IKEA High, IKEA Low

My lighting design firm, Toespin, was awarded the lighting design contract for the first ever IKEA store in the Philippines, which recently opened to the public. Occupying 65,000sqm in area, it is regarded as the biggest in the world.

Four years in the making, it prides me to be a part of a team of international design disciplines, tempers, and tolerances for deadpan humor. Above all, I am proud of my team -Victor, Herbert and AJ, who, in their usual all-out dedication to brilliance, contributed much to make #IKEAPhilippines shine the brightest.

The people behind the creative and engineering marvels are usually not talked about by people outside our industry’s design circle. I mean, do you really look at the ceiling in any store and wonder who designed the lighting? Or the air-conditioning? Or the acoustics? Or the toilet flush? Yeah, right!

It therefore got me excited to hear from my niece, who is an OB-Gyne resident in one of the top hospitals in the metro, beat the drum for us when the subject came up in their doctors-only conversations. She proudly told them that her dad’s twin brother -that’s me, was the lighting consultant for the project.

Said they, “Really? Your father has a twin brother?!!”

Doctors. Not engineers. Not architects. Not designers.

Cheers!

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It’s a Twin Thing

Our hearts do not beat at the same time and at the same rhythm. Many people say we look the same, our voices sound the same, we say the same corny daddy jokes. But that’s probably just about it.

Fred and I are fraternal twins born many, many, many leap years ago. I don’t recall having sibling rivalry between us. Neither of us was smarter or stronger. Although one maybe, just maybe, a tad more handsome than the other. I am not saying who, though. I will let history judge us.

To this day, I believe we were born with a natural talent for knowing what to give each other for our birthday. Last week was another testament to this belief. We gave each other a polo shirt.

During one brunch, I showed him how much I liked the yellow sports shirt that I just bought from Uniqlo. He liked it as well. He asked what size I wear. I said small since the size I was looking for, which is extra-medium wasn’t available. That gave him something to think about. That gave me something to think about. That was a week before our birthday.

In the store he went to buy, he tried on a shirt. Small wouldn’t fit. So he took the large size instead. We have almost the same body size.

When I went out to buy him one, I speedily took a small-sized green version of my shirt. In and out in a flash. By choosing a different color, we will be better able to tell ourselves apart in the fairway.

Then came the reveal. The shirt he gave me was white. All good. But size was large. But when I tried it on, it fit me as well as the original yellow shirt.

For his part, the small size didn’t meet his fancy. He made use of the gift receipt to have it changed to medium.

It turned out, they were of two different styles, made in two different countries.

Oh well, we are both happy and content. All good. And all good. If you were wondering what would make us happier, break par in a golf game together would be it.

Cheers! 

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Birthday Cheers to my Barista

I love basketball. I am a big Celtics fan.

When Andre was in Grade 4, I enrolled him in Milo basketball clinic where I saw in him, some fine dribbling skills and passing moves. While watching, I found myself daydreaming that one day, I will be sitting side-by-side with Jack Nicholson at the Staples or Rod Steward at the Garden to watch him play in NBA.

Then tennis. One of the coaches there said my kid had great potential. Another daydream then was me seated at his box at the Wimbledon Centre Court cheering at every ace and every fantastic cross-court shot he makes.

More daydreams came with badminton.
Then swimming. Daydreams went beyond Earth.

Then daydreams no more.

Andre grew up. He switched to Ultimate (Frisbee) -no influence from me.

And then golf.

And then influences shifted.

With his mentoring, I find myself playing, too.

The dreams I had for my son were mine -not his. Working with me in my design firm; being the barista that started this Coffee Cup Reflections; and, golf. These were never a part of those dreams. I’d like to believe though they are God’s plans for him. Even if I string all my plans together and multiply them by infinity, they still don’t match up with God’s.

Now I feel I am the one being raised by my son. He soars high with his own wings (and clubs). When I want a break from life’s responsibilities, there is someone I can lean on. With a flat white on the side.

______________

Soar even higher, Andre Christer! I don’t mind looking up to watch you fly high. Disregard those silly daydreams. They don’t matter. What you are to me is way more important than what I had wanted you to be.

You are to me, a wonderful son-gift that God has given. I love you, son.

Happy birthday!

Is the coffee ready?
Then, vat are ve vaiting for? Cheers!

