Someone told me a couple of weeks ago that we only had six weeks left in this decade. I feel like time is on a bullet train these days. Sure, the year is almost over, but to hear that another decade is about to end is almost unfathomable. I have to admit that the information was hard to take in. I was consumed with mixed emotions. Ten years sounds like such a long time, but it just flew by!
What did I do in the last ten years? Did I reach my goals? Did I grow up? Did I learn my lessons? Am I a better person? Did I give enough? Did I love enough? Was I grateful enough? Did I end up where my not-yet-40-year-old self dreamt she would be?
Ten years ago at this time, I was six months pregnant with my one and only child, Max. It was a happy time, but I was quite uncomfortable, and did not find any moment of pregnancy during my second trimester to be beautiful, charming, or graceful. I’m 100% certain that I never had the “glow” that pregnant women are promised. Any glow I had came from sweat, and being in a kitchen made it worse. I was tired a lot. I didn’t feel like myself.
I think Max knew that I was not having a fantastic time being pregnant, because he decided to come six weeks ahead of schedule. While Max came early, he certainly didn’t arrive quickly. I labored for 13 long hours until my doctor decided that I would have to deliver by C-section. When Max finally arrived, he was beautiful, and made every pain, discomfort, all the crankiness, and the many doubts in my mind disappear the moment I met him. As soon as I held him for the first time, I knew my life had changed for the better. I also knew my life would never be the same again. I did not know that I could love someone so much my heart could burst. I felt lucky and was very grateful.
The year 2019 is also a special milestone for my family. This October, my sisters and I celebrated our 30th year in America. We arrived on a cold, rainy night in Charlotte, North Carolina, at Douglas International Airport on October 6, 1989. My mother had migrated two years before us to get her life situated before bringing us over. It was an emotional moment seeing my mom after two years. It was an emotional moment to step on a different land and to leave behind the only home we knew.
We learned quickly, however, that home is a mindset. Wherever I was, as long as it was with family, was my home.
Leaving the Philippines was not easy for my sisters and me. Looking back at my teenage self, I probably did not want to move here. I probably did not want to leave my friends. I am certain I did not want to leave my boyfriend behind. Somehow, though, my mother knew that a life in the United States was best for us. My mom was only 37 years old, and was told by many friends and relatives that she was making a mistake relocating all of us. She followed her heart and her gut. She was determined. I am grateful for my mother’s courage, smarts, and grit. I am thankful that my mother believed in change. I cannot imagine what my life would have been had she not decided to reroute her life. I certainly would not have met my husband and had my Max.
All actions have consequences. My mom’s big decision to move to the United States led to the life that I have now. Like some/many/most (/all?) people, I went through a series of bad decisions in my early adult life, and I am grateful to have had good luck. At some point (and much later than most people I know) I decided to grow up. That good luck, coupled with my instincts, and the determination I learned from my mother, have been my constant redeemers.
I am still frequently stunned that I have the job I have. Being a chef in Los Angeles is a dream come true, but being a chef for Bon Appétit brings this dream to another level. Being the Executive Chef at Disney Studios brings this dream to a height that is sometimes surreal. How lucky am I to be here, right now, with all these opportunities, with all these people? I am quite fortunate and lucky to even recognize how fortunate and lucky I’ve been.
As I continue to grow up with my husband, we decided to invest in our first home last year. For us, making a decision to purchase a home meant leaving our apartment in West Hollywood (where we’d lived since we were married), and moving to an area where our money could go further. I was sad to leave the city but it was the right thing to do. We needed a bigger place for our family, and it was time. We found a home we all loved and jumped right in.
Every now and then when I am cooking in our kitchen, I look at the pots and pans hanging from the rack above my beautiful sinks and I feel overwhelmed. I can’t believe I own a beautiful home. I can’t believe I have a beautiful rack dedicated to hanging beautiful pots and pans. I can’t believe I have my own beautiful kitchen! To many that may seem silly, but I never dreamed I would be a homeowner, nor did I foresee that I would have a beautiful family with whom to share it. Owning a home isn’t the essence of this house, it’s the love we have. Home is where the heart is, and my heart is full of thanks.
This Thanksgiving (and every day) I am thankful for many things…for the small and the grand, for the good and the bad, for every decision made, for every opportunity and challenges, for every smile given and received, for every human interaction, for every advice offered and used, for every mistake, for all the steps taken and restful days, for all the jobs done, for all the truthful moments, for all the kindness bestowed and welcomed, for all the dollars saved and spent, for all the butter I ate, for keeping bacon in my life, for all the breads I couldn’t resist, for lessons learned, for trusting my gut, for the tears and all the laughs, for the opportunity to love, for the heartaches, for every moment to be here, and for YOU.
Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
I was planning to share some simple side dish recipes for this post, but I think most of you are probably set with your holiday menus. This week I was lucky enough to be able to spend some time with my Mother and sisters in Stockton. On my last night with the family, I cooked a traditional Filipino soup called Nilaga. It is an oxtail soup with vegetables, similar to the Hispanic dish Caldo de Res.
We are a bunch of talkers. My family never shuts up…until the moment some good food is served at the dining table. This time, my Nilaga did the talking. For a few minutes, the sounds of slurping communicated all we needed to say.
Please enjoy this Nilaga recipe with people who are constantly judging you but love you unconditionally for who you are.
