24- A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

I've been so many places. 

Seen so many faces. 

After it all, all I got was this picture of a man and his confidence- sky high. 

23- Life is Like Breakfast

A Vegetarian Platter From Kith Cafe near Dhouby Gaut Station in Singapore. Had this courtesy of my buddy, Jon Ang. Thanks bro! Here's to us toasting to great things again soon. 

I just realized something. Yes, I just thought of something pretty inspiring. That is a wonderful thing, considering that most of my life recently has not been in STEREO sound, and has not been in technicolor. 

Life is about finding the good in things. To some, breakfast can be a deterrent to them getting to work on time, or, a deterrent to them feeling up and up at the office (if you eat too much, you'll feel sleepy). To others, breakfast is as basic a necessity as gasoline is to YOUR petrol guzzling box of metal on four wheels. 

Take the breakfast platter depicted above, for example. It is easy to dismiss this particular entree as boring, given that is vegetarian and does not contain the insanely oily and unhealthy but ridiculously delicious sort of stuff you'd normally find on a Filipino's breakfast menu. Think of Beef Tapa, or maybe, scrambled egg swimming in oil, and the juice from deep fried onions. Glorious. The stuff the pope himself should bless. Ah, the good life. Simple, yet indulgent. The ultimate paradox. The most amazing of ironies brought to life by YOUR mom and YOUR grandma over, and over, and over, again. 

I chose to go vegetarian when I met Jon in Singapore. This was Singapore- the home of some of the best hawker food on God's green Earth. Green. Yes. Green. Veggie-green. 

Crazy pun aside, I tried to put my conscience to bed by ordering something healthy. I am not an uber carnivore by any stretch, but I do like to have my share of flavor, sometimes, at the expense of healthy living. On this particular day though, with my buddy who's an expert about economies, mathematics, and Information Technology, I decided to go complete GREEN. If I had gotten pancakes, or, grilled beef, or, salmon, then, it would have been just any other day. When you meet friends you hadn't seen in a long while, you must think different. Jon and I, actually, couldn't be more different. He's a Math and IT guru. I am an artist who does corporate and belts out a few bars from 80's rock songs from time to time. Go figure. 

I ordered what I ordered because when you're in a different place, with people whom you haven't seen in a long while, you want to fend off stuff that's commonplace, feelings that are typical, sights and sounds that seem all too part of the daily grind, as much as possible. Life, yes, life, that life, your life, is a lot like a big breakfast. So many viands to choose from. Some taste good, but will give you a heart attack. Some, look like goat crap, but, taste wonderful. Endless variety. Endlessly vibrant sights, tastes, textures, sounds as the dishes are prepared, nuances only someone crazy would notice.

I have been busy at work lately. Busy like you wouldn't believe. I think that this bit of insight is one I will carry with me tonight, and as I wake up and go through the paces tomorrow. I think that for even a second, I will marvel in the vastness of life, its endless hues, its amazing peaks and valleys.

All in all, I think I'll indulge in a big, fat, breakfast, for a change. For a change of pace to one that is more humane.

Life is like breakfast.

Eat up.

The buffet won't be open forever.

MC

22- Gruesome Playground Injuries

   Hold me close, then jam your thumb in my eye. Yup, love can deranged.

My previous entry was on how I managed to run my way through Singapore, watch a terrific Matchbox Twenty Concert, and run back. I did mention in passing that I had gotten the chance to visit Esplanade Theatres during that trip to Singapore with my friend Josephine to watch a play called, "Gruesome Playground Injuries". That's one thing I am glad I decided to do. 

I remember one pre-trip discussion I had with Josephine. She told me that there would be this stage play "Gruesome Playground Injuries" which would be staged while I was in town, and that watching it fit in with my schedule. This, in a sense, was indie theatre, experimental performance art- or at least to me it was. 

Josephine bought me tickets in advance of my flight to Singapore, and we were off.

Without prior research, I had made the silly assumption of GPI being a play more about a murder than a love story per se. Watching the final Singapore staging for 2013 1 hour and 30 minutes of unbridled fun, and, really, a reminder. It was a reminder that sometimes, people get so caught up in society "branding" the process behind finding "the one" so much that they don't realize that what they're looking for is right in front of them.

