Hocus Pocus, Witches Brew

September 26, 2020March 20, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

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It’s almost here, but I just can’t wait for October! I look forward to leaves turning pretty shades of red, orange, and yellow; to cozy sweater weather, cuddles, and pumpkin spice lattes; to wearing my yellow Little Girl in the Prairie rain jacket; and best of all, to showing our baby boy the wonders of autumn. This year also marks our first autumn with our son, and I already find so much pleasure in seeing his curious eyes roaming about and soaking in the colourful trees.

Autumn is my favourite season. It’s idyllic and romantic, and it wisely reminds me of life’s innate cyclical nature — and the possibility for change and new beginnings. Otherwise, October really is a special month for my fiancé and I. It’s when we first met and started dating, when went to Spain together and he proposed, and when we’ll be getting married. Next month is when I’ll finally be marrying my sweet love and the father of my child, and when we’ll finally be Mr & Mrs. My heart is filled with glee.

It’s almost three years since Bruno and I met. October 2017 was a magical month that marked the start of our shared adventures. It was also a month filled with autumn walks, scones, baking, and Halloween treats and fun. One of our earliest memories together was packing Halloween candies in candy bags at his rustic kitchen table, and baking a pumpkin cream cheese bundt cake. I even forgot to add the flour before popping the cake in the oven.

“Doesn’t this go in the cake?” He pointed with utter confusion at the lonely and long-forgotten bowl of flour on the table.

“Oh, shit!” I exclaimed.

(Even the first dates revealed to us that we were the yin and yang to each other’s idiosyncrasies.)

We hurriedly pulled the cake from the oven and mixed the flour in. Of course, my cake didn’t come out with a velvety cream cheese layer in the middle, but at least the cake itself was cream cheese-y — and scrumptious.

This was the cake that we’d baked together, and that he’d had the morning after, for breakfast. He sent me a photo of it, with a sweet thank you.

I quickly came to enjoy all our little interactions. At first glance, we were opposites. Bruno was outwardly, expressive, direct, and down-to-earth. On the other hand, I was introverted, reserved, and inwardly — and, as he puts it, ethereal and otherworldly in my manner of speaking. We seemingly sang two different tunes, but what we quickly realized was that our core was one and the same. Spending time together was easy, effortless, and comforting. Every moment with him was my happy place. And soon, it would become my forever happy place.

Who knew that shortly after our first encounters I’d return with my baking pans and officially move in with him? I didn’t. But life had plans for us for the long haul. And here we are, three years later, to be married, in the special month of October where it all began. It’s very exciting to finally be getting married; it feels like a breath of fresh air because we’ve already had to cancel our wedding in May due to the COVID-19 pandemic. And how heartwarming it is that our son will be there by our side on our wedding day — the symbol and fruit of our love and unity.

In many ways, this pandemic has robbed us of many pleasures and feelings of normality, especially following the birth of our son. It felt like life had conspired against us, mocking us in times of exuberant joy. Yet as adaptable individuals with an appreciation for imperfection, we also revel in the discomforts of life, which is why we decided to go ahead and get married next month, even if it meant not having our families and friends with us. We understood: the world is as such, we love each other and have our son to behold, and there’s no better moment of celebration and joy than now.

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This snow globe was my first real one. It reminds me of Sabrina The Teenage Witch (1996 TV series), as well as Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (2018 TV series). I had watched the former during my childhood, and the latter was a series that Bruno and I had watched together at his father’s apartment in Madrid. This was a lovely memory, again taking place in October around Halloween time.

Turquoise summer

May 14, 2020April 6, 2025 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

my sweet keurig

It feels like it’s going to be a turquoise summer. It’s a warm and sunny afternoon, and here I am, sitting on the balcony with my delicious iced coffee and my laptop and headphones — basking away in my sweet and much-needed bubble.

There are certain burning moments in life when you appreciate the small details with every atom of your being, as if they’re the catalysts that fuel the deep inhalations that you require but can no longer humanly muster. This is true for me presently, especially now that we’re in a quarantine and the world around me feels strangely deserted and lifeless, and now that I’ve become a first-time mother which itself produces a set of challenges.

