Of Hope and Expectation, and Finding Color Again

Bangkok flower market. From 'Of Hope and Expectation, and Finding Color Again' by ivoryhut.

 
Finding color again. It was a phrase I heard Penny De Los Santos utter back in 2010, when she spoke about the darkness that filled her world after a personal loss, and how eventually, a trip to India brought color back into her world. It was a phrase that resonated loudly within me.

For the past 3 years, I’ve been struggling to to re-awaken my motivation for many things that used to bring me great joy: writing, creating recipes, music, and making pictures. I tried many times, failed many times, then eventually stopped trying. Life got too busy, providing me with a convenient (albeit valid) excuse to put everything else on hold while we worked on rebuilding our home. Even when I resolved to try again, everything I did felt forced. There was no flow. Nothing seemed right. I wasn’t looking for anything to come easy; I merely wanted what felt familiar and natural.

If you’ve seen my recent tweets and Instagram photos, you’ll know that we just returned from our first vacation in years, traveling to the opposite side of the globe. It was a trek back home to the Philippines for me, followed by a first for our small family: a tour of Thailand. I packed my camera equipment with a mixture of excitement and detachment. I knew there would be great photo opportunities all over Asia. What I didn’t know was whether or not I would find the desire to capture them.

Thailand was a complete immersion in an astonishing world so different from my life now. Everything was new: the smells, the sounds, the merchandise, the flavors, the landscape, the people. We explored palaces, street markets, sailed (okay, more like motored on a boat) to a spot on the Mekong River where you can see Myanmar to the left, Laos to the right, and Thailand behind you. We drove down highways flanked by rice fields, the lushest hue of green I’d ever seen. We watched school children play soccer with towering ruins from the 13th century as their silent audience, and heard temple bells ringing outside our hotel room, followed by a wave of saffron robes finding their way across courtyards, monks barefoot and holding bowls to receive their food for the day from the people of the city.

I fell in love with Thailand. With the light in that beautiful land. With its people, especially the children. And my camera loved it so much I have scars on my right hand because my skin began reacting to the small amount of latex in the camera grip. I didn’t care; I just kept shooting.

 

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When I first spoke of the battle to re-kindle my desire for photography after having lost my entire collection of photos, it was photographer Stephen Scott Gross who cautioned me not to embark on a mission to rebuild my lost portfolio. He warned me against pre-judging every new shot, comparing it with an old one I had lost, gauging its worthiness as a replacement. I still remember what he told me: that when expectation enters the picture, it changes the dynamic. And it’s true. Expectation comes with limits and demands, often arbitrary and unkind. Expectation opens you up to disappointment because, ultimately, it’s a pass-fail course. But hope—hope always looks forward. When something hoped for doesn’t come to pass, it isn’t a failure; it merely means it didn’t happen at that time. With hope, there is always next time. And another time after that. And hundreds of next times after that. For as long as it takes.

And so it was with Thailand. I left with the hope that I would find something that would make me love photography again the way I used to, but I was ready for the possibility that it wouldn’t happen for me then. I let go of all expectations and merely held on to that hope, and the faith that it would someday come back to me even though I had no clue when that someday would be. It was hope that helped me get past myself. And hope brought me back my love for photography and helped me find my colors again.

 
Thailand hill tribes. From 'Of Hope and Expectation, and Finding Color Again' by ivoryhut.

 
 

Finally (an update)

ivoryhut fire and construction

 
 
It’s been a while since I last posted an update about the fire and I thought today would be a good day for that. First, I want to let you know that the generous contributions from everyone helped us buy a used car that Tom and I now share. We lost three cars in the fire and only received compensation for two of them (the third was a historic car that had no fire coverage). Since our other two cars were just about 10 years old, we didn’t receive much from our auto insurance company. Thanks to everyone’s donations, we were able to buy a used Honda sedan. It doesn’t have the bells and whistles of my old Honda, but I cherish it so much more because every time I look at it, I know I’m looking at a precious gift from all of you.

Peko Peko Cookbook

 
Ivoryhut Peko Peko Charity Cookbook

For Japan with Love

 
In this evening’s news, I watched a clip of an elderly couple walking through the rubble left behind by the tsunami. They were searching for their son, who worked at the post office. They found the building in ruins. The camera pulled back to show the mother, in tears. The father stood in front of the building and began shouting his son’s name. Only silence met him. Not even an echo of his own voice. He shouted again and you could hear the desperation in his voice, knowing that there was little chance his son would shout back, but compelled to keep calling out. Finally, standing outside the desolate post office building where the water had reached all the way to the roof, the final resignation: “It’s over.”

 
It was heartbreaking.

 
I know what it’s like to lose everything you have overnight. But I was fortunate. The gloom of that night eventually gave way to the light of the next morning, and I still had my family with me. We had friends who gave us a place to stay, we had food to eat, and an outpouring of support from so many people—all of you—that I still wake up every morning telling myself I need to find a way to thank each and every one of you.

 
Many people in Japan are not as fortunate. Many have no electricity, water, food, shelter … it’s cold, and many have lost their families. And now, I have a chance to join other bloggers in doing something—anything within our power—to help the survivors. We have a chance to help.

Making Busy Nights Special (A Stouffer’s Review and $100 Giveaway from BlogHer!)

This is a sponsored review from BlogHer and Stouffer’s.

 
 
Tom and I are simple folk. I can’t recall the last time we planned a candlelit dinner. (I suspect it will be a while before we light any candles.) We rarely eat out, for which I am grateful because at the end of a long day, I’m really not in the mood to get all gussied up to drive to a restaurant. Besides, I don’t even know how to gussy up. It’s a wonder I even know what the phrase means.

about me

I write, cook, play music, and make pictures. Not necessarily in that order. I was born and raised in the Philippines, and it shows. That means I eat rice with every meal, love my cousins like my own siblings, and firmly believe that avocados are best eaten with cream and sugar.

If you want to learn more about me, here are 43 things I'd like to do. Here's a little something about my name, in case you were wondering. Here are some other places you'll find me:

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LOST AND FOUND

One summer night in 2010, our house burned to the ground and we lost everything we had. This is the story of what happened and how life and hope can always rise from ashes.



I'm proud to belong to an amazing community of Filipino food lovers. Together, we celebrate this often-neglected Asian cuisine, sharing our family's treasured recipes and discovering new ones along the way. This is our club.
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