Why keep hankering for pizza when you've got a gourmet calzone on your plate, right?

Seriously, though, I hope they stage this play in the Philippines. If they do, it might have to be in PETA or in the University of the Philippines given that society here tends to be "ironically" conservative. I think Filipinos would appreciate the main themes at on the table here- love, loss, being lost, and after a couple of swift blows to the head, being "found" again.

From the Esplanade Website:

"A sweet, delicate and very funny play.”—British Theatre Guide

“Superb…funny and tender.”—Time Out London

In Gruesome Playground Injuries, Pulitzer Prize finalist Rajiv Joseph has crafted one of the most startingly original and entertaining pieces of theatre in recent memory.
We follow two individuals, Kayleen (Seong Hui Xuan – Pangdemonium’s Rabbit Hole) and Doug (Alan Wong – The MTV Show) from age eight to 38, leaping back and forth over the course of their lives in a deliriously disjointed time-continuum. Doug is full of life and absurdly “accident-prone” while Kayleen hates her life and hides a painful secret. As they careen and collide into and out of each other’s lives, they become damaged goods for life, but are forever bonded by bloodstains, broken bones and bandages.

While examining these two lost soul mates in search of each other, we discover a powerful and surprising tribute to the human spirit. Gruesome Playground Injuries is hilarious, humane, and haunting.

When in Singapore, there seem to be a lot of people who discount the country's culture in favor of shopping, clubbing, and yes, Sentosa. Singapore has a lot to offer in terms of arts and culture too- if you take time to examine things more closely. You can take a bite out of the country's culture via its vibrant food scene, or, like I did, take in a good stage play. You won't regret having done it.

More on this trip, and others I've been been on, soon.

MC

21- The Matchbox Twenty Experience

                    Dorkman Migi rockin' the CM Punk shirt at the Marina Bay Sands Viewdeck                                   

                                               
November 2013. Singapore.

My trip to Singapore a few months ago was one which I thought of going through with to recharge after a few months of hectic work, and also, one I opted to take because, well, I had missed Singapore. I had saved up enough cash to go at it alone, and so, I did.

I was really happy to have had the chance to meet old friends along the way. I had dinner in this great Indonesian restaurant along Orchard Road with Harry, a DJ friend of mine during more exciting times in my life (my media days!). I also had the chance to reunite with my friend Josephine, a Singaporean whom I had met while on tour in Italy. To this day, it amazes me how small the world's become because of the internet, and, more specifically, social media. Because of the many innovations that exist in so far as communications goes, I have managed to stay in touch with people I care about, and people whom I know care about me in the same way that I care about them. In a world where permanence can sometimes seem like a thing of a world that has passed us by, relationships which CAN be retained, and subsequently nurtured, should be seen as "musts" rather than "maybes".

So, back to Singapore.

I stayed at the Haising Hotel in the Bugis District. The prices were a little bit steep for the amenities, but, its not that I wanted or expected anything fancy. I was more in it for the fact that it was close to a train station, a bus stop, etc. A lot of the time, I was sleepy, because I'd tend to stay up late, walk around the entire day, and eat like a foodie unhinged. The chicken rice was awesome (go, Tian Tian Chicken Rice Stand!). The duck in Geylang, awesome still (Sin Huat!). The list goes on. I had made it to foodie heaven.

I was fortunate enough to have had a local by my side for a part of my trip. Through Josephine, I managed to go on an art tour, have some great Indian fare at Serangoon, and watch "Gruesome Playground Injuries" at the Esplanade Theater.

My old schoomate Jon also met up with me for breakfast. We ate in this great little joint called Kith Cafe near Orchard Road. Nice continental fare. If I remember correctly, I had a Vegetarian Omelette plus a piping hot cup of brewed coffee. Great stuff.

During the week I was in Singapore, one of my all time favorite bands, Matchbox Twenty, happened to be in town. They were in the midst of an Asian Tour, and before my trip to Singapore, I was in Hong Kong with my family. I missed MB20 in Hong Kong. Their Manila concert had been called off because of Typhoon Haiyan. I believed that I was set to miss the group AGAIN in Singapore because of the fact that:

-My Cebu Pacific Flight from Changi to Manila was set for 12:40 am on the day of their show.

