Found this on 9gag, very funny! LOL. Reminds me of an article I read on Reader’s Digest a few years back about some guys in the US whose professsion is to correct such things, I forgot what their group is called but they have belt bags with paint, markers and other materials that they use to correct misspelled signs. Now that’s one profession or voluntary act we need in place, we need to preserve the true forms of language.


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Such a fan of Andy Warhol, see even my blog’s background is made by Mr. Warhol. I was surprised to see that this photo had a Warholesque effect, I use very simple editing software. It remains a secret what photo editing software, you’ll be surprised if you find out. I don’t even know how to Photoshop, maybe that’s a new skill I would have to learn soon since I’m becoming a serial blogger. I spend more time on my site than on my thesis due in five days. I blog even when at work. LOL.


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By Maan “Maggie” Villar

Tuesday, February 26, 2013



Listening to Clara C and Sam Ock’s “Little Light” makes me think of you, why is it that whenever we hit each other up, we always have those talks of living together, sailing away in our own little boat, flying away… far far away… Away from the world… why baby? What are your reasons for having these talks with me?


I am not even sure if you’re serious when you talk to these things about me…


But hey, those talks of being together, maybe getting hitched if things do work out… Maybe…


We’ll see when we spend December together…


But yeah, listening to this song, beautifully crafted, it’s a song about our “thing”…


If all else works out fine, which I hope will, I just wanted to tell you something, put it out for public consumption and for your own enjoyment and thought:



 I’m a pencil and paper kinda gal,

 mortar and pestle…


 I’m the type who would rather a cottage,

Country style interiors,

 Filled with books,

 Tubes of paint,

 And an old piano.

 A flower box I would water with a rusted watering can

 And a hammock or wooden swing on our porch to spend the late afternoons in,

 Just when the sun is about to set.  

I would choose that over a trendy flat,

In an address to-die-for in the heart of the city…

That’s how I’m old fashioned,

 and romantic…


So don’t fret when I cannot reach you on some days,

It’s either I am busy or simply because I do not have Internet at home…

I am low on the technology side,

Which is why up to now,

 Even after breaking my supposed Valentine’s Day with you over Skype,

 I still do not have it set-up.

But I’ll make an effort,

to reach you,

get closer to you despite the large geographical and time differences we have between us.



I’ll try catching up your pace…

And yeah,

Maybe set-up my connection at home…

I’m just avoiding too much dependence on the Internet,

And distraction.


I like borrowing books from the library,

Sniffing the yellowed and frayed pages of the old ones,

And its leather binding.

I like making my own bookmarks.

I like cutting the articles I like in the newspaper.

Keeping back issues of magazines,

And looking in the encyclopedia for information,

Or the dictionary for definition…

Rather than typing away on Google…


I don’t even have Internet connection at home…

I’m old fashioned like that babe…


I would fancy a Saturday night watching TV on your lap,

Cook chicken soup when you’re tired or not feeling well,

Have a walk in the garden early mornings,

Hand in hand…

And a hearty breakfast afterwards…

Sunny side up eggs, bacon, pancakes and milk.

Have an afternoon nap under your embrace,

Breeze on our faces,

In our little hammock…

And cold nights in front of the fireplace,

Pine wood burning,

And glasses of wine,

Under a red blanket,

While you tell me stories of your life,

And I tell you my secrets…


But you’re there along the beaches,

Thousands of miles,

A whole different time zone,

This romance is too modern for me…


But I think about you all the time,

I’m waiting for you,

Having a sliver of hope that we could make this work,

Because in those brief moments we text or email,

I feel happy,

You make me believe in love again,

That it is possible…

Even in this modern type of romance,

And I got in to this

Despite being old-fashioned in my ways…

Pencil and paper,

Mortar and pestle…



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By Maan “Maggie” Villar

Sunday, February 24, 2013


            I am one of the living testaments to the fact that when you are an aesthetically gifted woman, you get special treatment and better or extra attention from everyone (not only men) in general. Although, and I want to be brutally frank right here, some not-so-good-looking personages would take much pride and entertainment in torturing you and making life a little bit more harder for you for the sake of feeding their underfed egos. A double-edged sword this ordeal is really but I am glad that the first scenario is true most of the time.  