“Remember when you used to enjoy quiet mornings and staring out the window while contemplating life, with a cup of coffee for sweet company?” My mom would comment and laugh, with both a comical reality check and empathy, as she watches me scurry around with my shaggy lioness hair that hasn’t been brushed in weeks. It’s true, life was no longer about me and my whimsical longings for silence, solitude, and reflection. Coffee mornings were no longer existent, and if they were, they were inundated with anxiety-filled thoughts that the Little Lord would wake up and feed at any moment. (If I can’t poop in peace, forget drinking coffee in peace.)

I bow down to my mother’s feet with gratitude. I’m forever thankful to this beautiful woman, mother, wife, and soul who’s been pregnant with five children, and who’s mothered us with dignity, strength, and uttermost compassion and kindness.

Motherhood is currently, and always will be, my dearest life journey. Yet it can be clumsy and challenging at times, especially when it’s your first experience. And when you give of yourself fully and relentlessly and finally receive something in return — a little something that’s enough to re-ignite your soul — it almost feels as if you’ve been gifted the sky and the mountains. It feels that good to me — and increasingly so — now that something as simple as going out for a serene walk has become an abnormal occurrence in our everyday lives during this quarantine and for the most part we find ourselves cocooned inside our small apartment, and now that I’m a new mother that rarely has time to herself.

Then came this Keurig machine by mail this morning. The excitement and anticipation grew as I watched Bruno carry in the box from the stairs, and I felt like a little kid who was just given an ice cream cone. It gave me a reason to be giddy and cheerful. A different reason. One that wasn’t about the world out there in its state of chaos and neuroticism, that wasn’t about my family and dear son, and that wasn’t about the pile of laundry that needed to be folded. It was about me, if only for a brief and candied moment. This coffee machine would become a place of solace.

This summer will be short and arduous if the coronavirus lockdown persists, but knowing that I’m fully equipped with my sweet love and son, and knowing that there’s a world in which I can always slip into the kitchen to make myself a cuppa coffee during my little one’s late morning naps — and knowing that there’s life and beauty in that fleeting moment of great escape — makes it all the better and the more bearable. It’s enough to cheer me up and grow fluttering butterflies of joy inside my belly.

My vintage vanity is another turquoise piece that’s my happy place. (I do have a fiery and passionate love affair with turquoise.) I fondly remember sitting there last summer — I was in the early days of my pregnancy — and putting on my makeup and getting ready to go hand-in-hand with my love to the market or to a vintage bazaar. It was my very own personal space and soulful corner of the home where I could bask in my femininity — and that felt refreshing. Even if I won’t be dressing up to go anywhere anytime soon, and life may feel like a surreal dream, it will still be my happy place alongside my coffee machine. A turquoise summer is most definitely in order.

***

I showed a photo of this turquoise Keurig to my sister in passing, and as usual, she made it a dream come true with my parents’ tribute and support. She scoured the market to order it for me. I’m head-over-heels crazy about it! It’s as cute as a button. Thank you, Mel, and mom and dad for this thoughtful Mother’s Day and birthday gift.

Thank you to my big sister who’s always been there for me since I was a shrivelled little prune, and who knows my heart well. And thank you to my parents who’ve been deeply loving and supportive, even from afar, and whose familiar faces through a video call never ceases to warm my soul.

To Bruno, my sweet love, cheers to many romantic coffee mornings on the balcony this summer. Cheers to coffee made for you with love and joy by your Tiffipoo, with her dainty coffee machine that’s enough to make her glow.

To Keaton, my sweetest gift of life, as you grow older, just as mommy learns the map of your soul, you’ll in turn learn mommy’s idiosyncrasies and little moments of joy.

To Keaton ♥️

May 10, 2020July 27, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

I’m officially a mommy, and my heart is elated. Baby Keaton was born in early March, and he is, and always will be, our greatest joy, accomplishment, and adventure. We’re deeply and wholly in love with our sweet baby boy — a sacrificial and wholesome love we never knew before.

He’s grown much since his birth, and it’s heartwarming to learn the maps of his heart, mind, and soul on a daily basis. I have mommy guilts already — I’m learning to be more compassionate with myself as a new mother — but something I’ll never regret, is not having been present enough with him. I can say that so far, I’m proud of myself for being relentlessly present with him with each passing breath he takes.