-The MB20 concert at the Singapore Indoor Stadium was set for 8:00 pm. Concerts never really begin on time, so, I fully expected the gig to begin more between 8:30-9:00 pm.

After I bade goodbye to Josephine and some of her friends, I took the MRT from Esplanade over to Stadium station on the yellow line. It was 4:45 pm. My suitcase was in my Bugis hotel (I had checked out earlier in the day but had left my luggage in the hotel's storage room for safekeeping so as to allow me to have freedom of movement during my final day in Singapore). Upon arriving in the vicinity of Singapore Indoor Stadium, all signs pointed to day being consumed by night, and night moving towards the start of a great rock show.

Or maybe not.

The parking lot was practically empty. Save for a small queue near a souvenir stand, and an even smaller line near the ticket booth, there weren't many people in sight. Matchbox Twenty had, after all, gained fame in 1996, and since 1996, the Justin Biebers, Miley Cyruses, and Selena Gomezes of the world have trampled upon good music as we know it.

I went over to the petite, intellectual looking, lass at the ticket booth and asked her the million dollar question.

"Will I make my plane if I watch the Matchbox Twenty concert, assuming I have a 12:40 am flight?"

The cute ticket booth girl looked at me with a wee bit of a smile.

"Uhmmm...maybe. But you'll have to run, and leave immediately after the show."

That, and the fact that I felt that seeing the band in Singapore could be my final chance to catch them on their Asian Tour, or even for the rest of my life, was enough to convince me. I whipped out my credit card, breathed deeply, and ran my butt off. I had also consulted the MRT Station manager at Stadium MRT
station on my plan to run, run back, watch a great show, run again, then, fly. This process involved lugging two large bags around and crossing 2 MRT lines to get to Changi Airport.

"Well, if you hurry up, and leave precisely when the show ends, you COULD make it."

I took a moment to take this in.

"What if I queued up for a cab post concert?", I said.

Without batting an eyelash, the MRT manager said:

"Oh no, no, no. Not a good idea. You'll spend 30 minutes queuing up and might end up missing your flight."

So the train it was.

It was a Sunday, so, the usual rush hour weekday crowd was not present on the Singapore Metro.

This sign was of particular importance to me during my sprint in the name of Matchbox Twenty, and, a good adventure.

While the trains weren't as packed as they would have been on a weekday morning, I did have two large bags, and that didn't make things any easier. I was determined, however, to make a memory. And boy, what a great memory it was.

      Pre-concert. The venue was smaller than I imagined it to be. Preshow buzz was incredible, 
     though.

                                                                   
                                    The proof. Amazing. A swipe well done, money well spent. 

My first concern upon arriving at Singapore Indoor Stadium was where to deposit my bags. My internal clock just couldn't resist making me feel conscious and overthink things.

My initial plan dictated that by this time, I was to be having dinner at some Hawker Center (maybe one in Newton, or, in Old Airport Road), killing time before my flight. But no, here I was, taking a tremendous risk. I kept thinking that, should I miss my Cebu Pacific Flight, I could either check into the airport hotel, call some friends to see where I could crash, or, wait things out in the airport lounge until the next available flight.

And so, from the daydreaming, we return to the issue of my bags.

I am a veteran of many a sporting event, concert, and all kinds of shows in between. In the Philippines, there typically isn't a baggage deposit counter where you can deposit suitcases. At the very best (as with the Araneta Coliseum), you'd be able to find an umbrella deposit kiosk close to each gate. Luckily, those in charge of the Singapore Indoor Stadium had enough foresight to see blokes like me, coming.

    
                                           I think this was during "She's So Mean". 

After all the running, and lugging of heavy bags, I remember being quite famished. I got myself an overpriced turkey sandwich and a bottle of 100 Plus (a MUST in Singapore). I couldn't wait for the concert to get started- both because I was ACTUALLY around to FINALLY see Matchbox Twenty, and also because, I needed to monitor every minute, every second, of where I was and needed to be because the margin for error in terms of making the trip to the airport, was slim.

