Thanks and Fore-Ward

Hey!

I just finished reading all the comments on yesterday’s blog post and Rissa’s update. While you were busy commenting, liking, and loving, I was out early on the fairway with three of my best golf buddies: my twin brother Fred, my brother Gani, and my son-coach, Andre. We spent the morning driving, pitching, putting, and, of course, hunting down those elusive lost balls. Note: for those who don’t play the game, golf doubles as a treasure-hunt-kind of activity. Double the fun, double the time. Yep, wonder no more.

The day didn’t stop there. I attended an early evening mass as my thanksgiving offering and then capped it off with dinner alongside my lovely family. Was it a packed day? Sure. But busy? Not really. I had fun, and that’s what mattered.

Now, to those who took the time to send a like, a love, or a comment, here’s my heartfelt back-at-you. I read every single one of your comments, and as I did, I mentioned your name (or your handle) to God in prayer. I wasn’t just speed-scanning with my eyes. If you had been sitting beside me at my desk, you would’ve heard me softly -yet audibly -say your name. And if you liked or commented on both posts (FB and IG), guess what? You got prayed for multiple times!

My prayer? That God blesses you twice over for the wishes and prayers you sent my way. To the kind souls who prayed for me to hit birdies on the course -you know who you are -may you find yourself hitting birdies in your next game. I know, I know. You probably wished for a million dollars for me. Had you known, you might have wished for five million instead, right? And too bad you can’t wish for a new girlfriend for me -Rissa might have something to say about that. Or worse, something to hit me with (though thankfully, my golf bag is safely out of her reach).

But here’s the thing: God knows your heart better than I do -better than even you do. So, dacál á salámat (many thanks) to you for your kindness, humor, and prayers.

As I sit here with a warm cup of coffee in my hands, I raise it to all of you. You are all beautiful spirits, and I’m deeply grateful for every one of you.

Cheers!

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Breaking 65!

Today seems as good a day as any to dig up some meaning in my life, inspired by the witty words of my good ol’ pal George Bernard Shaw: “Youth is wasted on the young, and wisdom is wasted on the old.”

The Youth:

Looking back, did I squander my youth’s potential on Electrical Engineering, basketball, and tennis? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Was working abroad for five years and backpacking solo across Europe a frivolous adventure? Not entirely. Losing my passport, all my money and everything I had to live on as a tourist in Spain wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but hey -it gave me stories to tell the grandkids (when I grow up).

The Old:

Today, I hit 65. By any standards, I’m officially the “old” in Georgie’s quote. And yet, wisdom -or something like it -led me to swap rackets for clubs and establish Toespin, my lighting design company. Sure, my physical energy now depends heavily on creaky knees and a thinning top, but I like to think I’ve still got it. At least, that’s what I tell myself on a good day.

Irony now measures itself in my iron clubs, whose distances mirror life -short and full of unintended curves. My shots might not follow a straight line, but who says life’s adventures should? These days, I try to live by a simple mantra: Carpe Diem. Seize the day, coffee cups, bunkers, and all.

So here’s to more misadventures and the wisdom to laugh at it all. Each day is an adventure waiting to unfold and a story waiting to be told.

God be praised.

Cheers to George.

60+5 senior cheers to me!

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THE RETURN JOURNEY

If someone hikes up a mountain and, upon reaching the summit, begins descending, they’re heading back -back to the base, back to where it all began. It’s a journey home.

Indulge my caffeine-fueled brain for a moment...�

My dear Inang lived for 27,814 days. Her halfway point, day 13,907, was December 31, 1964. I had just turned five years and 18 days old.

On that festive New Year’s Eve, nearly 60 years ago today, my beloved Inang was, in a way, starting her descent -her journey back home to the Holy Father. If her life leading up to December 31, 1964, was about climbing and living, everything after that was her graceful return. Her return to Him. Her goodbye journey.

Of course, there was no way for me to know this. I was just a little boy. I couldn’t read, couldn’t write, and certainly couldn’t sit (or squat around our 'dulang,' that low-level dining table) and sip coffee to reflect on life as I do now. No one told me she was leaving -returning -to where all good souls go.

Had I known, even as a child, I would have loved her more openly. I would have obeyed her without hesitation. I wouldn’t have laughed at her when she put on lipstick or sprayed her hair, wanting to look more beautiful for the dance with dear Tatang at the barrio Glorieta. I would have stayed by her side more often, listening to her stories of the Japanese occupation. I would have held her hand more tightly during her battles with asthma, whispered more words of love, and cherished every moment.

Today would have been her 98th birthday. Not a day passes without me thinking of her. I try to keep her memories alive, savoring the moments we shared. I pray my own old age never robs me of those precious memories -the ones that keep her gentle spirit close to me.

Oh, by the way, unless I live to be 130 years old, I too am on my way back. Every passing day gets me closer to my own journey's end. And I realize there are others dear to me on the same path.

I miss you, dearest Inang. I love you more than words can ever express.

This cup of coffee, I raise to you. Cheers to you, always.

WKD

Did you know that the world celebrated World Kindness Day just a few days ago? If you did, did you make an extra effort to be kind, kinder, or kindest that day? Or maybe you simply acknowledged the kindness of others -which is also a form of kindness. As for me, I missed it. Not because I was busy insulting, mocking, taunting, or cursing (I’m not that kind). I didn’t realize such a day existed. A laudable effort? Absolutely. But necessary? Hmm…

I mean, take Christmas, for one.

Kindness should be a daily habit, not just a tick in the calendar. While Christmas has bells, lights, carols, and nicely trimmed trees reminding us to be nice rather than naughty, its spirit should linger throughout the year. But, with life getting so busy, we all need a gentle nudge. If Christmas is kindness in full sparkle, World Kindness Day is its minimalist version.