I love him so dearly, so tenderly, so compassionately that my heart could explode. I love that his personality is shining through evermore each day; I love the way his toe beans curl around my finger; I love the way he throws his arms up with glee as we change his diaper; I love that his hair’s growing fuller and into a light ash brown shade, that I myself have always dreamt of; I love pondering if he looks more like me or his daddy; I love the sense of safety and exuberant joy he feels when we place him between us in bed and attack him with kisses.

I love him to the moon and back, and beyond.

2020 has been bittersweet. The arrival of our son was the climatic point in our lives, both individually and as a cohesive unit. Yet what was intended to be a celebratory time, became a trying moment. Therein lived an inescapable lesson in life: there was no light without dark, and no dark without light. Both were inextricably linked — the yin and yang of the cosmic law, and the Romeo and Juliet of our human existence. This was the dance where tragedy and romance fell in love and became forever intwined.

Shortly after the birth of our boy — the happiest time of our lives — the coronavirus pandemic began, my grandmother passed away, and we cancelled our wedding. It felt as though the universe was mocking us, and laughing at the naiveté of our all-encompassing joy. An all-time high was followed by an all-time low. Life was no longer the same, and sometimes I found myself shaking my head as if to try to wake myself up from a dream.

Hopes to take our newborn to a farmer’s market on a warm spring day to pick up fresh flowers to adorn our home, felt light years away. Instead, we were now watching the trees and birds and bees from the confines of our windows. Grieving my grandmother’s passing also became an individual experience within the confines of our walls, when what we needed was to be with family, and to hold and be held. Everything felt impossibly surreal. Possibilities felt so close yet painstakingly far — a dream within a dream.

Yesterday was our scheduled wedding day. Reminiscent, I looked at our wedding decorations and fairy lights, and there they were, nestled in the closet — coated with memories of the past. Soon after, it was 4 PM and I turned to Bruno and said, “It would’ve been the time of our ceremony, when we got married.” He began tearing up and I felt my heart twist and churn. Yet we knew that the only sane thing to do during an insane crossroads of our lives, was to simply be. To simply be present with each other — with what still is. We had our love and our strength to celebrate, and best of all, Keaton.

All was as it should be. Timing was always right in the grand scheme of life. Baby Keaton was proof — a small and cute one at that — of the synchronicity of events. He arrived at an uncertain moment in all our lives, and for good reason: he was needed. He was the uplifting joy to his grandparents’ day, and the smile that made life a little more bearable in the midst of unpredictability and darkness. He was the bearer of love and light, of strength and courage, of will and resilience.

In the end, we had our son. He was the emblem that married us, that tied us together evermore intimately and sweetly. No, life is never as it should be. We never had the chance to introduce my grandmother to her great-grandchild for the first and last time, nor have we had the chance to show him the world, nor did we ever get to walk down the aisle together hand-in-hand. But then again, yes, life is always as it should be. And every day, I thank the moon and the stars for our son, for he’s the greatest blessing in our lives.

Mom- and wife-to-be ♥️

September 24, 2019May 24, 2026 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

Hello, Friends,

It’s been over a year since I’ve last posted here — my soulful corner of the universe. Many sweet happenings have sparked into motion since then.

I wish I could carve out every detail of my memory in writing, and obsessively so, like a neurosurgeon carrying out his finely tuned daily surgical brain procedures with a scalpel fit for a competent touch. But because much time has passed, I’ll do time-sweet-time the honour of letting it just be, and simply scan the surface of my vague and pirouetting thoughts.

A memorable milestone was travelling with my boyfriend (now fiancé) to Spain in October 2018, to visit his family. It was a very emotional and revealing experience for me as an autonomous and growing entity, and for us together. My growth was vast and deep, and simultaneously tall, like an olive branch steadily peeking its worldly head through dust and debris towards the all-knowing sky.

