Reminiscing about travels is the next best thing to do if travel is restricted. Last night over dinner, we reminisced about our near-disaster adventure 3 years ago.

There were 7 of us with 13 pieces of luggage. 13 because it was winter. But only 4 can carry. We were in a train station on our way to the airport, but on the wrong platform. There was less than 10 minutes before our train leaves 3 levels below us. We miss this train, we miss the flight. We say bye-bye to the next travel plan. Now do the math: how do we get to the train on time?

Solution (short version): Miracle.

Solution (long version): Each of the 4 took as many luggage as possible and wheeled them to the nearest escalator or elevator. Upon reaching one level down, we ran back to get the remaining bags or luggage. Rinse. Repeat. Until the destination platform was reached. There was crying and praying and panting like rabid dogs. The other 3 teleported. Literally a few seconds after the last one got in, train doors closed. That day, we converted to Christianity!

This actually happened 3 years ago –ending our Korean vacation with fireworks. Now we are all laughing about it. Such are stuff that memories are made of.

When timing is not just the best option, when it is the 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 option, that can only be God’s timing.

I raise this cup to adventures! Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

Each household has some form of hierarchy, defined or undefined, meticulous or raucous. Ours is a sort of a tacit agreement but spoken. I know I don’t make sense, I am just being myself. Let me explain.

I was working in front of my machine when the mom asked the son to take out the pressure washer and clean the electric fans. But because he was still busy doing something, the fans remained in their waiting stage. The daughter saw the dirty fans and said, "I’ll do the cleaning." But since she had to prepare lunch and we didn’t have a dog, I had to do something before WWIII erupts.

Immediately, I turned to the one who does most of the doings in this household:

Me: "Hey, Google, clean the fans."

Google: "𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥."

"Hey Google, nettoie les ventilateurs électriques, s’il vous plaît."

"𝘛𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴!"

I thought it’d respond differently to another language. But fail.

I looked to the left. I looked to the right. Up and down. No one else down the organizational chart. Can you imagine a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, slowly creeping out of the door because it had been shooed away by the cruel restaurant owner? No, that wasn’t like me at all. I happily stood up and declared, "I will do it!"

Twenty-seven minutes later, the fans were sparkling clean and I was wet as the dog described here if it was left out in the rain.

The wife is looking around for more dirty items around.

I wish we had a dog. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

I was out for most of the day yesterday visiting clients and doing a walk-thru at a double 15-storey tower project with the owners and other consultants. After scaling the entire building for more than 4 hours, I just wanted to sleep right where I was. In fact, somewhere between the 5th and the 11th floor, I was already thinking of the comforts of home and of my bed, of hearing K-pop played around the house and of hot spicy Korean ramyeon.

During our drive home, and as we got nearer, I saw street people still in the thick and thin of the daily grind. They would probably eat, then sleep right where they were -in the streets. I don’t know if they call it their home. I don’t even know if they have one they call home. The smell of ramyeon that became stronger as we got closer to home quickly faded away.

I got home feeling grateful. More importantly, in that hour-long spin, a message was also driven home like nail to a stubborn skull: "It is not only for what we do that we are held responsible, but also for what we do not do" (John Baptiste Moliere). Sin of omission, ain’t that it?

Moved by what I saw, I pray that I can do more than just that.

I raise this cup.

#MyCafeNotes

Two nights ago, I dreamt of my dear mother. She appeared to be happy, excited about a coming fiesta in our barrio. Every now and then, she’d appear to me in my dreams. Am sure she knows I miss her.

It was 18 years ago today that I got the call bearing the news I dreaded all my life: that she was gone. This song tells my story like it was:

𝘐 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳

𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦d 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦.

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘔𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦

𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯

𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦.

𝘐𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘨, there’s not a single day that I don’t think of you. When you left, you took away with you a part of me that I cannot define. Its shape and form cannot be filled with and by anything here. But I guess that’s how it’s meant to be. That when I get to see you again, I will get that precious part of me back and I will be complete anew. For all eternity.

See you in my dreams. Appear often so I won’t miss you that much. And as you go face-to-face with God, mention our names to Him and we’ll all be okay.

This one’s for you. Happy birthday in heaven. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

Why does the past always seems to be better when you look back at it than when it did at the time? Childhood days were happier. HS days were more fun. Stomachs were slimmer. Hair was thicker.