Let's get something straight- I am a huge rock music, and, furthermore, Matchbox Twenty, fan. The band's music, and that of Rob Thomas as a solo artist, have helped "get me through" a lot of tough times in my life. You can imagine, then, that during certain portions of the band's set that warm night in Singapore, I felt like I was on the cusp of shedding a few tears.

Lost loves, things left unsaid, dreams fulfilled, some left by the wayside, and colors, upon colors, thrown onto a blank canvass, making up a picture with a thousand meanings, and a thousand different avenues for inspiration.

This was much more than a concert for me. It was a trip through a forest of memory, sentiment, and truth.

I was entranced by the fact that vocalist Rob Thomas' voice didn't seem to wain despite singing songs which are by no means simple to belt out, and despite the fact that he had been singing pop rock tunes continuously for quite a prolonged period. There were mostly Asians in the crowd, and a smattering of Americans, Brits, and some folks who I think were Irish. It didn't matter who you were or where you were from. THIS was the SPECIAL that wasn't on the menu, but, the cook was willing to whip up for you. This was the epitome of experience- a blending of feeling, time standing still, and outright awesomeness, the outright definition of cool.

The band did a four song encore, and by this time, I was all raspy from all the singing and shouting.

                           By this time, fortunately, I was well on my way to Changi Airport.

MB 20, as most had expected to them to do, sang "Push" as their final cut for the night. It was amazing. It was as if Rob Thomas encapsulated years upon years of insight, raw feeling, and poetic flare into a 4-5 minute span that totally blew the roof off of the arena.

People clapped. And clapped. And clapped. And screamed for joy.

I did too- albeit, for a shorter time.

Imagine things going in slow motion for a while.

Clap, clap, three point stance, SPRINT.

And I was off.

I grabbed my bags from the deposit kiosk (situated on the opposite side of the arena from the gate I had to exit from, which was at the top of a platform in front of a pair of escalators near Stadium MRT), and, for whatever reason, was brought by my instincts to the taxi queue, which, at that time, didn't seem all that long. In a matter of seconds a mass of people rushed to the taxi stand before I could, hence, effectively blocking all chances of me catching a cab to Changi Airport in a short amount of time.

Armed with my two heavy bags, I sprinted from the taxi stand, to the opposite side of the lot, where, Stadium MRT's main entrance was at. I decided to try and get to the airport by train. I thought that there was less of a chance of a "people jam" compared to an automobile "traffic jam".

So, off I went. Through the door, down the stairs, past the turnstile (thank goodness for the Singapore Tourist Pass), and onto the concourse area. For a moment, I looked lost as to which train to board to get to Paya Lebar interchange.

Then came the nice MRT Station Manager from earlier in the day. The fellow directed me to where I needed to go. I should have gotten his name to thank him for directing a clearly disoriented tourist and preventing him from slipping off of a proverbial banana peel.

While on the train to the airport (by the time I made it to Paya Lebar, it was around 1030pm), I couldn't help but smile. Man, I had made. Man, what a great show I had seen. Man, what a nice Matchbox Twenty t-shirt I had bought (it cost me 40 SGD but hey, a worthwhile souvenir is a worthwhile souvenir).

By the time I had checked in for my flight to Manila, the clock read 11:22 pm. I was way ahead of schedule. Lucky, and ecstatic that I had perhaps the most exciting solo holiday I had been on in a long while.

                                    Hokkien Mee and a 7up- My final meal in the Lion City. 

I realize that something is always lost in the telling, and, its not like I ran off militants in the middle of a small village in Tehran or anything like that. I happened to have had the chance to go out on a limb both in the name of saving my artistic soul, and, feeding the part of my spirit which had an insatiable thirst for furthering the concept that says that "the best laid plans suck, and the moments which happen sans plans, are often the greatest things which you end up remembering for the rest of your days".

I will likely write about the other facets of my Singapore journey soon, but for now, as I did while up in the air en route to Manila on the 12th of November, 2013, do allow this constantly stressed, sleepy, and giggling fool of a man to bask in the glow that comes with having checked something off of his bucket list.