It was in Spain that my fiancé had proposed to me, at his aunt’s apartment in León where he’d spent a grand majority of his childhood. It was no perfect moment. It was in fact the most imperfect moment we’d experienced as a unit — comically clumsy, too, in retrospect. Yet it was a transient moment of our lives that was most true and raw — that revealed the promise of stars on a gloomy night — and that ultimately revealed the wisdom of profound strength and compassion, and the truth of our hearts. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

No two stories are ever alike. And when I ponder back at that point in time, I feel both tears and a smile overtaking me. This was our story. This was the story of how our yesterdays synchronistically carved the expansive path of today. And how thankful I am for the love of my life, and for us.

I loved walking hand-in-hand with my sweet love at the El Retiro Park in Madrid. The city was alive and bustling with social synergy, drinks and food, and everlasting life. But sometimes, a walk in the park was all it took to rejuvenate my tired spirit. Luckily for us, this park was only a walking distance from B’s parents’ home. It was filled with greenery, colourful leaves (we were reaching autumn at this time of year), and many cats!

View from a top part of El Corte Inglés, near Sol metro station (Madrid)

León, Spain

Our trip to Spain was almost one year ago, and I miss it and B’s family very much. Even if I’d like to return right now or travel and explore unlimited terrains like the freshly grated, citrus-y younger version of me, I can’t, and for good reason: I’m pregnant (and fainting has become my best friend), and we’re getting married next year. Yay!

I look back on my blog since the me who began blogging in December 2013, and I’m astonished and heart-warmed by how much has evolved in my life — from university-days-me to career-woman-and-soon-to-be-mom-and-wife-me. Somehow, and with a graceful touch of serendipity, it’s been my experience that the beautiful always nested itself in unexpected territory.

I indeed still dream of foreign heights and the homey and comforting feeling of transitioning in airports and “what next’s”. But more than ever, my mind and heart have cradled themselves in the joyful comfort of knowing that next year, I’ll be walking down the aisle on the way to marrying the father of my child and husband-to-be, with our little bundle of fluff alongside us.

My heart is elated.

Blueberry cheesecake for a 36th

May 3, 2018March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / 1 Comment

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My boyfriend turned 36 a few days ago, and for his birthday, I baked him his favourite: blueberry cheesecake. From the moment I learned that cheesecake was his tummy’s go-to (which was during the beginning of our ‘courtship’), I made a note in my agenda reminding myself to surprise him with this delectable and diabolic goodness.

Living together and working similar schedules makes planning surprises a slippery slope. What was intended to be a surprise for him turned out to be somewhat of a team project. We field-tripped to the grocery store together, and with me shyly grabbing cream cheese and graham crackers and hippity-hopping around the aisles looking for blueberries, he knew: I was baking him blueberry cheesecake. (Hello, inevitable!) I must say, kudos to him for being able to withstand not devouring it before the day of celebration, even though it was the ultimate temptress.

This occasion actually marked my first time baking cheesecake, and we were both wildly impressed. My boyfriend even continued having some over the following days for breakfast and dessert. I did overbake it a little though, and overload on the jam which overpowered the fine taste of the cheesecake itself. (Little notes for next time.)

My face is no longer mine. My cheeks have become ever so swollen — so much so, that I could be identified as a chipmunk who’s hiding nuts in its cheeks. Reason being? I ate too much cheesecake, friends.

Ingredients

2 cups graham cracker crumbs
4 tablespoons white sugar
1/2 cup melted butter
2 (8 oz) packages cream cheese, softened
1 cup sour cream
3/4 cup white sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
4 eggs
2 cups frozen blueberries
1/3 cup blueberry jam

Directions

1. Pre-heat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Combine crumbs, 4 tablespoons sugar, and butter. Pat mixture into the bottom of a 9″ springform pan.
2. Mash cream cheese until soft and creamy. Slowly mix in sour cream, 3/4 cup sugar, vanilla and flour. Beat in eggs one at a time.
3. Pour mix into crumb-lined pan. Bake in oven for 1 hour or until firm.
4. Let cool, then melt blueberry jam over cake and add frozen blueberries.

See original recipe here: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/7934/blueberry-cheesecake/

Sweet processions

May 29, 2017March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

Nostalgic summer dinners with Mom and Dad, and celebrating a surprise early birthday for Mom; roaming about the city on foot in the summer sun, with the Ottawa Race Weekend and annual community garage sale event for sweet company; returning to my happy place at Jo’s, and enjoying a maple scone at my usual spot by the window, whilst people-watching; and finally, lots and lots of flowers wherever I tread. Happiness, joy, and butterflies like childhood’s excitement and zest for life.