Wouldn’t you want to trade every cellulite that extends around the perimeter of your body and under your chinny chin-chin for a minute of those good ol’ days? The innocent nasty misdeeds and laughters so loud you could still hear them?

𝑆𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑?

𝑆𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟?

Yep, a round of 𝑇𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜 with the old neighborhood kids for all my remaining hair. I’ll throw in a pair of running shoes, too.

Don’t we all have a hard drive full of these memories, recent and ancient? Some may have been erased permanently but those that we treasure most surely remain. Every tiniest detail. Unfortunately, even those that hurt us big time -these, too, endure the test of time. But they serve a purpose.

For me, the good ones I recall for the times I need cheering up and to put a smile on my crabby face.

And the not-so-good ones I recall for whenever I find myself in the middle of a mess that appears endless. That this, too, will end up as a memory. That in a few weeks or days or years, I will look back to this problem day and the worry I’ve put heavily into it and laugh at myself at how silly losing sleep over it had been. Also to remind me, "Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?"

Dang, I’m reminiscing again. Must be this cup.

Oh well, as that song goes, 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒.

Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

Monday mornings, my man-friends and I start each work week sharing our thoughts on the day’s Gospel reading. We used to do this while having breakfast in a resto or a sports clubhouse where one is a member. These days though, it’s breakfast sharing online.

Today’s Word is about St. Paul’s conversion story so we shared our own journey with the Lord. I didn’t have a dramatic metamorphosis of sort to tell but I was reminded of my first travel to Saudi when I was 23 years old. It was my first time to travel out of the country but before the travel, we were given all sorts of whats and what-nots when entering that country. Among them, all Christian religious items such as bibles, crucifixes and rosaries are forbidden. But I didn’t know anyone there. No friends. No relatives. No dogs. I knew there was one Friend that I can take with me -Jesus in His Word (…And the Word was made Flesh). The Bible.

At the airport, I knew that I will be frisked from head to toe, shoulder to shoulder, neck and crotch. The challenge is where to conceal a book that measures about 10cm x 15cm x 2cm. My luggage was opened exposing old and worn out socks and underwear. Nothing of interest there. I wore a hooded jacket that a cousin gave me because it was nearing winter time then. I placed the Bible inside the hood hanging behind my back. I was frisked everywhere else my body but my upper back. All these happened while the theme from the old Mission Impossible TV series was playing in my mind.

I got through. With my Bible and a rosary. Going into the desert, my Friend didn’t desert me.

Sometimes in life, you have to take calculated risks.

Cheers to the nerves!

#MyCafeNotes

Some things just don’t add up. Some of this country’s billionaires are my clients. I’ve even chit-chatted, broken bread and played rock-paper-scissors with some of them. Also Hide ’n Seek during collection days. Shouldn’t that already make me a billionaire, too, smiling next to Oprah and the queen? But. No. Nay. Naw. Negative!

Instead, I feel like 'The Fool on a Hill' singing 'You Never Give Me Your Money.'

But if things don’t add up, what do they do, then?

Being a billionaire isn’t the point of this story. I find contentment in what I have. I mean, for now. But in rubbing elbows with the captains, I also squeeze juice from their thick bright brains:

Amazing that some of them know details of their businesses to the littlest screw;

I saw passion in what they do, putting all the energy they have to attain their purpose;

They see beauty in mundane and simple things. One of them find doing dishes at home as a form of relaxation at the end of a busy day;

All of them are generous in teaching and in helping; and, more importantly,

They don’t forget to give honor to the One who made it all possible for them, their God and Creator.

Some things don’t add up. The lessons I’ve learned, insights and visions -they multiply. I equip myself with such.

I raise this cup to my teachers. There is much more to learn. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

In a gathering of business people, I was asked: "Besides #Toespin, what else do you do?" The question wasn’t meant to ask if I had hobbies like painting picket fences or strummin’ my pain with my fingers or involved in the fight against human trafficking. The question was asked to know if I had other money-making affairs apart from lighting design.

In this dog eat dog world, anything you say may and will be used to advance the interest of the person asking. Or maybe I’m just overreacting and judgmental. Still, I knew I had to play my cards right. After all, this wasn’t exactly a gathering of sheep. But what to say?