            It makes my day when little things that people go out of their way in doing just to woo me or get momentary attention, the effort may be insincere at times but hey it makes my life a tad easier that way. I get free newspapers daily at that Jollibee branch I go to at The Fort even if I come in for breakfast late (say lunch time) because the waiters reserve one for me even the back issues knowing I am an avid reader of the papers and I need it for my daily consumption just like I need their breakfast meals to get me my initial serving of energy for the day. Or when I visit my favorite Bo’s coffee branch at G5, the waiters would make sure my corner spot near the magazines, lamp and power outlets are free and they prepare my favorite drink and usual tap with ice just as I step inside the store. There was even a time when I spent New Year’s afternoon at their shop that I got my coffee for free. I’m also a regular in two Starbucks branches in The Fort where they make sure I have my spot free and have no need to ask me for what drink and how many Splenda sachets they have to mix in my coffee. When I eat outside, waiters would give me extra rice for free (esp. at Yabu), inform me of special promotions they have, give me a free taste of what’s new in the menu, extra special service indeed. I get to sit comfortably in the MRT or the bus even when it’s crammed with people – I mean, a sardines inside the can would have more space really so it does no justice using the Filipino expression “parang sardinas sa sikip.” This is me being grateful to the perks, but that does not even comprise half of the story even if it already occupied a good half of the page.


            This is the longest stretch of time that I am sans a partner since I grew breasts and made my debut into puberty. I used this as a Facebook status once and boy did it get a lot of reactions from friends and foes alike that I feel the need to reiterate the fact here in my blog. I thought I was not going to survive single life, it’s not that my life depended on my partner nor am I defined by my partner, it’s just that the way I was raised, I was endowed with so much love that I have so much love to give away. Many people who do not know me well enough would construe this as being needy of a boyfriend and attention, but given my strong persona and zest for life, do I really need a partner even? I was never defined by my partners; in fact, it was even the other way around. Well, I would not want to delve into that as that is a whole different topic for a blog entry. I enjoy being in a relationship as much as I enjoy being single because I firmly believe in the fact that our happiness in our domestic life could define the happiness in our life in general. Many great minds have attested to this statement I just made, and I am not even sure if what I said is something that I am paraphrasing from something I read or something my mind did conjure to emphasize my point on needing a stable relationship.


             The whole fiasco of this single life is supportive of my “hedonistic” sexuality which I wrote about in the past (particularly in my entry ORPHAN OF THE HOLIDAYS) but I swear it on my grave, if I find the right man, I will never be out of the market again. I guess even with the whole mardi gras or party or fun of being single which how some would like to describe it, at the end of the day and as how we are built biologically, we would look for our partner and cohabitate, fulfill our womanly and manly functions. I want that in my life, it is what I lack in my life. But maybe, the heavens is again conspiring to give me this stretch of time to go la dolce vita because it is the perfect age, I have my whole life stretched out in front of me, I am now with the means, the time and the energy to fulfill my most coveted dreams and aspirations in life. In fact, I even see as the time for me to learn fully loving myself and making myself the perfect partner for the perfect partner that I want for myself. That sounded like a merry-go-round right there but let me rehash that usual advice you would see in “Letters to Angie” or something column in magazines that if you want to have the perfect partner, you have to be the perfect partner for that person yourself. Nowadays everyone is practical, I don’t know if this is an indirect effect of the economic turmoil and crunches we encounter but we always want to have a good deal, the package offering the best value for our resource – even with our partners.


            And yes I am not yet done with the Eat, Pray, Love process as the great Elizabeth Gilbert has popularized, in fact I am just in the Eat stage and loving every minute of it. I am loving myself more and more each day. When I was with partner, I never really had the time to go to the salon twice a week to get a mani and pedi, get a good Swedish, or whatever treatment I would fancy as I browse their menu of self-love. It is a whole new experience for me to go to posh restaurants and movie houses alone – I always feared the idea of doing these things alone because it might look weird, but in fact, I get to savor the different flavors of my food and concentrate on the societal commentary of the movie I am watching which is also getting the value of what I paid for (being the economist I am, haha!). I was afraid to sign-up for different activities in the past because I was afraid of overshadowing my lover or having no time for the relationship that needs my nurture but now here I am newly signed up for Women’s Interactive Network (WIN), Badminton Club, Running Club, Band Club and renewing activities I lost touch with like my human rights activism for Amnesty International, Toastmasters, music classes and dancing. I never had the chance to fulfill my intellectual curiosities, take the road to my desired ends and success along with other pursuits without someone on the other line demanding more of my time. In fact, I bop my hips and sing with more melodiously as I clean my room and blare the speakers with Whitney Houston’s I’m Every Woman playing. I am being superwoman. I am superwoman.


