Risotto rocks.

Tonight I had a date with myself.

After a long week (not exactly hard, the other weeks were relatively harder, but this one felt long probably because of the residual tiredness), I treated myself to risotto. Kuripot akong tao, pero ang pagkain…ang tanging bisyo ko. Sigh. I guess it’s something at par with travel. You don’t exactly end up with something tangible (hopefully, nothing around the belly area) but you experience something almost…for lack of a non-baduy term…magical. Something which fortunately or unfortunately you alone can truly enjoy in the fullest sense. It’s yours to cherish and reminisce over for only you care how many times.

And as I sat there, we talked. (ok, that sounded weird) in a less weird sense, I had a moment of introspection. And the first question that popped up was: What’s important for you? Well, that was the second question. The fist question was: Ok ka lang?

Truth is, I’m fine. Seriously. But I guess I can’t help but sometimes feel frustrated with how I’m faring. Sometimes I can’t help but think if I’m doing things right. If I’m doing them well enough. Am I in the right place? Is this the best I could give?

No, no, I’m not in the “should-I-shift-to-a-different-industry” mode. Neither am I in a ‘is it time to leave LB’ mode. I’m just in the ‘let’s assess how you’re doing’ mode. I’ve always been a grade conscious kid. And probably one of the greatest reasons I’m thankful for no longer being in school is the absence of report cards or class cards. But the thing is, it’s not something you just shake off. Apparently, the report cards are still there, but now I give myself the grade. 1 being the highest in the happiness chart.

As I sipped my cup of hot water. (yes, I’m such a lola) and stared at Venice painted on the wall before me, the question kept ringing in my head, “So what’s important to you?” I guess it’s because it’s undoubtedly connected to the more important question: What makes you happy?

But after a while, I no longer cared to enumerate the things that were supposed to make me happy. Those stuff that were supposed to define me. I just sat there eating my risotto, letting the flavors blend in my tongue; enjoying the texture of the grains, taking-in as much wonder in a spoonful as I possibly could, as I imagined the waters of the Grand Canal stir to life. And right then I knew I was happy.

I got the bill. Said thank you to the waiter, and rushed off to meet Robby and RJ at Pancake House. (and no, I no longer had dessert ☺)