Sunday, July 31, 2011
Again – an unedited entry.
You are reading my soul in all its rawness.
With a little disruption from a cousin who is watching The Dark Knight in full volume and another cousin who just keeps on coughing and talking.
And so we begin…
Unbelievable.
I am craving for pizza, and for this particular Sunday afternoon, it has to be Jugno’s.
Shakey’s, Pizza Hut, Yellow Cab and even that pizza from Naples described by Elizabeth Gilbert as the best in the world do not make the cut.
I wanted Jugno’s Monster Pizza and I’ll order Jugno’s Special (pepperoni, cheese, black olives and all the staple ingredients) mixed with the simplicity of its Hawaiian variety put together in a 20” pizza monstrosity. I will pour with minimum restraint onion dip on my piece of square thin crust heaven, fold it into two, unmindful of the oil, cheese and the dip dripping on my fingers because they won’t go to waste – they will be licked – and will eat it with pure joy, thinking, I had my pizza. And it was from Jugno’s.
I got what I wanted and satisfied a craving.
I dialed the hotline number; there was no answer from the other line. As I am among the most impatient people in the world, I got up, dragged my sister with me and braved the rain. One of the perks of living in our current apartment is that all the nicest restaurants in Quezon City are just a few steps and blocks away from us. And Jugno’s is a few steps away from us. Until now.
We reached the store and there was no sign of the usual frenzied delivery boys in motorcycle. Jugno’s usual headquarters had been replaced by some hardware store unceremoniously. Or maybe I had been too busy to even notice that Jugno’s left.
You know that feeling when you were in pre-school and your mother had to leave you behind with strangers, crazy fellow pre-schoolers and righteous nuns and teachers, and you feel no other choice but to cry. Or that feeling when you were in your first year in college and your mother had to drop you off on your first night in your dormitory with a roommate who will fall ill if she does not speak in English and another roommate who simply doesn’t care and you feel like there’s a lump in your throat from trying so hard to keep yourself from crying. Part of you want to push your mother away because you are so proud you do not want her to see you crying but another part wants to pull her towards you in a tight embrace, pleading never to let you go.
Because you do not want to stay in that dorm and eat their mushy and wet rice and grilled pork chop which breaks your teeth apart. Because you want to still be her little girl. Because you do not want to leave your comfortable life in the province.
Because you are scared.
That’s exactly what I felt when the old man from the adjacent store nodded in affirmation and in indifference when I asked whether Jugno’s has indeed left.
A lump in my throat.
A hole in my heart.
I wanted to cry.
Jugno’s is no longer my neighbor.
Worse, I could not satisfy my craving on this rainy Sunday afternoon.
Tomorrow is Monday and is the start of another lengthy and tiring week at work.
And on Thursday, I am turning 25.
I am scared.
And what I need is just for the Universe to hold my hand.
And give me my slice of pizza.
Again – an unedited entry.
You are reading my soul in all its rawness.
With a little disruption from a cousin who is watching The Dark Knight in full volume and another cousin who just keeps on coughing and talking.
And so we begin…
Unbelievable.
I am craving for pizza, and for this particular Sunday afternoon, it has to be Jugno’s.
Shakey’s, Pizza Hut, Yellow Cab and even that pizza from Naples described by Elizabeth Gilbert as the best in the world do not make the cut.
I wanted Jugno’s Monster Pizza and I’ll order Jugno’s Special (pepperoni, cheese, black olives and all the staple ingredients) mixed with the simplicity of its Hawaiian variety put together in a 20” pizza monstrosity. I will pour with minimum restraint onion dip on my piece of square thin crust heaven, fold it into two, unmindful of the oil, cheese and the dip dripping on my fingers because they won’t go to waste – they will be licked – and will eat it with pure joy, thinking, I had my pizza. And it was from Jugno’s.
I got what I wanted and satisfied a craving.
I dialed the hotline number; there was no answer from the other line. As I am among the most impatient people in the world, I got up, dragged my sister with me and braved the rain. One of the perks of living in our current apartment is that all the nicest restaurants in Quezon City are just a few steps and blocks away from us. And Jugno’s is a few steps away from us. Until now.
We reached the store and there was no sign of the usual frenzied delivery boys in motorcycle. Jugno’s usual headquarters had been replaced by some hardware store unceremoniously. Or maybe I had been too busy to even notice that Jugno’s left.
You know that feeling when you were in pre-school and your mother had to leave you behind with strangers, crazy fellow pre-schoolers and righteous nuns and teachers, and you feel no other choice but to cry. Or that feeling when you were in your first year in college and your mother had to drop you off on your first night in your dormitory with a roommate who will fall ill if she does not speak in English and another roommate who simply doesn’t care and you feel like there’s a lump in your throat from trying so hard to keep yourself from crying. Part of you want to push your mother away because you are so proud you do not want her to see you crying but another part wants to pull her towards you in a tight embrace, pleading never to let you go.
Because you do not want to stay in that dorm and eat their mushy and wet rice and grilled pork chop which breaks your teeth apart. Because you want to still be her little girl. Because you do not want to leave your comfortable life in the province.
Because you are scared.
That’s exactly what I felt when the old man from the adjacent store nodded in affirmation and in indifference when I asked whether Jugno’s has indeed left.
A lump in my throat.
A hole in my heart.
I wanted to cry.
Jugno’s is no longer my neighbor.
Worse, I could not satisfy my craving on this rainy Sunday afternoon.
Tomorrow is Monday and is the start of another lengthy and tiring week at work.
And on Thursday, I am turning 25.
I am scared.
And what I need is just for the Universe to hold my hand.
And give me my slice of pizza.
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