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Living with the Enemy

Some people adjust pretty well to situations. Some, like me, not as well. 

I visited my office early this week to pick up a delivery. For the past two years, I’ve only been there three or four times because there was no reason for me to go. My team and I have been working from home since the pandemic.

The item I was supposed to pick up was left with the guard at the lobby of the building. Upon entering, he immediately recognized me despite wearing a baseball cap and a face mask. Only my eyes, their accompanying bags and a bit of wrinkled skin were visible. And without asking, he said that my item has been taken upstairs to my office.

It appears that Kuya guard has responded well to the call of the times. He may have been forced by the circumstances to make his job easier and safer, his adaption to the pandemic protocols, for me, is remarkable. 

I, on the other hand, have not. In one mall project walk-thru, I hardly recognized those who approached me. I cheated by looking at their IDs hanging around their necks. “Oh, she looked different without a mouth and a nose,” I kept arguing to myself. The eyes and sometimes the hair were merely pieces of a mental puzzle I had to put together. They weren’t faces. At my age, it’s already a big challenge to match faces with names. Let alone ninja covers. Shish kebab!

Koreans and Japanese have started using transparent masks that reveal the mouth and when they talk or laugh, the teeth, too. I have seen them on TV. Yay, more context clues! These, together with a person’s vertical and horizontal measure, voice pitch, and fashion style, maybe I’ll get better at profiling.

Like it or not, I need to adapt as well as our building guard did. I have a feeling this enemy ain’t leaving ’til all major pharmas have made their ten-year quota. 

Living with this unseen enemy, just about time.

Cheers!

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Age Factors

One. I am one happy person.

Two. There were two of us when I was born. With my twin brother, I felt I was never alone.

Thirty-one. Written in reverse, this is my birth day.

Sixty-two. Today, I turn this old. Yay, happy me!

Today I celebrate by publishing online my latest baby: coffeecupreflections.com. This is what’s been keeping me busy lately -designing, layouting, writing content, figuring out why it won’t work. For the most part, a lot of troubleshooting and shooting troubles down as they appear. It’s a blog collection of my best and worst #mycoffeecupreflections IG & Facebook posts. Nothing in-between. Some are old (I have re-written for better appreciation), some are new.

A few days ago, I asked my beautiful wife Rissa if it’s a good thing to give out some treats for today. I was planning to gift the first 100 subscribers to the site. She said to manage my expectations and just make it 10 to avoid major disappointment. Excellent suggestion, indeed.

Next, I asked Nikkei, my lovely daughter for her opinion. She said it’s an excellent idea -only if you’re famous! Brutal. But real.

Finally, Andre, my favorite son and golf buddy. His comment: 😶😶😶.

He looked away. And then again: 😶😶😶.

Considering all the suggestions and stoic reactions, I am shooting for Jupiter’s moon: 

For the first 62 subscribers, your coffee for the day is on me. I hope this will be worth your while considering I held a garage sale of my pre-loved underwear and old photo albums of solo pictures just so I can afford giving away free coffee.

Make sure you have a GCash or a Paypal account. 

Good for one cup only. With each sip, think of me and the garage sale.

May your day be blessed! 

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What if my Mother Finished School?

This thought has not crossed my mind before until it did.

By logical deduction, my dear mother didn’t finish school primarily because they were poor. Also, World War II and the Japanese got in the way. Her asthma, too. But there was another reason.

Recently, I got the chance to ask the last man standing and the only boy among the siblings, uncle Emiliano, the youngest at 80. I asked him why only one of them was able to finish college. He didn’t easily find an answer but also pinned poverty as a reason. But he added that most of them, probably including my mother, were not interested in finishing school. After all, a housewife’s job can’t be learned outside a home.

Still, I ponder on the thought.

𝐼𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑔 was not very good in Math so she wouldn’t have been an engineer. The measurements needed for her cooking ingredients were done 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰. Also, I don’t remember her helping me with my science homework. Nope, a mad scientist she wasn’t cut out to be.

A teacher, maybe? Because the only one who graduated, my aunt Adelina, was a teacher. All the life lessons she taught made me who I am today minus some imperfections here and there that silently made their way into this perfection.

But I heard her sing some Karen Carpenter songs when I was a kid. And her singing “Heart of Jesus” and “Oh, Sacred Heart” were my best memories of her great voice. Yep, she would have made it big as a singer.