Just between you and me, I have a confession to make: I serve in our local parish church, I attend community gatherings but I struggle sharing my faith with other businessmen. Out of fear of being rejected or that lightning might strike. Or maybe just being guilt-ridden, feeling myself unworthy. These stop me. Many times, like this one, I see the opportunity but my courage breaks down. Altho there were times in the past when I’ve mustered enough guts into sharing.

To the question, I responded, "I do reflections."

Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

An event that happened yesterday made me think about my own death. This is serious. Be seated comfortably as you read.

I was sent to an errand by my wife to withdraw cash from an ATM at a nearby mall. When sent to a task by the missus, what do you do? Obey, of course. One of the richest and most influential persons in the country once told me, "A happy wife is a happy life." One of life’s open secrets. #ladiestagyourhusbands.

The ATM booth was empty. Good, I thought. First things first: spray the entire booth and ATM with alcohol. Then pulled out my ATM card and into the machine. Punched in my PIN and the amount. Result: insufficient fund. Was it the machine that has insufficient fund, or was it my account? But the booth was just beside the bank that I thought it couldn’t have ran out of cash. I tried again but this time I made sure my PIN was correct (*******) and pressed Balance Inquiry. Result: Php 0.00! BP: 200/180! Just like that, my whole life story flashed before me, from black and white to technicolor.

Also flashing in 4K resolution was my own death. My sexy but lifeless body lying in a box. All the money I have earned, the tools I’ve bought online, the car I just buffed with all my might, the 16gB-RAM laptop were nowhere to be seen. All the seemingly 'important’ material things I hold dearly now seem worthless.

But before barging into the bank, I remembered being issued a new card and the one I just used was old. I checked online if the money was still there. It was. BP: 110/70! Silly, silly me.

There must be a lesson in there somewhere.

Here’s to a new paradigm. Cheers!

My Brief Stint in Prison

I’ve done time. Jail time. Depending on which words you’d accept from Webster as its definition, I was an ex-convict. 

Here’s the story. I rear-ended a car driven by a German expat. In Saudi Arabia. Without a driver’s license. I was an innocent-looking handsome 23 years old. Driving without a license is not allowed in that country. Let alone getting caught in an accident. 

Immediately after the hit, the German driver walked over to me to ask if I was alright. I was shaking all over. Even my ears and nostrils were flapping wildly in fear. Other than that, “I’m ok,” I responded. To cut this short story shorter, I was whisked away by the Royal Army before I could say Gesundheit to the nearest jail.

There I was, fair-skinned, untattooed, clean shaven, looking very pretty inside the cell that was full of hardened criminals and jaywalkers. At least that’s how I saw them with my petrified eyes. The stories about abuses inside jails scared me like a kitten in the rain.

Around me were my inmates, a stinking, waterless toilet bowl and an old Arabic magazine. There was graffiti on the walls that looked like decor to me because I don’t read Arabic.  Without making unnecessary move that may provoke any wild beast, still like that rain-drenched kitten, crouched low on four, I slowly and steadily reached for the magazine and settled back to my lonely corner. I flipped through the magazine, looking only at the pictures. The text resembled the graffiti on the walls. In it, I saw an image of the Virgin Mary and the Child (Mother of Perpetual Help). That prompted me to pray. I prayed like there was no tomorrow. Actually, like there was no later.

But later came. People from my company negotiated for my unconditional pardon. I was released in an hour -not enough time for a tiny tattoo on the arm. The next day, tomorrow, came.

I’ve come to realize the hard way that prayers penetrate thru thick walls. I did jail time, baby, and survived it.

Cheers to freedom!

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In periculum mortis, all laws collapse. In danger of death, all laws collapse.

Today, let me be. I am just moved by a story of a family whose 7-month old baby is in grave danger. The mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2019 but got pregnant and gave birth to the daughter. Ellie, the baby was diagnosed with Down syndrome shortly after birth. A few days ago, the baby was also diagnosed with Infantile Spasms and Complete Atrioventricular Septal Defect wherein there is a large hole in the center of the heart. She needs to be operated on but needs P800k. According to their cardiologist, they are running out of time. They have none to fund the operation and further treatment.

When you get sad news like this, you don’t think of whether or not they believe in God, or what will happen to you if you help, or if this is a good time. You just.