            Unlike others who would enjoy single life because they can freely date and sleep with the world, I enjoy it because I find out more about myself, I live my passions, I tap unknown potentials, I find out how truly strong I am and I become more aware each day that I can make it in the world even if I am alone. I abstained from dating because I find it a waste of time to “date my exes again” if you know what I mean. OK, what I mean is that I keep on getting the same deal from these guys like they’re cloned in some man-making factory in Antartica. Another reason why I stopped dating is that I feel like I need this much space and time to make myself the best for my soul mate. It may sound funny but I do believe in the idea of soul mates even if I do not really term it that outright in my writings. Well, now you know.


            When he comes, I would be a better person, the best version of myself for him because I sacrificed my whims, hedonism and vanity for the pursuit of true love and domestic bliss. I might even get hitched with a Harry Winston ring and Carolina Herrera white dress when the man and the time would arrive finally. I don’t really think that I would be a spinster as how some of my friends would tease me. I know I would emulate the kind of love and parenthood I saw from my parents when factors to make it a reality for myself would fall each into its proper place. For now, I would make my dreams come true and my life an inspiration to others while I’m beautiful and single. 




By: Maan Villar



                Overly creative, my mind is. So, I have ran through websites that offer free and foolproof (I suppose since these methods are published and are claimed to be tried and tested) ways to get m life or anyone’s life back on track, magazines offer the same tidbits of advice for a minimal fee coming in as the cost of purchasing the magazine. One of the ways to do this, as they claim, is to learn new things and keep myself busy. In consideration of such, I suddenly get an ample doze of inspiration, a sudden upsurge of the old passions, like a coal or fuel added to an old fire burning within myself. My room was the starting point, I started de-cluttering, redesigning and fixing everything giving it a new order and look and feeling so triumphant at the end since my room is like a nightmare, or something struck by a tornado or some other calamity. It felt like I cleaned up a piece of myself, I always believed what they said that your room is a reflection of who you are, and doing such deed was really symbolic of my mending back the little tears or holes in the fabric of my life. I also made more room by throwing out the pieces of junk that have cluttered up my room, similar to my making room for more valuable knowledge and skills that I am to learn. I start learning POETRY more formally this time; writing is something I do out of artistic license and passion so it’s a skill I am “familiar” with. Relearning is more of the right term for it, poetry writing is an underdeveloped skill as I have written several poems in the past and had them published but it is not a fully-formed skill, still is half-baked. With zero availability of courses in literature or creative writing, I ran to the school library and borrowed books on the subject. A famous writer/intellectual once said that “everything we learn is self-learned” so thought why not learn the ropes around making good poetry and be in my own right a poet.


                Poems, in my opinion, are like riddles, you never really know the reason behind, the inspiration, the mood and the emotional state the writer has at the time. You read them over and over and it gives you a peek into the world it was created in or the world created for it and if you are lucky enough, you get a clue of what is inside the writer’s mind and the story behind such a piece, if you are luckier enough, these things are explicit. As Gemino Abad puts it “what we seem to know about the world is always a text”, and poetry is an outlet of putting together letters, syllables, words, lyrics, rhythm and emotions just like any great book or essay, it has that same magnitude of power to change the world and be a precursor to change, a brainchild to movements and ideologies as what The Factologist, Basho, Erika Jung, Keats, Maya Angelou and many others have done.


                Mr. Abad would also say that the principal theme is always why one writes at all. As a musician myself, poetry is built on the same precepts music founds itself on, many similarities bind poetry and music some obvious to the common observer and others lie in the deeper recesses of the imaginative mind. The greatest songs are created with rhythm, melody and harmony as the backbone and with words and their poetic assemblage are they given color. Some rock songs have very good lyrics that when you take the music out and read it as it is, it would pass as a poetic masterpiece, the same is true for any other song but rock musicians would take the top notch in musical circles as to the creation of lyrics that are above par.