But she didn’t.

My 𝘛𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 loved her the lovely way she was and took her as his wife. And because of that, we became her children. And she became the most loving mother to us.

She would have turned 95 today and if still alive with her asthma, I doubt if she could still blow 95 candles out. I can only imagine her silly grin showing the dentures her only daughter-dentist made for her as she prepares to blow. She’d probably oblige, just the same, to the singing of her grand- and great-grandchildren the Happy Birthday song.

I can only ponder and heave a deep sigh… wishing. Although it has been 14 years now since the last time my eyes saw her, my heart will never forget. The same heart that resonated with hers while I was resting in her womb.

Happy birthday, Inang! With so much of the love I felt as a child. You are one great treasure I will never lose.

Here’s to you. Cheers!

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Plant Now, Shade Later

“A society grows old when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.”

This beautiful proverb will sound Greek to you if you’re unconcerned about your grandchildren’s grandchildren. But the ancient Greeks, turned out, did. The not so ancient past and the present are proofs of that, albeit imperfect.

I see myself as an old man because I am. I am turning 62 in a few weeks. Sixty-two in any language, shape and form is old. And I have an opportunity to be that person in the proverb not just because I am old. But also because I am in the present when my actions can help shape the future.

Over the next few months, I am not just flicking a switch or turning a water valve, I will prepare my heart and mind to elect the new leaders of our country.  

I prepare by praying. That God will anoint those that I vote for. That they may not only serve people wholeheartedly but also bring people closer to God, and be pleasing before God.

I prepare by contributing not only my time but also my resources knowing these will not go to waste or be pocketed because I will not be voting for proven thieves and crooks who have enriched themselves thru corruption. I am paying much attention now to my conscience more than ever.

Part of what makes this planting difficult is the fake information out there surrounding those who cannot tell the difference. 

I am only in the present until I am not. And in the shade of the tree I am planting now, I hope many will find rest sitting.

Cheers!

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A Christmas Story

Christmas remains my favorite season of the year. As a kid living in the province, I looked forward to having family members gather in one place -a different one each year. It was a time for me to get some real toys since, for the rest of the year, we hand-made DIYs using bamboos or tree branches or scavenged marbles. Arguably deprived in a way, my tiny mind understood.

Now, Christmas delivers an exciting challenge to gift-giving: what to give who, and how; individual or group; inexpensive or cheap (yep, I am that!); batteries or no batteries. And the mode of delivery, too. Not quite the galloping rush we were used to, there’s still a lot to consider.

Just the same, I feel the joy ripples in.

But first, a Christmas story and a song. My son, Andre, taking a short break from K-Pop music, played Ben & Ben’s most popular Christmas song, Bibingka, one coffee time.

Immediately, I recalled the time our favorite little neighbor, Pia, then 7, helped trim our Christmas tree. She took care of the lower area easily reached by her little hands while her Tito Andre covered the middle to the top.

Outside, I set up the lights. The highlight of the day was the lighting of the lights. Excitedly, Pia stood still in front of the house, waiting for the lights to come on. And as soon as they illumined her face, she sang a line from the song: “Nagsiawit ang mga anghel sa langit…!” Easily, it was one fine stuff that memories are made of.

I had a chance to tell the singer-composer of that song when Andre had him and their common friends over for coffee and guitar jamming. It tickled him. And Pia was on cloud nine. 

Recent memories like this I still can grab from mother time. Last night, I pulled her out of her cocoon to witness our annual Christmas lighting. And she, now 10, obliged doing a remake of the singing. 

The angels sang with us. 

Cheers.

Start here.

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Ginagawang laruan na lang ang kawawang bayan natin. At ginagawang manlalaro ng kanilang laro ang mga Pilipino na pinaniniwala nilang ito ang sagot sa kahirapan.

Nag-hihirap man ako ngayon dahil sa korapsyon, sa pagnanakaw, sa paglilinlang nila, sasama pa rin ba ako sa laro nila?

Para lang ba sa akin ang aking paglalaro, o para sa kinabukasan ng aking mga anak at mga anak nila?

Kaawaan nawa tayo ng Diyos.

I’ve Won Pulitzer!

Add to that the Nobel for literature.

It’s just how I actually feel right now. The reason is not a Pulitzer or the Nobel. What made me feel like a winner was one article in medium.com from one writing mentor-coach where my name was mentioned.

