Going Under...

There comes a point when even hiking up mountains and diving down the ocean doesn’t seem to be enough to satisfy one’s craving for some action and excitement. I wanted something more, something new. It was that thought I had in mind when I recently signed up for Under Water Hockey (UWH) School.

For those who are not familiar with the sport, Underwater Hockey is a cross between Ice Hockey and Skin Diving. A game is played with a 3 lbs lead puck similar to that used in Ice Hockey but the game is played on the bottom of a swimming pool. Instead of Ice skates, players wear a mask, snorkel, and fins. The goal is of course to score by pushing the puck into the opponent’s goal using a small stick around 10 inches long.

To know more about this sport just click on this link: Under Water Hockey

Bruised, battered, and beaten…

Thursday, April 20, 2006. UWH School was to be held in La Salle Greenhills, every Monday and Thursday nights, for six whole weeks. The first day of Under Water Hockey school seemed like any other first day in school. I didn’t know anybody there, and even the guy who invited me wasn’t around. But everybody was friendly and I had this conceited notion that I can easily handle this sport. I saw my self as a relatively good swimmer, and I have been skin diving and SCUBA diving for some time now. So I thought this should be easy… My delusions quickly faded when I saw the attendance sheet and realized that almost everybody there was also into skin diving and SCUBA. Out the window went my perceived advantage.

We were issued some safety equipment like a swimming cap with plastic ear cups to avoid ruptured ear drums in case of collisions or something. We were also given a mouth piece that fits over the snorkel to avoid loosing your teeth when the game gets rough. Finally we had to wear gloves to protect the hand from the pool’s bottom and from other player’s UWH sticks. I thought any game with this much safety equipment has to be interesting.

After some drills we were quickly instructed to take up positions for an actual game. It was six on six and I was tasked to play the right wing position. Then we were off… It was chaos as we dived down and tried to push that heavy puck across the bottom of the pool. The game dragged on and it wasn’t easy. At one point I had my mask knocked out of place and my snorkel forced out of my mouth. I was gasping for breath while in the water and it felt like I was on the verge of drowning the whole time. In the end despite our best effort we lost and thus I went home bruised, battered, beaten, nearly drowned, and I had a terrible head ache. But I had fun, and I wanted more…

Goal!!!

I typically hate Mondays but this particular Monday was different since I had UWH to look forward to. The sun finally set and evening came. School was in session. We were taught the basics of puck handling and we were made to do land drills with a can of tuna instead of an actual puck. After that we were made to count off 1 to 4 and grouped into teams, we then went into the pool to do the exercises under water using an actual puck. It wasn’t easy coz the darn puck was so damned heavy.

After the drills the different groups were pitted against each other in an under water relay race pushing the puck across the bottom of the pool. Our team of six was composed of 2 guys and four girls with varying skill levels. Once again we lost…

With the little time we had left it was decided that we were to have game and it would be a race to 2. I was assigned the left back position and my job was to defend against our opponent's attacks. We were told not to leave our positions unless we were sure we were going to score a goal, that job belonged to the girls in front.

The game began, and we allowed those in front to swim ahead to go for the puck in the middle of the pool. It was again a mad scramble for the puck and I hang back letting the offensive line play their game.

An opponent gained possession of the puck and I dived down to defend. It was a simple matter stealing the puck because that person was probably out of air. I had a puck with no team mate in sight to pass it to… most of the opposing side’s defenders were on the surface so I started swimming to try and score a point. I needed air but I thought to my self “you’ll have a lot of time to breathe later when this game is over” so I swam with everything I had and narrowly avoided the opposing team’s defenders. I scored!!! I let out a yell of jubilation as I surfaced... damn that felt good…

We were sent back to our positions and we went at it again. This time around Mario who was the center back dived in and quickly scored another point. The game was over, and we won 2-0.

If I was bruised, battered, and beaten on the first day of school, the 2nd day was perfect. I still had some bruises but I was able to score my first ever goal in UWH and we won the game. I was happy… and I haven’t felt that way in very long time. I was humming U2’s It’s a Beautiful Day while driving home and the feeling lasted till the next day… I think I love this game…

Tonight, will be day 3 of Under Water Hockey School…

Snapshots

I have not been posting anything of interest lately. Though I have decided to do so, at least my recent trips and stuff, I will do this as soon as I can find the time to draft something. In the meantime I will let pictures speak in my stead and give anyone who cares to have a look a glimpse of the world through my eyes…

This is a really old church in our home town Pampanga. This picture was taken early in the morning of March 25, 2006. It took a lot of effort and all my concentration to understand what was being said since the mass was celebrated in Kapampangan.