I raise my cup to Ellie.

Read about their journey here: https://www.facebook.com/ricky.pascual.313

#MyCafeNotes

I was probably 14 years old when we had our very first TV set. National was the brand, B&W, 14" (an inch for every year of my existence), and remote-controlled. My Tatang would order me to change the channel, I rise from the floor and change the channel -that’s how it was controlled remotely. That TV defined somewhat the person that I am now. I am a Celtics fan because it was then when the 1974 NBA Finals was shown and they were champs. It was the first time I watched a series of any kind. Although Kareem’s sky hooks were deadliest then, I chose to root for the winning team.

'Eight Is Enough’ made me want to have a big family of my own. Now I have 2 kids but raising them was like raising 8.

'James At 15' made me promise myself, I will learn how to swim. We didn’t have a swimming pool then (and now). My Tatang was too busy farming rice he didn’t have time to excavate. I enrolled in MILO when I was 29. Promise fulfilled.

'Batman & Robin’ made me want to wear my undies over my pants but Inang would not allow me.

'Combat' made me hate the Germans. Now I love BMW, Bosch, Adidas, Nivea & Paulaner. This hate die wasn’t forged.

Now, I hardly watch TV except live sports and when casting Netflix or musical shows on Youtube. I have better things to do than to be influenced by an idiot box. Wait, do they still call it that?

Here’s to those 'Wonder Years.’ Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

I share what I know. This basically is the substance of the pep talk I gave to a group of young professionals a few days ago. It was short. No prepping needed. I was wearing shorts, a simple round-neck tee and an old pair of crocs. So did my audience. The group was holding its annual planning in a hot spring resort thus warranting the attire.

Since my last count, less than 1% of the total population knows about lighting -much less about computer-aided lighting design. This actually was a setback when I was starting out 10 years ago. I sounded Greek whenever I explained technical terms. Then, like a light bulb over my head, I found the solution: teach them. If people started to understand my language, then my work becomes easier. And better appreciated. Since then, I made it a point to teach at every opportunity: color temperature vs. color rendering, illuminance vs. luminance, lumens vs watts, contrast vs. uniformity, tibia vs. fibula, and many more enlightening subjects. After all, a candle loses nothing by lighting another candle (Fr. James Keller). It was the industry itself -not the academe that gave me this knowledge since there was no school that offered it then. It’s my way of giving back.

Perseverance did it for me. Story of my light. I am delighted! Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes #toespinlighting

Just wondering here if there’s anyone else in the world thinks like me. They said that if you want change, change should begin within oneself. So I ask, "If everyone in the world will act and think like I do, will this be a better world?" I am shaken to my innards just thinking about it. I mean, I believe in the Golden Rule -most of the time. But if you all think and act like me… there might be dire consequences.

Here’s what the world might look like:

A quieter world. I am not a talkative person. In a conversation, I normally contribute about 10%, 25% during wine night. And if everyone will do the no ho-horn day everyday like yesterday’s, there will be no road rage;

An integrated world. I love coffee, wine, ube, macapuno and bilo-bilo. The haut monde and the fashionable will blend well with the pedestrians and baduys;

Bigger cathedrals and places of worship. I attend mass everyday. I don’t claim to be better than those who don’t because I do not have the mind of God. Though I question Him, “Why on earth create cockroaches and mosquitoes?” I mean, for the love of… WHY?

A world full of animals. I am vegetarian. There’s the rub I was talking about. Too many people would rather watch The Ten Commandments movie ten times than eat grass. Just the thought of men and horses fighting over a stack of hay makes me hungry for a rosemary-braised lamb shank.

I don’t know anymore. The world may be better. Or worse. A tad better, I think. Corny. But better.

Here’s to a better world. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

120+kms of city and country roads and highways, across 14 towns and cities, over 3 hours. Nothing unusual about that drive, yet. But wait, there’s more: ZERO honking the car horn. Yup, not even a single, lonely beep-beep.

I drove south to Laguna yesterday morning to give a motivational talk to some young professionals who had no idea the kind of person they’ve invited -but that’s for another cup. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see. This, for now…

Before driving off, I told myself and the car I was driving that I was going to test my patience by not hitting that part of the steering wheel for any reason, at all:

If a crazy stupid driver cuts me off, I will ignore. If I hit my horn in anger, he’d just drive away anyway and will probably forget about this poor guy behind him while I keep my anger for the next 5kms. Like I’m giving him permission to control my emotions. I lose. And lose more precious hair still thinking about him. Useless.