For me, Christmas is deeply spiritual -a time to reflect on Someone far greater than ourselves: Jesus Christ. Its influence transcends seasons, inspiring ripples of kindness all year long. World Kindness Day, perhaps, is one such ripple -a gentle reminder of the power of goodwill.

I pray for a time when we don’t need days like No Cheating Day, No Stealing Day, or No Bwisit Day.

Here’s to a future where every day is Happy Coffee Day -served and sipped with a generous dose of kindness.

Cheers!

FINAL MEMORIES

Visiting a cemetery can be life-changing, giving you an out-of-this-world perspective. Especially when you’re turning 65. Because, soon, you’ll be turning in your grave, instead. All that you have, all that you have done, you’ll soon trade for a nice plot, six feet under. Or a shiny jar that you don’t even get to choose.

Standing by the graves of Inang who died at 76, over 20 years ago, and of Tatang, who at 91, God called home just before Covid19 changed the world in ways none of us saw coming. I started searching through my mental archives for the last time I held their hands or hugged them. Or the last time I told them, "I love you" or "See you later" or "Bye, bye." I wanted to find those memories but couldn’t. They were not in my memory bank anymore. Maybe because there wasn’t an effort to hit a mental '⌘+S' when they happened. My excuse was that I never imagined they might be the last. And it saddened me. My remembrance of them would have been richer and more endearing, and no matter what level of amnesia I may have in the future, I would still be able to recall. Powerful memories, etched deeply in the soul, can endure through both time and illness.

But, mea culpa, I missed the chance to carpe diem.

Right there, I started to think of my own “last times” -the ones I’d want to savor today if they were the final ones to hold onto:

A round of golf with my buddies, sharing "Fore!", "Oh shoot," and "Oh dang" when a shot goes wayward. Or high-fives and fist bumps for each birdie and par;

The healthy banter exchange with my favorite daughter, Nikkei;

A cup of fresh-pulled coffee I share with my favorite son, Andre;

The nightly kiss with my bride Rissa, and saying, "Night, dear," before dozing off;

Holding the hands of those dear to me;

Taking a selfie, even if I rarely do;

Cheering for the Celtics;

Eating sinangag with tuyô and scrambled eggs for breakfast and ube to go with my espresso;

Running my last 5k;

Shaving my hair;

Making the Sign of the Cross.

Someday, all those little acts will be part of my lasts. And as much as I’d love to preserve every last detail, those memories won’t be for me to carry. They’ll belong to the people I leave behind, fragments of a life they shared with me, reminders of moments I hope they’ll look back on and smile.

Oh yeah. Life. As my good ol’ friend Charlie Brown once said, "In the book of life, the answers aren’t in the back."

I am sure that someday when I grow up, I will figure this one out. While I am still six feet above.

Over coffee, as usual.

Cheers!

THE BEST OF ME

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." -Col 3:23

Lately, I’ve been training almost daily, working hard to improve my golf swing -and, in the process, up my game. My family is starting to raise eyebrows, suspecting I’m sandbagging my rounds -just so I don’t have to treat them to that seafood dinner if I ever play my best round. I am not fixing my game. I am training for the Olympics. This is for the glory of the country, people.

I’ve also been putting in extra effort at work. As a lighting designer, I’m committed to making my firm the absolute best in Asia, and on this side of the galaxy, and securing a legacy for future generations. My descendants will thank me when they’re basking in the glow of well-lit skyscrapers, churches, sports stadiums, and golf courses.

Like a possessed workhorse, I even find time to wash and wax the car and clean the house. Not just for the family, mind you. We’re expecting a visit from the Pope. Yep, the Pope. I want the place looking spotless when the Holy Father knocks on our door.

Okay, maybe not.

I am too old for the Olympics, my company is not in any competition -not for the longest drive, not for the best in anything. And the Pope -he doesn’t even know I exist.

So why am I putting myself through all this? It’s not just about pushing myself for personal gain or glory. It’s about going beyond my own limits and striving for something greater. Sure, I want to improve, to challenge myself, but ultimately, it’s not just me, or for me.

I play, I work, to offer my very best to Someone far more deserving. My efforts, my dedication -these are my offerings to my God and Savior, Jesus Christ. And in doing so, I find a deeper sense of purpose and fulfillment that transcends personal achievement -even when at times too many, I fail miserably.

Happy Sunday, champs!

Cheers!

DRIVE X

Our Saturdate went the way of the unusual yesterday. Instead of the usual leisurely dine-in breakfast, we went for the Drive-Thru option at McDonald's because time wasn’t on our side. Induction ceremony and an extra-inspired homily by our parish priest had stretched our morning and eaten into our sit-down breakfast time.

(I’m not complaining, Lord. I’m just… mea culpa, Lord.

)

At the Drive-Thru, we rolled up to the speaker, rattled off our orders with a smile on my face (you never know), paid, and faster than the sunniest side-up, breakfast was served right through our car window. McFast.

As we cruised back home, I decided we might as well knock out some grocery shopping. Lucky for us, there’s an egg vendor conveniently located along the road to our village. We pulled off a little Drive-By maneuver. From where I was parked, I honked once to get their attention, and flashed an “X” with my fingers. And sure enough, faster than a scramble, a tray of extra-large eggs went through our car window! Talk about eggficiency!

Just as the smell of breakfast inside the car was making me even hungrier, we spotted a banana vendor near our village entrance. My wife said, “Bili tayo!” Lacatán for dessert after a McBrekkie? Why not! And so, we did a Drive-X, where X = pulling-up-the-street-to-buy-something-from-a-cart-pulling-street-vendor.

What was supposed to be the ordinary became the x-traordinary. Thanks to Drive Thru/By/X, my household was not deprived of a morning delight.

Cheers!