In the article, the author, John Cunningham, wrote, “His writing truly touches my heart.” Whoa! Did I, really?

I know it’s not that big a deal for many, but for a simple man who takes little to be happy, it sends me to a euphoric state so intense I could dance!

My writings -and you know this, are an ensemble of confusion and mediocrity, many times not hitting the mark I was aiming for. I agree that consistent practice makes perfect, but finding time and inspiration is a challenge.

Many more important things can get into my writing time like corporate work -I run a lighting design company. Then there is laundry. We do not have any maid nor do we outsource. I am duty-bound. Rinse and repeat.

And running. And golf. And Netflix. And toilet.

As opposed to doing laundry, writing is a non no-brainer task. For me, at least. And since I am not a Bo Sanchez who can write while riding a boat on rough waters -yep, I’ve been in one with him, an accolade from a fellow writer (😎 ) brings out the little child in me. It takes a little to make me happy. 

John’s article and the comments I receive for #mycoffeecupreflections raise my level from mediocrity to exceptional. You, likewise, though unknowingly, touch my heart.

Cheers!

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Gentle Souls

I find it uncommon these days to find someone that strikes you as gentle, kind, and pleasant in the first few minutes of your encounter. One who listens well with a smile before responding. And when she responds, she does so gently but firmly. She speaks with her eyes making up for her brevity of words but concise enough to be understood.

My friend Victoria is one such person. I worked with this gentlest of a person in our community newsletter when I was still single. Given specific tasks, she worked without complaints, even when at times she had to do so outside her comfort zone.

Another gentle soul was Cristy. She loved helping people through our counseling ministry, where we both trained in and served. She ministered to hurting souls with joy, even taking graveyard shifts.

Saints probably inhabit their bodies. The words that come out of their mouths are words that comfort, tunes that soothe the minds, voices that refresh weary minds and souls.

The little things they do cannot be belittled. It’s been ages since I’ve seen Victoria and Cristy has passed on from this life. But the “little” things I’ve seen them do, still inspire me today. And probably, too, those that they have silently touched.

To them and others like them, I raise this cup.

Cheers!

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Guardian Angels

Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here, ever this day, be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.

---

We were travelling to Bataan, our home province of about 100kms away from home. The old sedan was full of all essentials for an annual 5-day holy week vacation -clothes, food, gadgets, and Doritos. Before a long haul such as this, I usually send the car to an auto workshop for a tuneup, oil check, etc. It did not prepare me for a major trouble.

We took a less traffic route knowing the expressway will be heavy as it had always been every year. With just about 20kms away from our destination, we all heard a loud thud in the hood area. The car went dead -everything but the horn. I couldn’t even pull over to the side of the road.

I understand very little about car mechanics, but by the sound of it, it wasn’t the battery or the windshield wiper. Silly me, I didn’t check if it was the blinkers, but I knew it was serious. And we were right in the middle of nowhere during a time when the entire country was on a yearly hiatus. 

There was no need to look around anymore because even before I got out to lift the hood or kick the wheels to pretend I knew what I was doing, I lifted my gaze to a big sign that says Korean Car Motor Shop painted in font size 5000. We were so close that if I veered towards the left, I would have hit it. The car conked out in front of a motor shop that was open with the mechanic having coffee as if waiting for a scheduled appointment! 𝘈𝘩𝘩, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

A phone call to my brother and within minutes, a vehicle from home rescued us. The mechanic agreed to do the repair, which took a few days to finish.

This story is just one of many where God manifested His guidance and protection: a sudden inspiration; the right word to say; the perfect approach; the best decision -it’s allowing myself to be led. As a family, we offered a rosary for protection and guidance that day. We claimed God’s promise:

“𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘐𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘰𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺…” (Ex23:20)

We prayed. The angels came. 

Cheers!

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Learning from the Past

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results –Einstein

I agree with Albert Einstein. But I confess I don’t consistently practice what it promotes.

Like two days ago. After nearly a year, I’ve finally made good use of my health card membership for a blood chem. Clinics and hospitals were last in the list of places I would ever want to go to due to the pandemic. Also, tied in last place were funeral chapels.

And here’s my confession. I was actually hoping -praying that results of my lab tests are ok, esp my uric acid level. For the last few months, my diet consisted of high purine foods I should have avoided. And prayers may just be what I needed for a different result.