                “Like other people writers of course do many other, and more important things than write – they fall in love, and raise their children and espouse other causes, lost or political; they fail and suffer like other humans, love again, teach, die little deaths, earn a living other than from writing. Yet if they didn’t write from all those other things that they do or endure, all those would seem rather paltry or jejune – routine and rout, all-proliferating just as though they had never lived. They must needs write, it is their nature. Or so it seems, as they earn the living and writing.” [Abad]


                “One is curious as how one could look again with words and see things clearly again…”

                And so, I write again, this time in rhyme, rhythm and verse – a new voice, a new mode of expression, a reinvention of Language and a newly forged field of my Imagination.


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December 4, 2012


            Proven it is that the whole affair with “mistress literature and movies” has gotten into my head. I have had my brushes with married and committed men in the past but the intensity of these affairs has ballooned out of proportion and intensified this time, not because I am desperate or because I twitching at the thought of the disproportionate ratio of men to women but because I am exploring more of my sexuality. I discovered, as of recent, that I easily get tired or bored of the same things and in contrast to my persona; my sexuality could be best exemplified as “hedonistic”. It is also to satisfy my wisdom which could be best derived from experience, I had to experience these “affairs” to get on the twilight zone and again further the unquenchable thirst for knowledge and expansion of my artistic license to such shenanigans. My pursuit of these pleasures may be out of a good line of reasoning but being an exemplary citizen, a straight-A student, a model employee, a human rights fighter, an intellectual and academic concerned with the matters of this world and its betterment, I need a little more zest to my life and I find it in none other of my activities, only in men. Womanizers would often say “I like women”, well being the alpha woman, I would say the same thing, I LIKE MEN (just like everyone, women at that, does). Irrational pursuits and mind-boggling means of achieving hedonistic pleasures – this is the only complication my life has right now, I have let go of my existential issues for this.


            It is the failure of the last two affairs that I have had that pushes me to write this. The failure is not something I did not expect, in fact, I expected it so much that it came in too early, at the hype of the relationship. It was bound to end just as our lives are bound to cease at one point. It is my truth. And just like any other failed relationship and mishap in my life, I faced the music, faced it with grace, strength and optimism. I hurt. I wronged. I have no excuse. I apologize. I repent.


But… there is no assurance I would not do it again…


Having become a mistress myself, I would glean from my experience and would attest to what other mistresses have said and wrote on the matter esp. that of Ms. Jullie Yap – Daza. Heck. These things are even giving media moguls millions in profit because it is realistic and true, another one of those trivialities that would make you ask if art imitates life or life imitates art. Let me tell you the story of how I became one…


A real mistress would never know she is one on the onset, even now I cannot even admit it to myself fully that I was a mistress because when you are in that situation you feel like you are the only one esp. when you get really close and comfortable to your partner. My partner, who we will hide in the name “Robin”, is truly an Adonis of a man. He is of towering height, perfectly fair and supple skin, handsome, Caucasian features, and smart, has a knack of cracking good jokes, and is excessively talented. He is an actor and just the right age, the first of his kind that I dated. Anywhere we go to, people stare at us – we look so good together, many would comment and commend. We were a good match in every sense of the word. Of course, you cannot have everything… the man is married with two beautiful kids. But we spent a great deal of our day together, we frolic in the afternoon sunshine together, he takes me home, brings me out, he’s there when I need him, he does everything for me and gives me everything I need – he’s what I need in a partner and more… I am so comfortable with Robin that he is aware of all my quirks, imperfections and has a multi-dimensional idea of who I am and how I run my life. He adores me, compliments me and believes in me – I can tell. He’s the first person I saw poring over my blog, his face was nearly touching the computer screen and he references my writing even as we converse with other people. He even asked me to feature him. Well, here you are Robin Hood. He is the first fan of my blog.


 I am fully guarding my heart when I am with him because I don’t want to fall HOH with him, I would breach the Family Code, and many would fall victim if I become selfish. We got caught several times, in fact, I am even civil with his wife even when we exchange SMSs. That is how mature our whole affair is. Even up to the point after his wife found out and we got scrutiny from the public, that point when it was supposed to end, we still continued being with each other. We still spend a lot of time together, watch movies together, drive around the city together, laugh a lot, hang out with our friends  and maybe instead of ending the relationship, we let it simmer down to a good friendship because we are that close.


