This Poached Life

Last month marked 3 major events that followed the theme of endings and beginnings: started teaching a class, moved from one house to another, and started a new job.

The first was a return to Eden of memory. Back at the Ateneo and all its ideals of Man-for-Others and offering all for the greater Glory of God, it has reconnected me to back to a life when money was not an object but subject, wooing the Muse was the telos of my existence, and the greatest pleasure of myself as a teacher was seeing the sparks of illumination and understanding flash in my students’ eyes after weeks of beating the same principles to death.

The second, though the seventh of its occurrence in this lifetime, will never qualify for one of those practice makes perfect endeavors in one’s life. I hate moving. Choosing between what to keep or what to discard is like doing a Sophie’s Choice of memories. This particular move had its own drama, resulting in me leaving behind a cherished assemblage by reknowned artist Roberto Feleo and vowing never to set foot in the place I called home for 3 and a half years ever again. Though I love that family to death, all it took was one bad and despicably drunk man letting loose a tirade of invectives and insults on the last night that I picked up my stuff. Everytime I drive by, I vent a wicked flatulent curse that a thousand fleas infect his pubes and start a colony inside his arse.

At the new place, much of my stuff are still in boxes or bags. Books still tied up by twine. I have made myself an embarrassing inconvenience to my good friend who offered that I crash at his place until I get back on my feet.

Like the torrent movies I download and the eggs that I am not successful at poaching, much of my life is in fragments. And as I put each stray piece of my heart and soul together, struggling to remember which box I kept Stitch’s medicine in or the location of my stash of razor blades, I remember what it was like to live off a suitcase for almost a year. When I only need to carry what was essential. A few clothes, toiletries, shoes, a book to keep my mind curious, and a notebook to keep my soul searching. That was all I needed.

Because I had to leave San Juan, I had to let go of the 2 cats that I love the most. It was painful to leave them and wish that they will be loved. The blessing was that the family that took them in now loves them in ways that I didnt dream possible.

One cat was lost, though. My prodigal Crispin. I prematuredly decided to let him loose to my deep regret. I dont know where he is now.

The third, my new job as Oakwood Premier Joy~Nostalg Center Manila’s PR & Marketing Communications Manager is a great relationship in the making. It is a David and Goliath story. The giants will tremble after I am done.

Someday soon, I hope to find all my knives and put them back at the magnetic knife rack I got because Tyler Florence convinced me to get it, rearrange my books in shelves following the US Library of Congress system, start painting again, and finally be able to gather the fringes of the egg white floating in boiling water and finally make my first successfully perfectly poached egg.

And maybe Crispin will come home.

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