Two birds and a baby, just click on either image to see where that takes you.
Maybe it's that most people in this part of the world tend to just look at Thanksgiving as a quintessentially American tradition, but something about it hasn't left me in my years of consistently marking that last thursday of November and nearing the yearend.
Here in tropical Manila, the light seems that much more brilliant and intense during morning hour and noon. The sun's dry heat of november afternoons are forgivingly brief, as an earlier call of sunset and that equally strong envelope of darkness takes over at around 5:30 pm. From there, the long cool nights set in, and you notice that you no longer need air conditioning. But it's to the ones who don't know what artificially cooled air is about that this time of year presents its gift of climate, that what one feels outside of the skin is as close to what it must comfortably be on the inside.
And that's when I look for the kind of meal that says life is ok. It's not a holiday like Christmas, and ever since I have grown up, all that senseless childish prattle about gifts and some white babe redeemer in swaddling clothes really no longer matters. A Thanksgiving meal is more of a statement. It's a moment of recognizing the human soul and the stomach as it needs to be acknowledged and fed, and it can be as lavish or as simple in preparation, all bearing the hallmarks of what seeing life at its most complex or just the essential, is. And precisely because it's only 'a meal' instead of those usual overdone celebrated days of history that silly people attach themselves to, it is as beautifully fleeting and satisfying, and never overbearing or solemn.
So fuck Christmas and all those other holidays. I like Thanksgiving better. Let's EAT.