Suddenly, I fell in love with Ottawa — longing to stay, at least for a little longer. It took just the sight of enchanting blooms, the quiet, familial and happy atmosphere of the city, and smiling passersby roaming the streets, basking in the sun with loved ones, to make me wish I could live in my once-upon-a-time-ago city again — absence and fondness playing the Trickster.

What was important became increasingly clear. Daily inhalations and exhalations were wrapped with an unforgiving noose of ‘doings’ and ‘go-gettings’; goals had to be achieved, and a vision for the future awaited its timely fruition. Yet, time and time again, spending time with those I loved most, trumped the most wondrous of worldy possessions and milestones. Now, and only now, with love, appreciation, and gratitude.

Shoutout to my homegirl, Jo

April 18, 2017March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / 5 Comments

The battle of blue vanilla scones vs strawberry cheesecake buns

Blue vanilla scones for two

Matcha scones — the biggest scones I ever did meet

A visit to Ottawa, Little Jo Berry’s, March/April 2017

No matter where I am in the world — even after relocating to a different city — I always seem to find my way back to my hometown in Ottawa, to Little Jo Berry’s for Jo’s scrumptious vegan treats. Because maybe, just maybe, home is where the tummy is.

I’d mentioned Jo’s before — everything she bakes at her vegan bakery is sprinkled with funk, dedication, and passion. And while I’m not vegan myself, time and time again I’d somersault a mile for her scones, especially my beloved matcha, and, just recently, the blue vanilla, as she makes the most divine scones in the world — so much so, that I’d choose them over their non-vegan counterparts any day. (I’ve eaten a great many scones in my time; in fact, I’ve become a walking scone with four limbs.) They’re melt-in-your-mouth soft, with a moist crumble on the inside and the ideal level of sweetness.

When living in Ottawa, it was tradition for me to pre-order scones from Jo, enjoy one on site with a cuppa coffee on the morning of pick-up, and then bring the box home to my family. Little moments like these — bringing treats home to loved ones and sharing laughs with my favourite local baristas — have long been associated with feelings of home for me. That’s why, returning to my happy places — my long-time sacred nests of fond memories and solace — when visiting Ottawa, and recreating such moments, is always a heartwarming feat.

Being back at Little Jo Berry’s recently, where eternal friendships were birthed, and seeing M — stunning as always in her casual yet sleek and sophisticated outfit, fit for a powerful feminine woman of the modern era — and her bright blue, oceanic eyes and warm smile that can set any room ablaze, and seeing Jo — her unicorn hair, a sassy palette of dancing shades of blue, pink, and purple — and hearing her roaring lioness laughter, meant that I was once again at my happy place.

As with any other day I find myself back in Ottawa, and at the same old memorable places, I knew and understood: Nothing in life was promising, yet there was the heart’s forever-companion, named Trust, that would always stand at the same street corner, under the same moon, waiting patiently for one’s return. That was home.

Ghent, Belgium: Two feet, two wheels

October 25, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

The port city of Ghent, sitting in the Flemish region comfortably between Brussels and Bruges, was another convenient and endearing day trip I took, being just about a 30-minute train ride away from Brussels.

When I arrived at the main train station in Ghent, I wondered which direction to take: right, left, up, down, diagonal? (I should’ve flipped a coin every time this happened, which, funnily, was often.) But once I spotted the historical centrum sign, I followed the same sign until I arrived at my destination. It took about 30 minutes to walk there, which gave me an opportunity to explore quiet, off-the-beaten tracks and sneak a glimpse of the local way of life in the process.

Once I was greeted by the imposing monuments at the historical centre, however, I was surprised to see many travellers and tourists — even more than in Bruges. I had read that Ghent is Belgium’s best kept secret, so with that in mind, I was expecting to stumble across nary a soul, but I was wrong — the historical centrum was bustling with visitors. It sounds paradoxical and rather comical, but I guess many people are highly aware that Ghent is a gem that not many people know about.