Yum.

MC

20- Truly, Madly, Deeply

I keep hearing the old Savage Garden song, "Truly, Madly, Deeply". It's beginning to get a bit weird. 

The song is all about someone who is williing to give everything to the person he loves. Typical talk, say I. It does make sense, though. Of course you'd say you'd like to stand on a mountain with the person you love, or, that you'd be willing to go skinny dipping off the coast of Palawan with them. Such declarations, honestly, make me laugh a little bit. I laugh because most times, all that mushy mumbo jumbo never really comes to fruition. Don't hate me for saying that, folks, It's just that, well, it's what goes down a lot of the time. 

So what does all that have to do with goofy old me and my picture in KL's Brickfields district from some months back? When we say we want to travel, we tend to declare very boldly that we want to do so, saying things like "I'll pack my bags now!" or, "There's no stopping me from going to the US this year!" We tend to work off of these statements especially when we know that the likelihood of us actually hopping on a plane to go to the destination of our dreams is close to nil. People like spewing out optimism to help soothe their weary souls- even in these kinds of situations. 

I hardly spent time in Kuala Lumpur's Brickfields district, but, one thing became very, very, clear to me upon arriving there- that the place was decidedly Indian, and that once you were there, doing an "about face" was simply not in the cards. That's something I can admire. For all the jokes, for all the crass racial comments that people like to throw around towards people such as those in the Indian community, being in a place like Brickfields made me think of all multicolored adornments on the streetlamps, the Bollywood music blaring off of streetcorner shops, and the smell of curry in the air, constitute one huge kick in the crotch to anyone who would dare insut the collective face of their culture, their identity. Residents of Brickfields don't really care if you mock them because of the color of their skin, the music that they listen to or produce, or the unique accent that accompanies the words they say. They're Indian. They're uniquely so. They're proud of it. It's a "Truly, Madly, Deeply" kind of proud. 

I may get flack for this, but, in a way, I wish Filipinos could consistently "be" Filipinos, or, could be absolutely proud of their culture. Sure, we have icons in our history whom we look up to, put on pedestals, revere, and so forth. We often are FIRST IN LINE, also, however, in terms of putting down the guy next to us for the shallowest of reasons. I have no problem with appreciating the heritage of other countries, and peoples, but we must not do so at the expense of our own collective nametag. No way. No nametag, no identity. No identity, and what you get is a man who might as well live in an airport (enter Mehran Karimi Nasseri reference). 

To appreciate, is to celebrate. 

So after everything, Darren Hayes did end up serving the music world well after all, beyond just coining the lyric, "chic a cherry cola". He gave us his all- in a "Truly, Madly, Deeply" sort of way. 

So, we've learned from good old Darren. At least, I have. 

I never thought I would say this, but, we should be more like Savage Garden, and Brickfields, and every bloke who ever wanted to stand on a moutain, and wait for the sky to fall down on him. 

It makes sense, it really does. 

MC

19- Valentine's Day, Junk of Hearts

Hong Kong Harbour. November 2013. A tour of the junk ships that litter what a lot of Chinese call the "fragrant harbor".

Don't get me wrong- I enjoyed my trip to Hong Kong. Cheeseball bus tours aside, Hong Kong actually offers travelers who have a taste for going "off the beaten path" quite a lot to work with. Walk around the city and up to the streets leading up to the peak and, well, you get an interesting mix of the ultra chic, and, the Hong Kong of Peter Chan, the Hong Kong of "Comrades: Almost a Love Story". I love that movie. Valentine's Day, as a "special day", honestly, should take a back seat in my book.

I have rarely been swept up by the usual sights, sounds, and devilishly cliche and corny parlance that lovers spitball at each other during February 14ths. There is often too much work to do, and too much pride to become one with the hordes of people who think pink means love. To me, pink means raw meat. Pink means a Michelin Star chef perfectly "rare-ing" an already perfect cut of meat.

And so it goes. Hong Kong. Valentine's. Hong Kong. Valentine's.