Evening of March 25, 2006. It was a beautiful night… This is a picture of Manila, Roxas Blvd., and was taken from the CCP complex.




April 1, 2006. Just a picture of kids on the beach, this was taken in the town of Donsol in Sorsogon.




April 14, 2006. It was the evening of Good Friday when I took this shot of the full moon, the river, and the far bank from across our house in Pampanga.

Click on the pictures to see a bigger image.

Walking Around

Pablo Neruda

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.


Translated by Robert Bly

The pasta incident...

Lent is considered to be a time when miracles happen. People who believe in magic and charms often perform their rituals at this time in order to make magical potions or acquire powerful amulets. I guess the same is true for me…

My family all left for Pampanga last Wednesday for the Holy week break. I was left at our home in Valenzuela all by myself because I still had to go to work and someone had to stay behind to watch the house and feed Beauty, our big black Labrador. I got by easily enough on Wednesday and Thursday with all the provisions left behind for me. I also spent Good Friday in our house in Pampanga and only came back that evening.



Beauty, the only company I had for most of the week

Then comes Black Saturday. Things started going wrong early on. The DVD player wasn’t working and the only thing I had to keep me busy was my PC. I was pretty much bored the whole day and I was looking for something to kill time with.

I had 3 packs of instant pancit canton for brunch but I was starting to feel hungry late that afternoon. I wanted something different from my usual fare of fried ham, hotdogs, or canned goods, stuff I usually had whenever I was alone at home. I had a craving deep down, I wanted pasta…

Let me admit now… I can’t cook… Unless you consider frying eggs, ham, and hotdogs cooking, and even that I can’t do well. I’ve messed up cooking rice even if I was already using a rice cooker. That’s how bad I am.

But I wanted pasta… Yes I could have easily just eaten out or ordered in, but I guess I wanted to prove something to my self. That I can cook… I also wanted to prove that I inherited even a few strands of DNA from my Mom who is a great cook. There it was a challenge, similar to scaling a very high peak or diving the deep blue sea. I was going to cook my self some pasta.

I took a quick inventory of available supplies in the kitchen. I found a can of Spaghetti Meat Sauce but we didn’t have any pasta nor cheese so I would have to go out and do some shopping.

Shopping, another thing I wasn’t really good at… This task is not going to be easy…

I wondered if the local sari-sari store had some spaghetti or any other type of pasta. I would have settled for elbow macaroni but delusions of preparing a dish that is similar to Sbarro’s Baked Zitti with meat sauce played in my head, so I decided to head for the nearest supermarket. That shouldn’t be too difficult. Or so I thought…

When I arrived at the nearest supermarket I found the parking lot full… and there were several cars waiting for parking space. Damn! I shouldn’t have brought the car and I should have just taken the ever reliable tricycle. I drove around for a while looking for parking space, but I eventually decided to drive to another supermarket, which was around 15 minutes away. Damn it! I am going to have pasta for dinner!

The sun had nearly set and it was getting dark when I arrived, and to think I started this whole operation at just around 5:00 pm. I haven’t set foot in this place for the longest time… I’m not sure if I was still in high school or college the last time I had been in this supermarket. There were obvious signs of renovation work so I started to methodically go around looking for the items I needed. I could not figure out the logic of their lay out and I’ve been walking around a few minutes and I still can’t find any pasta.

I eventually found what I was looking for at the back of the place. How could they put pasta at the back??? I spent few minutes thinking about what to get. Should I get spaghetti or those oddly shaped things? I eventually settled for what is called penne rigate, still with dreams of Baked Zitti floating in my head… Ok that’s done, now where did they put the cheese…

After what seemed like an eternity and a great exercise of patience on my part, I eventually found everything I needed and I headed home. I did recently help cook pasta during our last climb up Mt. Pulag. Cathie and Mella would be so proud if I could pull this off all by my self.