            Why, you may ask, do I call it a failed relationship on the onset of this I am writing? First of all, it is doomed to failure given the constraints we are bound with; my moral compass would not supply me with enough willpower or guts to totally destroy his marriage. It’s a plane or a rocket that would never take off. This is why it is failed. There would come a time that we would have to completely stop seeing each other… That we would move forward in our lives. I fear that day because I grew close enough to him to form attachments that I know no one could compensate for when he would not be around in my life anymore. I would have to abandon the old feelings I felt for him because his kids would grow, he would soon man up and nurture his family and marriage, he would forget about me in the coming years. Robin fell for me because I am a self-assured and I do not need a man in my life, I am unlike most women who marries a man or is with a man and makes her whole life and being depend on that man, I could dispose of him and he could dispose of me without causing too much a ruckus. But with Robin, I may not cause too much drama or much of a noise when it is time for us to finally cut the strings, but I would cry secretly for him. Robin is one of the people who made me saunter perfectly in the Manila heat and move on from my past all smiles, he never failed to make me laugh my heart out and always made me feel that warm protected feeling when he puts his arms around me. When I need a man to carry my bags to the bus terminal, to fetch me, to be with me, to make me feel lonely on Christmas day, he is there to carry my bags, to laugh with me in the car, be crazy with me and give me a small gift that would remind me that I am loved by him, somehow…


            A mistress is there to put a marriage to ashes completely or be the tool for that marriage to be fixed – maybe it was my role in Robin’s life to fix his marriage, to be the bridge for him to enjoy domestic happiness. I wish him well. I wish to have him as a constant in my life, even if I know that that can never be, and that with Robin, I would have no one to celebrate the holidays with, no one to spend the longer weekends and cook holiday dinner for… Christmas, New Year, Valentines, birthdays… they would all pass lonely and myself being an orphan of the holidays if we remain together…


            Any relationship where you are the mistress is bound to be a tragedy – maybe not for yourself but for the family you destroyed. Be mindful of your choices, if you are one who can relate to this entry. This is my story. It is truly sad. It is me going with the bandwagon of mistress stories, which is not a good trend media injected in the minds of its consumers esp. the younger ones.  And to tell you honestly, I am caught between thinking it is just a trend or the dilemma of art imitating life or vice versa because I know not of when I am to curtail these affairs. Am I ever? Is there still a man out there for me given the ratio of four women is to one man? 


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By: Maan Villar


Make it a European cruise,

A bask in the Tuscan sunset,

Sipping champagne bubbles,

Diamond glinting from the vast ocean;


Or lie in the canals of Venice,

Serenaded by a gold-skinned gondolier,

Red velvet pillows and roses dipped in deep crimson blood,

Underneath the soft glow of the moon and distant stars;


Or on a quaint and cozy café in Paris,

Troubadours and artists surrounding that small pocket,

Overlooking the great Eiffel tower,

And the blue skies of spring.


Take me to a Grecian temple,

A cobblestone path,

An architectural masterpiece,

Nature and its wonders,

Beneath the stars,

Or right before the sun rises,

Take me anywhere,

Or take me home.


I want violins,

Make it a string quartet;

I want perfume,

Maybe Chanel No. 5;

Also a string of pearls,

Or a Harry Winston diamond ring;


By the dozen if you please;

Aromatic candles,

Gourmet chocolates,



Love letters –

In rhyme,

A sonnet

Sans gene



Romance, agape, passion, love,

Make it a picture of la dolce vita,

Make it bigger than what movies show,

Make me cry,

Make me not know how to thank you,

For I,

 The romantic,

Would only give my heart,

When these words are taken out of the paper…



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October 12, 2012



Reading the things I have written before gives me this funny and giddy feeling in my stomach. I wrote so much about depression, when I was not really depressed I was just moping over some little guy of the past that I now have a vague memory of and if in case I remember something, I laugh at my former shallow self for being head-over-heels for such losers. I’m not being cruel, it is true – I have a cultured taste and sophisticated inclinations in life but when it comes to men, I developed a “distasteful” taste. I was forewarned in the dawn of my teenage years (13 years old to be exact after our daily flag ceremony) by a friend of my mom’s who happens to be our grade school adviser that I had an “almost zero” taste in guys thanks a lot for her knowing about my big crush and stalker ways for this guy in the other class who turned out gay when we got to college. Bulls eye Ma’am! This memory of my first brushings with puppy love and how I was brushed off midway became so relevant even now that I’m a fully-grown medium breasted sexy woman.  