Hong Kong, in so many ways, is my kind of town. It's no Singapore in terms of cleanliness, in terms of efficiency, and in terms, perhaps, of ease of movement, but, it does have a great deal of charm- old world charm. It's stuck smack dab in the middle of fast changing trends, and the slow precision of a Chinese Lantern floating gently on a steady stream in honor of one's dearly departing. Yes, I can get dramatic like that. But not Valentine's Day dramatic.

I have always thought about how it might be like to take someone I love on a date in Tsim Tsa Tsui, or at Victoria Peak, or maybe at the hectic but ultra yummy Tim Ho Wan in Central Hong Kong. There's a certain bit of drama that used to be attached to Hong Kong and lovers, one not without the other. Those days, in a way, have come and gone. So Migi, you're a big boy now, and big kids don't cry.

Big kids don't run around being all too sappy either. Big kids are like this, but big kids never lose their sense of wit, or charm, or creative savoir fare.

I am a big kid. I still think Hong Kong is cool. I miss Tim Ho Wan, my friends who live in the country, the hawker centers, the Star Ferry, and the crazy night markets.

I'd rather book a seat for one going to Hong Kong this time, though, at least, in my Peter Chan colored world. From "Comrades", to, "Comrade". I can live with that.

Smile alone, I say. Alone isn't all that bad. It can actually mean that you get the chance to appreciate things a wee bit more than if you were with someone during a long journey.



"Is this seat taken?", she asks.

"Yup, it is very much taken."

*Yawn*

You figure it out.

MC

18- Use Your Imagination

This is not just a wall.
This is not just a wall.
This is not just...a wall.

When befuddled by the many of life's everyday portmanteaus, there is only one recourse we can take.

Use
Your
Imagination.

Four lines.
One big city.
One goal.

To fly. To return.

MC

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17-My Back Yard

I do not know what to expect. As I write this entry, I find myself in a Cebu Pacific aircraft, flying domestic for the first time in nearly four years.

My goodness, Miguel. 4 years? You've gone all over the world without having bothered to explore your own backyard first? Well, that's just wrong.

Or maybe not too much.

We have a tendency to get complacent about going around our native countries. There's always this thought which says that we can go to familiar local haunts anytime due to the fact that these places tend to feel (or are) so close to where we live. Why go to a resort two hours away from your house in Manila if you have the option to fly to Singapore or Tokyo first?

Being familiar with the smell, texture, and story behind your home soil does offer some perspective, though. In order to have a credible read on the fullness of your identity, in order to be able to stand proud before those from other nations, and other roads on the ethnic map, why ought to know who we are first. We can't forget this integral part of the process. Besides, being able to talk about who conquered you 364 years before you were born, and consequently, how you managed to break free from the bondage of your "oppressors" would make for great conversation with a perfect stranger at a coffeeshop in Los Angeles, Paris, Madrid, or Penang.

At least for this week, my passport's decided to take a vacation of its own. Loyalties aside, we must each fly solo for the time being.

One step forward, instead of ten. Look close, and not too far. All seems to still be in perfect order this way.

MC

615pm update- Have made it to Bellevue Beach Resort in Panglao Island, Bohol. Nice place. Secluded. With friends.:)

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16- Chicken Hut and Profundity

                                               Is this a picture of an Italian lunch? Sort of. 

   
    One of things I had looked forward to with a passion with regards to my 2013 European vacation was what gastronomic treats I would be exposed to during the journey.

     Ah, Italy. Pasta. Bruschetta. Lasagna. Florentine Steak. Foodie utopia.

     Rome. The Eternal City. The place where it all happens.

     Rome. The home of Chicken Hut.

     Wait, saturated fat and breaded meat in Rome?

     Have I swallowed some form of hallucinogenic drug?

     Based on what I had seen, and tasted, I believe that I was in full control of my faculties. What I got a whiff off, in cardboard, in styrofoam, was oh so good.

      Chicken Hut is an international fast food franchise chiseled along the lines of a KFC, or, Popeye's. Fries, Chicken Tenders, Chicken Sandwiches- you name the deep fried treat, and they've got it. Why on Earth did I end up eating American fast food in Rome, you ask? Well, after having had Italian food for 2-3 weeks, I guess my family, friends, and I wanted to chow down on something less complex and little more familiar.

