A piping hot bowl of champorado with oats, along with freshly baked pandesal to dip it with. During rainy mornings, mother always mixes a batch of champorado and adds a pandesal bag beside the bowl. On these days, as I wake up to the cold morning air, since it was after or during rain, it was extremely hard to wake up so I would always slowly find my jacket, wash myself, and finally go downstairs towards my mother’s call to eat breakfast.

    I always loved the rain, but not because of a particular memory, I simply thought of the rain, as something elegant. Something that one could almost touch and feel, but it breaks up the moment we touch it. The mixture of appreciation for its beauty, and the coldness it gives off never fails to make me return to memories of old. Memories of long forgotten pasts, memories that have stained me, although these memories were all painful it was a reminder to me on what I have gone through. As I finally sit down, and take my first scoop, blowing away some heat, and take my first sip. I could always feel the first wave of champorado stream down from my mouth to my throat and to stomach, a sudden injection of heat coursing through my body, seemingly opposing the cold of he rain. For a moment a sense of relief comes over to me. As the cold air, submits to the heat of the food. Giving satisfaction to my tired body, and with the streaming down inside, I always feel a little more energized, a little more inspired, and a little less sorrowful about the memories evoked by the rains, in its stead memories of certain memories rise, memories with my loved ones, memories that break out a smile from me.

I remember this same chair that I sit on, with mom feeding me spoonfuls of champorado as she tried to warm me down from the bitter storm that was ravaging the country back then, I forgot the name of the storm, but as it tore through the city, ravaging our house, parts of our roof were flying off, parts of the house paint were chipping off, but here inside the house everyone was still there, everyone was safe and everyone was happy enjoying a champorado meal. Its unusual perhaps that in my family we almost never eat together unless it’s a special occasion, I guess this one was special. Since no one was able to go outside, we just ate as a family trying to warm our bodies with the sweet smelling champorado. I break off a peice of pandesal dip it into the champorado and take a bite, and realize that as the elegant rain brings me my days of sorrow reminding me of what I lost, this little champorado-filled bowl and pandesal  reminded me of what I still have now, and I guess gives me some energy to appreciate it, even for a little while. As I finally finish my bowl, I feel a deep satisfaction in myself.

And politely ask for seconds.....