Many men have become the undeserving subjects of my writings and art, I claim my right to being and artist cum writer cum musician, it is just that I was working with all the wrong “muses”. And what is so funny is that in my day-to-day transactions with the world and with the time that walked us all by, I have no memory of a name or just an indistinct haze of a face but rummaging through all the writings or sketches I have made has stored a name to the face or a face to the name. Maybe I shouldn’t really be using my men as subjects if I really want to not be reminded of them another time in the future because surely I have forgotten of them; it’s different when you don’t want to be reminded of something you have forgotten. You get what I mean right?


The best records of my life would be in my sketchbooks and paintings, in the notebooks I keep all my writings, musings and doodles in, and in the music sheets where I have recorded random melodies. I can delete your pictures, throw away all you have given me, move on from you, forget about you but I cannot get rid of the call of love that has made me do such beautiful things. These are art forms that can’t be thrown away. Partly because it took me much effort and partly because whatever sour grapes you might hear from me, you still are a part of my life. At that moment, it was perfect, it was love, the universe conspired to bring that moment together and in my eyes together with my emotions, you were the demigod.


I’ve been through the worst heartbreaks, maybe three times in my life? I gave the third shot my best shot thinking it would be the last time but here I am again on my computer writing the night away which I usually do when sad things inspire me and to keep me from thinking of ghosts in my room since the sadness is keeping me awake. I was told by my counselor in the past that the first time I fall in love, I would love that that person the most the second time is when it’s the opposite, the other person would love me most and the third person I meet would be the one I would spend the rest of my life with. This is a recurring statement in many of the “love themed” things I wrote because that guidance counselor really engraved that in my young mind who knew nothing of love. So I gave the third serious try a good shot because I thought that this person was the third person, “the one you spend the rest of your life with”. Turns out we can’t work out the rest of our lives since he has different ideals for a partner and I had big dreams, it was real but it was not something that could carry-on longer – a short-lived but beautiful #23.


You may be asking, what is with #23?


No, Michael Jordan is not my life icon even if that is his jersey number nor is 23 a special date. Well folks, let’s just say that since I entered puberty and started growing breasts I haven’t had a break with the boyfriends. So 23 is… go figure. That’s my number (just in case, this is an allusion to the Anne Feris’ flick “What’s your number?”).


With my number, many have been relieved, surprised, gave gasps of disbelief, OMGs, WTFs – I’ve heard them all. And my number gave me the role of dating adviser to friends, threat to other women and many other roles some of which I really didn’t like. It is easy for me to get a guy I like in any situation from a quiet café (I got a handsome surgeon from the other table who went out with me to dinner two times in the week just recently), a bar (basic and a good place to get air heads and lowlife) or in an academic convention (great place to get the good catches but you have to be as smart as I am, haha  =D ). It’s easy for me to read a man and twirl him around in my fingers.


Now I’m very bored with men because I hear all the same stories, pick-up lines and use all the same on them. I don’t want to increase my number, so 24 has to be the winner because he will make it official that moi has had two dozen boyfriends in her lifetime. He just has to be the one this time. I don’t want to go overboard with the number because it has its consequences as well.


Maybe I’ll give credit to 23 because after everything, we’re still in speaking terms and friends, even if we shattered each other’s heart like a bat to a Murano glass. He made me take a pause from the cycle and relish, breath in life and wait for the right one. He’s notorious because he was the only person who made me rethink and stop my ways.


Until I find the right inspiration, until I find someone good to write about, to worship with my art and romanticisms, I’ll be lounging in with life being BOLD and aiming for the stars.


I’m seriously thinking of getting a Micheal Jordan logo tattoo just to give credit to my number. Hahaha. 

