The house has been unusually quiet since yesterday noon when the girls (daughter, grandchild, family help) left for the lowlands. Quiet save for the afternoon rain which can pour with so much force, as though making up for the long drought.
In times like these, I can't ask what's for lunch or dinner or merienda. I have to fend for myself. Nine times out of 10 my partner prefers to prepare the coffee and fruit of the day (papaya). My role was simple at breakfast earlier: reheat the Teahouse's famed curry-flavored chicken empanada.
After he left for the office, it was too much of a bother to prepare lunch for one, although the rice cooker is there and there's stuff in the freezer and pantry. But who wants to eat alone in a dark dining room? Daylight has always been scarce in that part of the house.
Since I was too engrossed listening to Cecile Chaminade's piano music and arranging lessons for the school year, I just filled a bowl with whatever I could find: cashew nuts, crackers, meringue and watered-down orange pineapple juice.
Still alone, I had the same things to eat for my afternoon snack. My ass felt too heavy--I could've gone down to the kitchen to heat water for tea.
Solitude, being alone, not having someone to watch over me has its advantages. Sometimes.
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