Remembering the mantra I had when it comes to assembling a PC, I said to my self: read the instructions… It seemed simple enough… Use 5 quarts of water for every pound of pasta. What the??? Quarts??? Haven’t they heard of the metric system??? I ran around the house looking for something that had the English system of measurement and even considered getting the weighing scale to measure the weight. Everything was in metric… No one said I would have to use math when cooking, should I find a conversion table??? Damn it! I want pasta for dinner!

I finally figured out what to do after I read the instructions again. Upon closer scrutiny the instructions did say that the water required would be around 1 liter, hehehe. Ok, I fired up the stove and brought the pot with a liter of water to a boil. I poured in the contents of the bag and added a tablespoon of salt just like what the label said. I also added some oil, stirred occasionally, and watched it closely.

Then I realized, how do I know when its ready?

I can’t really tell the difference between just right and overcooked, and what the hell is aldente???

I considered calling up my mom but quickly discarded the idea since I didn’t want to give her a heart attack. I think she’d always had this fear that I would burn down the whole house if I ever tried to do some serious cooking. I also considered going online to ask Mella since she was on B-shift and would probably still be online. But that would have been silly… “If I can assemble a PC and set up a whole network then I could do this,” I told myself. While I was contemplating what to do, I noticed that there was a layer of what seemed like starch on the ladle, I was no expert but I think its over cooked. That settled the issue.

I drained the pasta and set it aside. Now for the sauce… Ok, this is my element, just open the can pour it in and simmer till it starts bubbling. Simple enough… I was feeling jubilant and mighty proud of my self until I poured the sauce over the pasta. Then it dawned on me… I had way too much pasta and not nearly enough sauce. It looked worse than the anemic spaghetti that was served in the school canteen way back during my elementary years. Oh God... I failed!!!

How could I be so conceited as to think that I could do something like this???

I wonder if Beauty would like pasta mixed with some dog food???

Is Jollibee still open???

I was wallowing in despair and started looking around for something to eat for dinner. Then it occurred to me, hey maybe this is just a set back, a challenge. Nobody said life would be easy, nor did anybody ever say that choosing the path less traveled would a walk in the park! I knew that the path of least resistance (having food delivered) was looking very attractive at this time but that’s not what I wanted…. I wanted pasta for dinner or die trying!

Ok maybe I won’t go that far but I wanted to know for my self that I did everything I could do, and that even if I failed that I did my best and I would have no regrets and simply consider it a learning experience. Damn! I’ve been reading one too many self help books…

I found a pack of ham, which my mom left for me since it was easy to cook and there were two packs of tomato sauce in the cupboards.

Hmmm, maybe I could experiment… This could actually work…

I found some garlic and some onions and threw them into the pan. I sliced up all the ham and threw them in as well. I also found a can of mushrooms and thought, what the hell it could work. I didn’t know what I was doing but I decided to go with my instincts. I finally poured in the tomato sauce and brought it to a boil.

I said a little prayer before I poured the whole thing over the pasta. I stirred with a spoon and it started to look like a fairly decent pasta. I transferred everything to two large containers I apparently had enough to feed maybe 5 people.

I tasted it and it wasn’t bad at all… I wouldn’t dare say great but it was good enough to eat and maybe leave some for my Mom, Tita, brother, and sister in law to taste the following day.

I grated the cheese over the whole thing and it melted perfectly over the damned thing! God it’s beautiful!!!



After almost 3 ½ hours since I started this little project, I was ready to eat. I was jubilant! It was like reaching the summit of a level 3 mountain or something like the feeling I had when we had our check out dive. I was walking on sunshine and it felt something like the first time I saw a whale shark swim towards me…

I am my Mother’s son after all…

I thanked God for this little miracle and I even considered going to hear mass the following day (Easter) to give thanks.

I had to tell someone! I thought about texting my friends but it would have sounded silly and they might think I was out of my mind. I went online instead and frantically typed away as I told Mella the whole story of how I cooked my very first pasta meal in between big spoons full of my pasta.



There it is, the story of me cooking pasta…

I learned a few things:

Canned spaghetti meat sauce is no good and practically has no meat in it.

1 pound of penne rigate is a lot of pasta…

Hot oil bouncing off a frying pan causes pain and one should wear a shirt for protection while cooking.

Read the instructions carefully…

Finally… When things go wrong or don’t work out the way you planned, don’t despair and give up so easily… Try harder and keep at it… It may not work out as you would like it, but who knows maybe what you get in the end would be just as good.