RECIPES FOR THE BROKEN HEART – Salad Olivieh (A Persian Delicacy)


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RECIPES FOR A BROKEN HEART – Salad Olivieh (A Persian delicacy to die for)

Made with MBA classmates Amir Ferdows and JP Villanueva


Amir is a really good friend of mine I met at one of my MBA classes. I usually go to his very cozy condominium up at Mines View Park when I am bothered by something or just when I need a friendly conversation with him or maybe when I need to use his Internet connection. So, while chatting and letting the hours while away, we cook Salad Olivieh which he taught me the very first time I went to his unit and thank goodness he always has a stock of big potatoes. This is perfect for a lazy night with a friend. Cooking time is pretty long so it’s good to have some Selecta Heath Ice Cream on hand and a big bag of chips while waiting for the main dish.


RECIPE 2 – Salad Olivieh


COOKING TIME: 1 hour and 30 minutes





­( Prepare everything you need first before going through the whole process, I provided little blanks where you could place a tick when you have the ingredient or utensil. ♥)


_ French bread

_ A kilo or two of big potatoes

_ Eggs

_ Carrots

_ Chicken breasts

_ Tomatoes

_ S & P (as in Salt and Pepper)

_ Mayonnaise


_ Grater


  1. Boil the potatoes, eggs, carrots and chicken breast.
  2. Grate the potatoes, eggs, carrots and chicken breast and combine everything in a big mixing bowl and make sure to wash everything with tap water first before peeling and grating as the Persians do.
  3. Here’s where we get our hands dirty…

Doing it the Persian way, you need to mash the potatoes, eggs, carrots and chicken breast together with your hands and mash it for at least 30 minutes; more mashing time means a better salad.

  1. Season with salt and pepper and mash again.
  2. Put the salad in a deep dish and flatten out.
  3. Spread the mayonnaise over the salad, more mayonnaise means better.
  4. Slice the tomatoes and design the top as you please with them. ☺

PS: What do you need the French bread for? You can spread the Salad Olivieh over the bread like you would do with peanut butter over a sandwich.

PPS: This is the perfect dish when bonding with your friends as the long cooking time would leave you hungry and you would surely eat with gusto after the long conversation while waiting for everything to boil, or while mashing and placing the salad on the dish. When you are going through a major heartbreak, well, I guess it would leave you distracted as you do not want to over-boil anything and the mashing is a good outlet of anger.

RECIPES FOR A BROKEN HEART – Pretzel Chips with Sour Dip

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RECIPES FOR A BROKEN HEART – Pretzel Chips and Homemade Hearty Sour Dip


Trust me, I am no cook, but I have a weird knack of making up recipes in my mind and remembering recipes in a cooking show probably  after countless episodes of Barefoot Contessa, Everyday Italian, Two Greedy Italians, Pairings with Andrea and Good Eats that I have watched (Or maybe just my fetish for lifestyle and culture shows in general). Plus, I rummaged through some old features and editorials I wrote for some publications in the past and I figured – I AM GOOD IN WRITING. Another plus is that I am going through a major dilemma so I combined my hidden talent for cooking, my good writing plus my broken heart to make RECIPES FOR A BROKEN HEART.


When you read this, make sure you try my recipe at home or leave a comment if you found a good twist to it, I’m sure this would chase your blues away. 100%, this would chase those sour bitter feelings you might have toward him or her…


Here goes…



Made with my mom on a very stormy day August 2012 while reading some books


COOKING TIME: 10 minutes




­ (Prepare everything you need first before going through the whole process, I provided little blanks where you could place a tick when you have the ingredient or utensil. ♥ )


_ Pretzel Chips

The best brand to use would be Snack Factory’s Pretzel Chips but you could substitute with any pretzel or pretzel chips that you can find in your local grocery store

_ 1 cup mayonnaise

_ 1 tbsp mustard

_ Chopped red onion

_ Vinegar (Apple Cider is a better option if available)

_ Crushed garlic

_ 1 whole diced tomato

_ Salt

_ Pepper




  1. Mix the chopped garlic and vinegar and let it sit.
  2. Mix the mustard with the mayonnaise.
  3. Mix the chopped red onions with the tomatoes with a dash of S&P.
  4. Mix the vinegar with the garlic lastly and place everything together in a bowl, MIX MIX MIX! Until you think that the consistency would do well for you.


Eat with gusto, refrigerate left over dip, a healthier substitute for popcorn which would go straight down your thighs!