I will stop. I will slow down. I will give way, if necessary. I will not ho-ho-horn.

But for some reason for the entire stretch, there was absolutely no 'opportunity' that came along. Not even a temptation. Or a stray cat. I guess sometimes, life offers you what you’ve prepared for.

Here’s to practicing more patience. Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

How do You Recover from an Embarrassing Moment in Your Life?

Life can play tricks on you. I’ve learned to be responsive rather than reactive.

When I was a freshman in High School where everyone except for a few former elementary school classmates was a stranger, I was called to a recitation. I had colds then and couldn’t quite control it. As I tried to recite the answer to a Science question, my nostrils blew off a decent-sized balloon of mucus that left everyone rofl-ing ’til the senior year. The answer I wanted to narrate was: “Mucus is a thinner form of phlegm secretions from the nose.” I didn’t make it past the first syllable of secretions.

Answer: I recovered from it by having another embarrassing moment.

When the laughter died down by the middle of the senior year during a basketball intramural game, I made a spectacular ankle-breaking spinmove-and-lay-up into the opponent’s basket. So by then, it wasn’t just the class rofl-ing. The entire school was. The old principal never looked at me the same way again.

Funny thing is, by college time during get-togethers with old high school friends, no one recalled those two demeaning episodes of my life. Not even my twin brother who was my classmate all throughout high school.

Along this life’s long road to the present, it’s paved with more embarrassments and frustrations than the biggest prime number you know. Me, I’ve learned to live with them, categorizing them under My Life’s Funny Lessons.  

I graduated with the fourth-highest honors in that batch. Mine was the last laugh.

Here’s to bouncing back from the grave. Cheers

Yesterday, as I was pulling up to the front of our house, a human with her dog were walking toward my direction. Familiar with some of the dogs in the village, I’ve not seen this one before. It’s a Welsh corgi. Fine looking dog, I’d say. When they got nearer, I tried to pet him(!) and seemed to like it. I asked for his name.

"Bax," the human told me. I called out the name.

"Baxter," the human again. Oh so he’s got a nickname, too, I thought.

"Hi Bax. Hey Baxter!" He wags his… wait, he wagged his behind.

Well, did you notice what’s wrong with my story? The dog had a name and a nic, even. The human didn’t. Should I had followed up with, "Btw, I didn’t get your name." "Enchanté, lovely name." "You work around here?" "Single?"

Let me ruin your imagination here. But is it rude to ask for a dog’s name and leave the human nameless? Is this a case of human rights vs. animal rights?

I’m reminded of a European volunteer in our community many years ago who beat up an office janitor for kicking a dog. I am not that bad, won’t do such a dastardly act. But let me ask: is there a protocol that should be followed when asking for a dog’s name?

It must be the caffeine kicking in why I asked but just in case, let me know. Cheers!

p.s. In hindsight, did I misinterpret the human? Is it possible that Bax was the dog’s and Baxter her name? Darn!

#MyCafeNotes

What’s your take on this: "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear?" I’ve heard this taught in a christian foundation course I attended, read it in a book the rest of which I can no longer recall and seen it on shirts worn by students who flunked Geometry. I used to argue in my mind that the reason for having a teacher is to teach you to be ready. Then why still need one when you already are?

Until recently that I’ve been praying for something did it hit me like a hot frying pan to the forehead and a tennis racket to the funny bone, simultaneously. I’m trying to understand it from the blessings angle. Will I be able to get myself up to speed if it’s granted? Great blessings come with great responsibility. Words to that effect. My simple mind tells me that if I had not been a good steward of blessings previously given, why deserve another? Appreciating what I’ve been blessed with now and using them to make me better are imperatives to getting myself ready for more.

I should be careful with what I pray for.