In the afternoon, the verdict came. Although my cholesterol and sugar counts were all ok, my uric was off the chart. So silly of me to expect a normal count even if my diet hasn’t changed since the last blood test.

I can’t expect a different result if I did the same thing over and over again:

I can’t expect that my muscle mass to increase if I only did the same weights, the same reps, the same sets every workout;

I can’t expect my resistance to get better if I ran the same frequency, the same route, the same length, the same time, every run;

I can’t expect to have a better bottom line in my business if I employed the same services, the same marketing, the same efforts;

I can’t expect a better country if I elected the same criminals, cheaters, liars and thieves into power. It’s like finding a hammer to hit your stubborn head hard with. It can’t be any clearer than that!

I must do better, think better, choose better. Unless I am a bigger fool myself.

I must learn from the past. I must never forget. 

Cheers!

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My Bucket List

Isn’t it about time I do this? The list has only been written at the back of my mind since Stone Age. Writing it here will surely pressure me. Some are still doable. I have chucked many out due to health, age and money.

The health benefits of having one far outweighs the unnecessary pressure. For one, they keep me going. At this age, if you have nothing to look forward to, you deteriorate faster. And for another, updating the list keeps track of my achievements and unachievements. Shall we?

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Big word, I know. For brevity, I’ll let Google do its thing for you. But watch a video of this on YouTube and you’ll know why. This merits buying a new camera!

𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬. Who doesn’t want to, right? Blame it on movies and TV shows I’ve seen, including Flash Gordon. Another point towards the camera.

𝐑𝐮𝐧/𝐣𝐨𝐠 ’𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐈’𝐦 𝟕𝟓. I’ve been running on/off since my Saudi days when I was in my 20s. Running gives me a different high that I can’t get just by walking. Currently, I run 5k twice a week. I wouldn’t mind if by my bingo age, 2 or 3k is all I can muster.

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬. This item used to be learn how to play golf. I’ve upgraded. My best round so far is 126 with a couple of second chances.

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞. Thanks to my daughter and to K-dramas, Hangeul it is. When I was younger, I found learning French and spoken Arabic easy. I could get by as a tourist in France and other French-speaking countries, to the amazement of my travel buddies. But at this age, it takes more effort. I’m not giving up yet.

𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤. I am blogging and writing for several online platforms. Taking it slow. We’ll see. I remember many years ago; I tried with Time magazine. I was rejected. I was just applying for a subscription.

I stop here. Better safe with only a few, but let me also list those that I have crossed out:

Bungee jump. Can’t do for health reasons.

Learn to swim. Done. I was almost 30 years old when I enrolled in a Milo swimming class for adults.

Retire at 50. Duh. I started my design company after turning 50.

Design a website. Done 4x.

I’ll probably update this next year or when this pandemic ends. Until then, let’s live life.

Cheers!

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And Archie was His Name

I didn’t consider us friends as we only knew each other casually because he was friends with and 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑎𝑑𝑎 of my brother and my cousin. But Archie knew me and I likewise knew him. We came from the same town -Dinalupihan, Bataan.

When I entered as a freshman at #Mapúa, he was already in his 3rd year as a Civil Engineering (CE) student. The only decent conversation I can recall with him was the time I saw him with my brother and cousin in the campus. Knowing that I was new, he asked the standard question:

“How’s college life?” 

“Who is your professor in Math 113?” 

Many students then were avoiding a family of “terror” professors named Magtira. Only a lucky bunch of few made it out alive.

“Ok 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔,” I answered, “Mrs. Magtira-Paulino.”

He laughed hard and wished me luck. His wish may have helped because I got through that class and two more from the same house of terror unscathed.

I didn’t get to see much of him because our school building (EE) is a bit distant from theirs (CE). And, of course, I’ve made my own circle of friends and study groups later on.

The last time I saw him was during a forum in the gym where the daughter of then president Marcos was a guest speaker -Imee Marcos. He was last of those given the chance to ask the speaker a question. His question drew laughter from the audience that somehow didn’t sit well with Ms. Marcos. After the forum, he was whisked away by the bodyguards in broad daylight, and three days later, was found dead -tortured.

Our young minds were terror-struck.

We didn’t know if more students were taken, as the entire media was controlled by Marcos.

We tiptoed our way to school and back every day.

Will they go after his casual friends, too? His 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑎𝑑𝑎?  

