing of the past. Although I believe that I owe my toned legs to that unique and practical workout.

I still had a few minutes to spare while the washing machine continued to grunt. I immediately went outside to buy some ingredients. I have always wanted to learn how to cook Adobo, a signature Pinoy dish, but the task seemed too ambitious and daunting for someone who has not yet tried cooking. Boiling water is not counted. So I decided to start with an easy dish: fried fish!

On my way to the supermarket I smelled something burning in the air. Luckily it was not my hair. I then began to notice rectangular, yellow pieces of paper scattered on the sidewalk. Looking around I saw a thin smoke coming out of a huge & rusty barrel with round holes. An old man stood beside it, throwing wads upon wads of that rectangular paper into the barrel. Could this be just a different way of fumigation like the way our elders would sweep and gather dried leaves in the yard to burn under a tree? >>

A sudden surge of wind sent the smoke towards my direction. My eyes began to feel itchy so I walked away. I immediately entered the nearby air-conditioned supermarket to buy the ingredients that I would need. Cooking oil, garlic, fish and salt. Hmm, this would look plain. I grabbed some lettuce and tomatoes for garnishing. And the meal wouldn’t be complete without Thai white rice, of course.

For the past few days, Marie and I had been ordering takeaway meals from the nearby hawker center. Sometimes you just feel the need to break out of the norm. And if we wanted to treat our taste buds to Filipino cuisine without going to the malls, we better learn how to cook.

Upon exiting the store, my eyes were quickly drawn into the newspaper stand just outside the door. Hungry Ghost Month. It was not the headline but somehow my eyes gravitated towards that particular phrase within a news article. The mere mention of the word “ghost” sent chills down my spine. Only the word “hungry” made it worse. And I could not even begin to think how the word “month” would seem to prolong that agony. I bought the newspaper.

It was August, the Hungry Ghost Month. Quickly reading while on my way back, I found out that it is a traditional festival that Buddhists and Taoists celebrate every seventh lunar month of the Chinese calendar. It is said that during this period the hell gates are opened, letting the ghosts and spirits of the deceased ancestors roam freely among the living. This is when certain ceremonies and rituals are performed to appease and entertain them. These rituals include food offerings and the burning of joss paper items which are believed to have value in the afterlife. It is also considered to be an inauspicious time and people are even advised to avoid staying out late at night.

Like most open-minded Catholic who grew up in an environment that cultivates creative imagination, I also believe in the supernatural. It is a totally fascinating realm that JRR Tolkien brought to life could only make you either curious or afraid. Or in my case, both.

Walking back to our block now seemed like forever. It felt like I was suddenly trapped in a slow-motion world. My senses got heightened and my eyes widened. I passed by the old man once again and this time he caught me staring at him. I immediately glanced away and pretended that I didn’t see him.

When I reached our floor I realized how no one seems to be home. Not a single sound could be heard from the neighboring flats. At that point I could only hear the nervous throbbing of my chest that was only calmed by the uneasy swallowing of my own thickening saliva.

I began to notice the sponge cake and oranges that sit on our neighbor’s outdoor altar. As well as another neighbor’s Bagua that made me rapidly close my eyes as if it was the snake-headed Medusa that could turn me into stone. Every pair of slippers that rest on every doorway that I passed by made me pray hard that they would remain there motionless as I push an imaginary Lotus Feet further back into my mind. The sudden lingering smell of burning incense turned my fears into 3D.

I quickly reached for the door keys from my pocket, opened our wooden door and swiftly closed it behind my back. What a relief! I switched on the TV, turned up the volume and headed straight into the kitchen to drink some water. And just when I thought I was calm and back to nirvana, the hysterical alarm of the washing machine made me mumble an expletive unbecoming of a beauty queen. I held my chest and my mouth in utter shock.

Thankfully, logic and reason eventually triumphed. Momentarily, at least. After an hour, I was done putting the laundered clothes on the indoor clothesline (my clumsy hands wouldn't attempt to use the outdoor bamboo poles) and finished frying the fish.  Lunch for one was never fun. I looked forward to cooking our dinner where I plan to spruce it up with veggies.

Later in the evening, Marie returned home from work early. Although she looked a bit under the influence of menstrual cramps, I knew she’s eager to taste my first masterpiece.

Fried fish on a bed of fresh lettuce and sliced tomatoes.

As soon as she saw it, the hungry and outspoken Marie had no time to mince her words and pointed out how oily the dish was. Which was in a certain way, in a close proximity, in the slightest notion, with a teeny weeny probability, a tad true somehow. Nonetheless (with conviction) we managed to finish the food, in between sprinkling of nag and raising of knife / voice / glass.

There’s still tomorrow to improve on my cooking skills, I thought to myself. And as we ended the night, I secretly hoped that Lotus Feet would know which side of the bed to haunt tonight Marie would enjoy my next dish. Burp!