Here’s to more blessings. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

I set off early this morning for an important meeting. Not the usual meeting with architects and engineers and taipans, this is way more important. I’m meeting with my palengke suki for this week’s wet market item needs: chicken, pork, fish, veggies and fresh buko juice. All the touching, smelling, haggling, buying -also the squeezing, pushing, shoving through the thick, noisy, smelly, dirty crowd -oh yeah, I used to do all these. But due to covid restrictions, I had to figure out a safer way to do the marketing. I asked my veggie suki to do it all for me for a crisp Manuel Roxas each time. Yes, I’m cheap. I text him the list that my wife Rissa prepares the day before. Then meet up the following morning.

Do I miss doing the wet market? Not really. Except perhaps there were times when I show up a few weeks after going away, some would ask, "Were you on a holiday?" Yeh that. Verbatim. With a British accent. They miss this tall, lanky, balding, fish-babe magnet manong with a Nike reusable eco-bag.

I’ve learned to adjust to the call of the wild. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

Ever heard of minimalism? I’ve been watching a series on Youtube about the subject with much gusto that I’m minimizing my Hangeul lessons to learn more about it. There is a challenge to get rid (donate or throw away) things never used for a long time -one each day for 30 days.

Today I got rid of old curtains from my old office that I vacated -drum roll, 10 years ago. That’s a freakin’ decade of dust gathering. Never reused or re-purposed. That’s 5 items. Also, trash bags in the laundry area that I’ve been wanting to throw since 2020. I mean that’s a long time, ain’t it? Another 5 items counted. I’m good for the week already. But I’m not stopping.

Minimalism, they said, will make you love people more over things.

I’m loving you already. Here’s to a clutter-free life. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes

Today is the last day of the Christmas season. It ain’t over ’til it’s over, so they say. Our Christmas lights will still shine brightly tonight even if it’s the only one left in the neighborhood. Christmas of course is not in the lighting, or the tree or the wreath. But seeing the lights, it further strengthens my hope in the future near, far and between. That the next will be brighter without the fears that surround it today.

All the best. Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

The oil painting that I have commissioned a local artist to do has finally arrived. Noli Vicedo, who would trade his trousers+sneakers for a James Taylor concert ticket (like me) is a good friend of mine and this is my second artwork from the maestro. A commission is a piece of work that someone is asked to do and is paid for. So I don’t get a commission, he does. I am the commissioner, he is the commissionee. Are we there yet?

So if you are looking for a reason to deco your wall the haut-monde way, give him a call. Then, I may get a commission. Now we’re getting there!

What I like most about this piece is that it reminds me of the 'Madonna and Child' that I admire much. It also reminds me of my dear Inang holding me as a baby-'though there should have been two instead of one cos I wasn’t born alone. But that’s for another commissioned work.

Now hung on our wall, it not only enriches the room aesthetics but also elevates our senses.

To our local artists, cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

I’m studying Hangeul, the Korean language. I want to read, write and speak if only to serve my Korean readers. Yes, I have a few in the North. I’m dreaming again, of course. Not only don’t I have readers in the North, I don’t have readers, period. I am writing my memoirs for my exclusive reading when I am old. I mean older. I mean, much older. Ok, before I die! Happy now?

I also wanted to learn French (Je sais déjà un peu) and Nihongo (ほとんど少ない) but since this brain has lost most of its learning dexterity, I go one skill at a time. Learning a new language will also measure how much of this grey matter has deteriorated already. Just good to know, y’know.

Back to Korean. Apart from Univ of Youtube, my daughter who speaks like a native is also teaching me. In Korea, during our last visit, she did all the talking -ordering in restos, asking for discounts, choosing grocery items, asking for discounts, giving directions to the cab driver, and asking for discounts. Comparing her to a Seoul native, I couldn’t tell the diff. And because of Korean skin care, she also looks like one.

It’s never too late to learn -even for an old dog like me.�Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

Last night, Tuesday, we held our Saturday wine night which was supposed to have happened Monday night but the wine was not chilled long enough. That opening sentence should give you an idea of how much wine was consumed last night.

This weekly thing is inspired by one of the last holidays we took before the virus. Our host would have bottles chilled and different kinds of cheese sliced and chips ready that by the time we got home every night, the show starts: we sing old community songs while the host plays his guitar, exchange old stories. The same old stories were told every night. Who cares, we were all drunk anyway.

Same happens during our Satuesday or Winesday nights. We recall good ol’ vacay times and plan out the next. But since we’re all UI’d, it didn’t matter if we all agreed to go to the moon or scale Mauna Kea. For security, I switch off the IP cam.