      Chicken Hut busted through the doors of my final days in Rome. My family and I had been billeted at the spartan Hotel Buenos Aires in the Lazio Region. The hotel was by no means ugly, but for the rates they offered, and the amenities which they had (or the lack thereof), you could probably do better in Rome.

       If I remember correctly, I had a large order of French Fries, and a huge chicken sandwich which would make KFC's Zinger look like a flea, and a large Coke.

       My meal at Chicken Hut was filling, satisfying to the palate, but one that left a poignantly strange aftertaste. This served as the beginning of the end of the "fantasy". It was the start of a slow yet inevitable descent back to reality. I would leave Rome 2-3 days after this awesome encounter cholesterol-rich, artificially flavored, poultry. This meal was one of a set of "last meals" with people I had grown to appreciate and consider to be friends for the long haul.

      It fascinates me to no end how we tend to voluntarily- or otherwise - collect many fragments of memory from our travels which point to such depth of thought, such moving insights, such life altering truths. Chicken Hut was not just a stomach filler. It was a signal, a signal that all good things would indeed need to come to an end, and that good things need not come at such a high price, or, in the most glittery of packages.

       More grandiose sights, more intense emotions, wilder adventures, brighter lights, more amazing sunsets, faces of people, come and gone, some perhaps, never to be seen again, defined my trip to Europe, and have defined many of my trips around the globe.

       There is always, however, value in paying mind to the pebbles on the road. One pebble, does not a road make. Multiply that by a thousand, a million, a trillion, and what you've got is, potentially, the greatest story YET TO BE told.


MC

15- Good Time, Great Taste

A Mcdonalds Branch in Japan. Konichiwa (from the PerezHilton website)

I am Filipino, and being Filipino, I am exposed to a host of culinary influences. One of the most common types of cuisine Filipinos tend to be exposed to would be that of the United States.

Now, lets see. McDonalds is ubiquitous. Whether you're in Manila, Amsterdam, Singapore, Los Angeles, or Berlin, McDonalds tends to be a fixture of a country's fastfood landscape.

There's KFC, Burger King, In and Out. McDonalds does not necessarily win on quality. It wins out in the game of emotional connections.

The Big Mac. For me, it is the motherlode of burgers. Yes, we have more "gourmet" burgers out there, but to the everyman, to the Joe on the street, to spoiled kids who think Ronald McDonald is their best friend and not a threat to public safety, The Big Mac is the supermodel of the yum yum world, the Porsche among rickety old Buicks. Healthy? Not quite. Good? Yes. Maybe its an artificial good, but hey, taste is taste. It is not necessarily something you anchor to your blood lipid profile.

McDonalds is something that a lot of people associate with their respective childhoods. And why not? I mean, since time and memorial, McDonalds' target market has always been children. They haul in kids through letting the kids dictate the whims of their parents. Parents normally have the final say, but kids normally make their worlds go round. Lets face it. What Little Jimmy says after an hour of tantrums, goes.

The French Fries. More particularly, the Twister Fries.  My memories of such? My granddad used to bring me McDonalds value meals on a regular basis when I was very young. Having fries and a burger with my dear old grandpa underlie some of the best memories I have of the man.

First dates. Joyous fate. The person whom I consider to be the love of my life and I began our journey to bliss with fries. Wholly appropriate, especially when you consider the fact that the richness of food tends to become congruent with the richness of memory. Indulgence. Living. Ah, yes. La Dolce Vita. What could be better?

My sister loves McDonalds. She has loved it so much, for so long, that during long trips to the province as kids, we would seek out McDonalds branches in urbanized areas and buy in bulk while in transit to less populated places. Why risk going hungry when you can stock up on MC for a rainy day?

Food always tastes better, or seems less ordinary, when you associate it with emotions, company, insights, recollections. For me, McDonalds, oddly enough, holds a special place in my heart. I remember my parents, my grandparents, my friends, my sister, my girlfriend. Food is a strong catalyst which may spur us towards returning to places long gone, and towards creating new realms of profundity.

That's a whole lot of "good time, great taste" in the greater scheme of things.

MC

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