To a Dog I Loved With All My Heart

Thank you for giving me 8 years of wonderful memories 

Filled with so many sweet cuddles

Kisses all over

Teaching me to play hide and seek and catch at the same time

Licking my tears every time a guy broke my heart

Thank you for lending me your ears, I sure very much loved those ears

Thank you for letting me do the "Do your ears hang low" song with your ears

Thank you for knowing what comforting growls sound like.

You were the sweetest friend that no other dogsie or human will replace, that is a given. 

I miss you so very much. 

I know dogs don't go to heaven and that your heart stopped,

It stopped because it was your time to go. 

I hope you were happy living with this annoying Mariel. 

Thank you for knowing my name by heart.

20% of my heart is soft and cushioned and oh so full of love because you, and I hope you don't mind that I think of it as the gift you left to me. 

I want to think that you left without the suffering and pain that would've come because of your ailment. 

I hope most of the days with me were just as filled with laughter as they were for me. 

Loyal cutie.

Your fellow dogsie is missing you and looking for you like crazy. 

And I think: What would kind and loyal you would do for him if you were me. 

You would comfort him, let him get his way, and live the happiest he can possibly be while he can.

I think that's what you would have liked. 

And I think that's what I shall do.

My biggest regret is that I did not spend enough play time with you. And for that I am so dearly sorry. 

But I cannot go back and 10000 more ball time with you or give you 200000 more tummy rubs even if I'd use up all the money in my bank account if I could. 

That's what pains me the most. I am so very very sorry. 

Though deep inside I know you would hold no grudges and would lick my tears saying it's okay. 

I love you and I will forever love and miss you. 

Thank you for letting me know what being loved by such a kind dog feels like.

I will try my best not to be sad, cuz you liked me at my happiest. 

I'll teach our games to your grieving companion- although this was our thing, I think you'll like that I share it with him. 

At the end up the day, would I say I am a better human being because of you?

Definitely. 

With you I learned to be devoted for the sick, 

To turn a chore like bath time into a bonding moment,

To think before someone else before me,

To be mindful of the foods my loved ones love, and to enjoy making them even if it takes up time.

You gave me the confidence that I can be trusted and that meant the world to me.

I will end this letter here, seal it with a hundred thousand kisses and pats. 

But I want to end by saying, your loss is great because you were one helluva dog, and I am blessed to have had you in my life- not forever because that just does not happen- but during my hardest moments, I was blessed with you. Now that you're gone, it just means I have to be stronger and resilient because that is this is the circle of life. 

A few months before my grandma passed she saw me tearing up because damn I would miss her, she held my hand in her soft but strong hands and told me: Be strong, to go on with life you need to be strong. I replay our conversations in my head everytime I need strength and comfort in life. But this particular moment I remember her words to be strong. And I also remember what she told me when I was 7 and feverish: "you get over it with the strength of rice"- she said this as she served me a generous bowl of steamy rice. And yes, I have to be strong - not as a form of denial - but in Grandma's way, in her wise way - I need to be strong for my other dog who is grieving perhaps more than I am, I need to be strong because I have human family who also get strength from me being strong. 

So I guess this is a good bye and thank you a billion.

I will think and cry for you but I will make my best to be strong like you did until your very last day. 

I love you kimtaepoongi. 

Flower Diary: So Far So Good

 The amount of time I spend gardening on average: 10 - 15 minutes, twice a day.

The time I've spent from learning the basic of gardening till now: Almost 3 months.

The types of herbs that I've grown from seed to-the-table: cilantro, basil, oregano, parsley, dill, peppermint, arugula, garlic chives.

The seeds I've planted that are waiting to blossom: cosmos, forget-me-nots, scarlet flax, cone flowers,daisies, plain coreopsis, baby's breathe, sweet alyssum, tree mallow, sweet William, indian blanket.

The techniques and lesson I've learned: These are the lesson I want to share on this blog, through a series of posts under the title of 'Flower Diary'.

Flower Diary: Flowers vs. Friendship

 I've been feeling ridiculously self-conscious about my love for gardening, ever since a friend checked in on me asking me how I was doing. I told him I was great. I happily shared that I'm finishing graduate school and that I've recently started a little wild flower / herb garden and I'm loving it. He immediately asked if I still baked, followed by a mockish LOL and before I had a chance to reply, he asked if other than grad school and gardening what's interesting in my life. But before I could answer, he cut me off with the excuse of being very busy, ending his pretence of 'catching up'. 

I was left feeling boring and small. And it kept me thinking for days... Trying to understand why I should feel ashamed of enjoying a meagerly activity like gardening (or baking)...