I also noted that there were many locals, young and old, riding bikes in Ghent, which I thought was a charming sight, giving the city an idyllic feel. With my appreciation of the sight of bikes and canals, I realized that I could’ve visited Amsterdam as well, which was also just a short trip away; however, time was short and I didn’t plan my trip as efficiently as I could have. More importantly, for the time being, I had Ghent, and Ghent was all I needed.

Another waffle!

Like Bruges, Ghent sits at the top of my list of places that I adore the most. Walking along the streets of its historical centre was a feast for my hungry eyes and inquisitive soul; I felt like I was in another world altogether, with the splendid panoramic views of medieval churches, cathedrals, castles, and merchant shops, which have been so beautifully preserved.

Ghent is also a dream place for people whose favourite mode of transportation are their two feet. I walked to and fro and in numerous circles, losing myself in my immediate surroundings; after all, the port city was big in scope, with many things to do, eat, and see. Still, time wasn’t on my side, and I regret not having had the chance to fully immerse myself in the culture of this gem of a place.

Bruges, Belgium: We Love Chez Albert

October 23, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / Leave a comment

If it were possible, then I would’ve wrapped my arms around Bruges, hugged it tight, and kissed its cheek in gratitude. Because while I held my breath in Brussels, I found peace, quiet, and balance in Bruges.

I adored it dearly, particularly its essence. Despite being minuscule in scope — which I found rather alluring — it was modest, warm and inviting, and its beauty was timeless. It is to date, one of the places from my travel diaries that I cherish the most.

Markt (Market Square)

Bruges made for a convenient and enchanting day trip out of Brussels, being about 1 hr 20 min away by train. No reservation was necessary, either, for trains from Brussels to Bruges left regularly throughout the day.

When I arrived at the centre of Bruges, I was surprised by how quiet it was; it might’ve been the cold weather, but there weren’t many travellers or tourists roaming the streets that day (something I secretly celebrated in my mind).

The first waffle I ate in Belgium was actually in Bruges (I had the strawberry waffle when I returned to Brussels afterwards). It was a plain waffle from Chez Albert, and it was so scrumptious that it set the bar exceptionally high for the waffles to come. That, plus the almond croissants I had in Paris, were my favourite sweet eats throughout my whole trip! The waffle was warm, sweet, dense, and oh so comforting. Y’s had caramel on top, and one bite of hers had stars and baby chicks circling my head.

I learned that there are two types of waffles in Belgium: the Brussels waffle and the Liege waffle. The waffle here was a Liege waffle, which is irregular in shape and rich and dense, with caramelized sugar baked inside. The Brussels waffle, on the other hand, is rectangular in shape with clearly defined edges and is lighter and fluffier. The strawberry waffle in my previous post was a Brussels waffle. After having the Liege waffle in Bruges and in Ghent, I can say that I liked it much more than its Brussels sibling.

Walking along the canal with Y was calming; we were the only two around who weren’t locals. We walked continuously with no plans in mind and were greeted with some lovely sights, and even lovelier people.

One of the fondest moments for me was simply walking along the sidewalk and exchanging smiles with passersby. A simple gesture, to be sure, yet it was the simplest of things that prompted me to develop a sentimental attachment to Bruges.

Brussels, Belgium: The Three Amigos

October 23, 2016March 18, 2021 / toumemoir / 1 Comment

Town Hall at Grand Place

Guildhalls on the Grand Place

Grand Place (French) or Grote Markt (Dutch); central square of Brussels

Each place is imbued with its respective characteristics, and there are aspects that I appreciated dearly about every city I visited, be it its fine architecture and historical artifacts, the local food and people, or the overarching feeling of belonging and oneness that I experienced. While I spent the least amount of time in Brussels, my experience there was a colourful one. It was simultaneously the city where I’d experienced the greatest sense of unease, and the city that had armed me with unparalleled emotional comfort.

When I arrived in Brussels, I felt spiritually nauseous. It might’ve been because the sky was dark and gloomy (I was also sheepishly sick with a raging cold), but it was also much deeper than that — an overall feeling that I couldn’t pinpoint or articulate in words. It was when I arrived at my hostel and met my roommates, that I learned that there had been a few incidents the day prior. Thus I understood why armed soldiers were roaming metro stations, and why there were military vehicles lining the street a short distance from my abode. Of course, this sight wasn’t new to me; I had seen it in Paris. However, if I was aware of the slight chance of any incident happening in Paris, then I was also aware of it in Brussels — and tenfold.