Fam time. Important to us. Even if no one remembers. Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

How many "Good Morning" messages are sent to your social media accounts everyday? Me, about 10, four of which come from my wife’s group (with the husbands) who share exactly the same photo message. One sends to the group -usually the one who wakes up first, then the rest forwards the same glorious* pic message to the same glorious* group. If you ask me why they do it, it’s the same answer you get if you asked God, "What do I do to understand women?" (*This is an interactive reflection. You are free to change the adjective used to appropriate your sense of modesty).

But you know what? I’ll tell you now.

I read the same message four times. You know, spelling changes may happen along the transmission. If you ask me why I do it, it’s the same answer you get if you asked God, "What do I do to understand men?"

I’ve been told that women’s brains are wired differently than men’s. I agree. I don’t agree. It all depends on who I’m talking to.

Life is beautiful. Sometimes it sucks. Big time. But it’s beautiful.

I raise this cup to men. Okay, to women, too. And I’m beaming with delight. Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

The old sedan stinks. For most of the time during the lockdown, it hasn’t been out of the garage as much as it used to. Understandably gathering dust and odors. So like a wild animal, I washed, waxed, vacuumed and disinfected. In and out. Top and bottom. Front and back. It did look sparkly clean with a shine that rivals my forehead. And the Lysol scent made you feel no corona could penetrate. But after a few whiffs and a day, the foul odor came back with a ferocious roar. C’mon, use your imagination.

The culprit: stagnant water under the spare tire, under the trunk matting, under the carpet, under the trunk lid. When I pulled out the spare tire, all kinds of creepy animals crawled out that included an alligator that mutated into a medium size cockroach you often see in a pizza joint or a fast-food resto. Or under the toilet roll. Or under your pillow. Again, your imagination, pls.

This just happened this morning. The beast-mode cleaning appears to work this time. Will see -and smell again in a few.

When in+out, top+bottom and front+back won’t do, try over and under. I mean, under under. Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

Imperfect Beauty

I was waiting for an epiphany of sort to come to write about this morning. Inspirations usually come when I don’t expect them -like while running or doing the dishes, while driving alone, or when seated on the crappy throne.

But earlier, I was somewhat forcing it to happen while doing some chores -not that crappy one, though.

Then I saw my own reflections in this cup -so imperfect and poorly executed (oops! Sorry, Andre). What to appreciate? There’s gotta be something in this.

Then it came: wabi-sabi, -the Japanese idea of “taking pleasure in the imperfect.” What displeases the eyes may be pleasing the other senses.

And just like a warm fart in the night, I’m feeling good already, about this coffee. And about myself. I mean, who wouldn’t after a warm…I raise this cup to finding beauty in every facet of flaw, frailty and fracture!

Last night, I watched ANC’s Karen Davila’s interview of Bo Sanchez -a best-selling author and lay preacher. It’s probably the best and most beautiful interview/chat show I’ve watched during this pandemic with it as the topic. It doesn’t matter if you are a cabbage or a king, it is worth your ransom. The link to the show is shown below.

Just to tickle you a bit, here are some of my take-aways:

* You matter to me. This is why I want you to watch it. If you think it ain’t worth your shot, your next cup is on me. I’ll throw in some kaya toasts, too.

* Do you know where the puck is going? Find out.

* How to stay dry during rainy days.

Here’s the link. Watch it. I want you to be blessed. Thank me later.

https://youtu.be/UgubJkVlTzY

Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes

Hello 2021

Disregarding the year when I was born, or the year I turned 7-and-a-half years old, or the year I first won in an election as the class Sgt-at-Arms, the year 2020 will be remembered as one of the most remarkable in recent memory.

It was the time when Rafael Nadal won his 20th Grand Slam title equaling Roger Federer’s 20 which many labeled as 20-20 in 2020. It was also the year that Tik-tok and K-Pop ruled the cyber space, and Burger King started grilling plant-based burgers. I’m sure many more happened I just couldn’t recall them now.

Forbidding the bad memories cloud the good ones, I will look at 2020 with fondness. History, after all deserves to be remembered. How you remember will be your measure of the mass of wisdom you gain from it. Makes sense to you?

I raise this cup to 2020. Here’s to happy memories.