News about him in school was transmitted only through whispers. No text messages. No social media.

That was one hellish nightmare we all had to go through as students. None of us deserved it.

Archie, you are remembered. I know how much your family has suffered, especially in chasing that elusive justice for many decades after your brutal death. 

This cup I raise to our casual friendship -albeit shortened.

Cheers!

#ArchimedesTrajano

I am feeling very hopeful!

God bless our country.

𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐤-𝐚-𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐞-𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧

After four-and-a-half years of being a vegetarian, I am back to eating chicken. I am revising my CV to officially and effectively effect the changes and also for the benefit of those who are taking me out for lunch or dinner. No more, “𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯!” (So hard to feed you!) Ya besh, I hear you.

Last Sunday, I had #ChickenJoy -oh, whatta… 

I took on vegetarianism solely for health reasons and not for any militant advocacy or espousal. After my angioplasty in 2017, my readings about cardio health issues drew me to understand -and embrace, it was best for me y mi corazon. And I still believe it so. 

But the same readings led me back to this cocky resolution because of another health issue -uric acid and purine. I have gout issues. Some veggies and soy products like tofu, depending on how they are processed, and fish (Oh life, really! ) contain substantial level of these unwanted whatsits leaving me with nothing more than grass, oxygen and organic carton boxes for lunch and dinner.

Still no pork or beef. For the chicken, I take dibs on the parts with the least amount of purine, breast and buttocks. No skin. Limited amount still. Maybe twice a week. My wife and kids are delighted. More cooking and ordering options now.

When life takes a turn, celebrate, eat chicken and drink coffee. Oh whatta…

Cheers!

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One Year Lateur…

A year ago today, Andre pulled his very first edible cup of coffee with his brand-new espresso machine. That same morning, I wrote my very first coffee cup reflections. I wasn’t posting on FB or IG then yet but only to a small Viber group, mainly relatives who I knew no matter how crudely the written words were, they will read. Just because.

That cup is shown here. So amateurish, right? Yep, that’s coffee alright! And it tasted good, too. He’s come a long way in doing coffee art. Without my barista, there will be no #mycoffeecupreflections. I am a proud customer.

This was what I wrote:

𝙰 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚞𝚜. 

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙’𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜. 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢.

For the first few months, I created every day. I told myself there must be something worthwhile to write about every single day. Inspirations came and went. I bored people to death.

A few days ago, I have also started writing for several online publications like Medium, Quora and LinkedIn. I am developing my blog website which should be up in a few. If I can bore a few, I can bore the whole world. These were the rah-rah words I used to pump myself up.

To my eleven readers (recently up from seven), thank you for putting up with me and the words I write. I admire your tolerance and patience. You are always in my prayers.

To infinity and beyond!

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #OneYearAnniversary

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I was a Saint Many Times Over

During college days, between the end of each semester and the time they released the grades, a halo hovered over my head which was then still immaculately full.

Electrical engineering (BSEE) was a tough course and our school, #MapuaInstituteOfTechnology (now #MapuaUniversity), was unforgiving of students with a low weighted average. It gave those that fall below the standard set by the school twice in a row the boot. The EE school boasted of producing the most number of board topnotchers during our time and keeping the status quo was a serious deal. The grading system used was numerical, 1.0-5.0 with 0.25 increments: 1.0 excellent, 3.0 pass, and 5.0 fail.

Each interim took two weeks, and while waiting, we normally go home to Bataan for a brief vacation. It was during these fortnights that I called on all the saints to intercede for me that God will not allow a failing grade. I was so obedient to my parents that I carried out every command before they gave them. The house was always dust-free, the dishes squeaky clean, and the chickens, pigs and carabaos well fed. Any temptation attempting to poison my pristine heart and mind stood no chance. I prayed like hell -I mean, you know what I mean.   

Failing a subject would mean repeating it, re-studying it and, worse, paying for it again. I regarded every centavo spent for our education as a product of mixing blood with sweat and multiplied with hardships. Without a regular family income, second chances were scarce.

When each D-day came, the first thing I’d focus my eyes on was the last line that showed the weighted average. I always know that if it went >3.0, it would mean a 5.0 in at least one subject. In all those times, God heard my prayers.

That was how I survived college -my gateway to becoming a prayerful person.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #CollegeLife #PrayerWorks

Start here.

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