I didn’t like that eerie awareness. I didn’t like that my mind was being inundated with suggestive imageries and programmed into fear. I knew, statistically speaking, that the chances of anything occurring were much lower than the chances of crimes happening back at home and dying in motor vehicle accidents. Being a skeptical person, I was also careful not to allow my private sphere of thought to be proliferated and my psyche to be governed, and to fall into the trap of collective neurosis and fear. At the same time, that’s not to say that I wasn’t alert or cautious every breath I took — I was. Yet I was bent to enjoy my time there and everywhere I went, because to live in a state of fear is crippling.

On the other hand, I thought I was alone in experiencing an off-putting vibe in the cities I visited — until I met my roommate, Y. She, too, had just left Paris, and meeting her felt as though I was meeting a twin — similar in thought and character and life experiences. Like myself, she had experienced a magnetic pull towards certain cities, only to be greeted with the harsh realities of these places; and it was in her experiences that I found solace and comfort. There was also N, another roommate, whose hobbies and interests mirrored mine almost completely. (Geeks can easily recognize other geeks.) I have these two lovely individuals to thank, for they were the catalysts behind me having such an exciting and heartfelt time in Brussels. (After Brussels, N and I even met again in Paris, where I had returned to for the nth time.)

It’s an enticing thought, in retrospect, how travel can fuel synchronistic events such that you end up meeting similar souls (and starkly different ones) along the way, that would serve as catalysts along your journey of evolution and growth. It reminded me of a man I’d met at a laundromat in Paris (I’d like to remember him as the lone artist philosopher), and J, another friend I’d spent much time with, whose personality was uncannily similar to someone that was once part of my life. There was also the hostel receptionist in Paris, whose friendly and bright disposition made me understand why I’d subconsciously done the things I’d done in the past — and why, in the final analysis, it was for the best. For that brief moment in time, their mark on me was profound: I learned that I’d healed and was capable of opening my heart again.

Carbonnades Flamandes à la Leffe Brune, Frites

Strawberry waffle from Mokafé

Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert

The Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert is a very old and classic shopping strip built in the mid-nineteenth century. You can find boutiques selling luxurious items such as fashionable clothes, hats and gloves, jewellery, and chocolates. There were a few notable chocolate shops, one of them being Neuhaus, founded in 1857 by Jean Neuhaus, who had apparently created the praline. I purchased a few boxes to bring home and a customized bag for myself to enjoy that day. The chocolates were absolutely divine. Brace yourself though, because the infinite flavours and selections can be at once heavenly and overwhelming.

You can also find classic cafes at the Galeries, one of them being the widely visited Mokafé, known for its delicious authentic Belgian waffles, which the three of us tried together. I had a regular waffle topped with powdered sugar and strawberries, which I didn’t find special — I found it too crispy and rather flat in taste. I shall give the cafe a benefit of a doubt, but perhaps it was because they were in a rush to serve customers and were short on staff, with only one server that day. It was a Saturday and the cafe was full to the brim, and people left because they were waiting too long to be served. But I felt for the server; he was a nice guy who was running to and fro. Kudos to him, he deserved a cape.

During my time in Brussels, I also visited Maison Dandoy, a very old sweets shop created in 1829 by Jean-Baptiste Dandoy. They specialize in biscuits and are known for their speculoos cookies. I purchased a package of speculoos biscuits from one of their quaint biscuit shops, and after finishing the package, I wish I’d bought more. (I wish I’d also taken a photo of the shop.) There are a few Maison Dandoy shops around Brussels as well as tea rooms. Apparently, they also make fine Belgian waffles.

My time in Brussels was short and I regret having spent the least amount of time there, for there were activities that I wish I’d had the time to do, such as going to the Belgian Comic Strip Center and the Musée Hergé, and simply walking around exploring Brussels’ comics-based street art murals, which I really looked forward to. Brussels is the hub of comics, and if you grew up with older siblings who read Belgian comic books like the infamous Les Aventures de Tintin, then you’d have an appreciation for them, too.