And then I looked back at the last time I saw this friend face-to-face. It was a humid summer night, I was wearing a flowy summer dress - which I wore because it was considered fashionable, not because felt it was my usual style. We went out for dinner and drinks. I had known him for years but our time spent together that night felt like "a job interview" - He had an opinion about everything I wore and said.  He approved the watch I was wearing. He stopped me mid-sentence to ask me if I could repeat the way I said "women" because he couldn't quite pin-point my 'accent'. He thought the the bills and coins that inhabited my wallet was outdated, 'do people still carry cash?' , he even called up a few friends that were in the area so they could observe me. 

Now that I really think about it, I can't believe I'm let him gest into my head, making me feel small for the simples things that bring me joy? 

 If I were in in a city like... say San Francisco. And if I was given the choice to either:

A. Have a meal with this friend at the fanciest restaurant in the city, or

B. Spend an afternoon with an iguana in the Golden Gate Garden,

I know right away that the experience that would linger as a happy memory would be the latter.

On a similar note, I uninstalled Instagram from my phone a couple days ago and it's... strangely made me more feeling more eager to reach for my phone ever since. 

Gems in the Sky

In a city where stars in the sky are a rarity 

I don't know which is more beautiful

The glow of the moon

Or the illusion of a single rhinestone of a star

Both outshine the sheet of clouds passing by.

Dog Days

 When he wasn't looking I picked up the worn-out tennis ball and scurried inside. I used the halved laundry soap that I had freshly cut this morning to give it back its light lime hue. I've always preferred bar soaps over any other kind. I feel I have more control when an object requires me to use friction to make it do its magic rather than something easily dilutable like powder, liquid or paste. I laid the bathed tennis ball on the balcony to dry. I wouldn't be giving it back to my dog anytime soon.

My dog loves balls or any item than resembles a ball. The other day he caught sight of me carrying a cabbage and ran up to me to claim what he thought was his. As I said, he loves balls but he doesn't actually play with them. Balls seem to... change him - bring out the beastly persona that's hidden under his tiny, dark frame. His neck grows stiff and he growls at whoever gets near his prized possession. He's the size of a two-year old toddler but might weigh a bit less, now that his muscles have grown soft. He'll be 15 in September (70-something in dog years). He's still a fiesty hunter nonetheless. His prey include: geckos, birds, mice, and even rats half his size. Years ago - back when he was about three years old and I was a scrawny twenty-something year old - he approached me in the darkness of a cloudy sky with something huge and stiff in-between his claws. "Go away", I remember telling him. He ignored the alarm in my voice and rubbed what-the-next-morning-I-learned-was-a-rat against my ankle and dropped it on my sandled-feet as a token of a sort.  It was by far the most selfless thing he's ever done for me. 

In the past year I've been reflecting on all the things he loves and all the things he detests, because when I look at him I  associate him with my late grandma. It's been almost two years since her passing, and what I regret most is not having made the short time I spent with her more pleasant. I wish I could have cooked her Andean cuisines she's never tasted, or spent more time listening to her stories rather than turning on the television to watch lame comedy. 

I won't give my dog his tennis ball back, no. I'll make it up in other ways, ways that involve sardines, beef-broth and cassava bread. He sure loves his cassava bread, which he nibbles on - or pretend to nibble - when others are around. And when he is sure no one is looking he digs up a hole in a potted plant or in the flowerbed and securely hides his round loaf of cassava bread for when times get tough (that is, when he craves an afternoon snack or when he remembers having buried his treasure).   

Photo taken in 2017, caught in the act.

Tomatoes in my Garden

 If it were up to me, I'd do oats and rhubarb.

But within the confinements of this third-world twenty-twenty, I've adjusted to the sachets of tomato seeds purchased on a rainy day a year and six months ago.

I've made it a ritual to snuggle my socked feet into my horrendous chef shoes when watering the plants. I feel the look encourages my dogs to shamelessly rub their hairy selves against my ankles and lick the water droplets that sprinkle from the hose onto my calves.

I like to dream about not knowing what to do once these green babies turn Christmassy red. I like giving myself an excuse to leaf through cookbooks, revisiting old recipes, and rereading the ones on food I'm yet to try.

Dream Job

“When I was at work last year, having a roast dinner on the roof, a wasp came and nicked a bit of chicken off me plate and flew off with it. Wasps should not be eating roast chicken.” 

a piece from Karl Pilkington’s Diary (from his book Happyslapped by a Jellyfish)

On days like today, I dream of working in a gigantic library. Wearing a long skirt, a light-weighted scarf around my neck, and the ugliest geeky loafers you can imagine. It would be snowing outside and I'd amuse myself watching people enter the library apologetically- knowing that I know they're coming in not for the books but to keep warm.

I dream of knowing where each book belongs by heart and sticking my nose into them dusty pages.

I dream of trying my very best to introduce little children to books they'll remember for the rest of their lives.

At lunchtime, I would huddle inside a stuffy cafeteria with the rest of the librarians and eat a vegemite and butter sandwich with a hot cup of tea.

Oh, and I would have a cat with a handsome name living with me in my one-bedroom apartment.