It Doesn’t Take Much to Make Me Happy

We were poor. My father was a jeepney driver turned taxi driver turned rice farmer. My mother was a homemaker. Both didn’t finish high school.

My idea of rich people were my teachers because they finished schooling and those who owned 𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪-𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪 stores because they have income streams. Candy 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘨 from my father were enough to send us to ecstatic jubilation especially if these were M&M’s and Kraft Caramels popularly known as PX goods from the US Naval Base in Subic where he worked as a taxi driver.

I thought we were doing Japanese or Korean dinners when eating at a 𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 (a low-level dining table). A 𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 is for poor families who cannot afford table legs and dining chairs. No one in the family took mind or questioned why. We were happy to have food.

Our dining experience got elevated when, finally, the bamboo tree had grown tall and big enough to contribute to the household. A real table with legs. No chairs yet. Instead, we sat on long benches on each side of the length of the table. That was fine-dining #michelinstar happiness for me. 

We were not problem-free. Schooling, of course, was the main concern. Elementary school was no prob. We just had to walk. Walk to school. Walk back home for lunch. Walk back to school. Walk back home. In slippers and worn-out shorts and shirts. For high school and college, our parents had to borrow money from relatives and from my father’s farm owners. Happy to have finished school despite. 

I am grateful to my parents, my siblings, and the good Lord for His provisions. I no longer consider myself poor, material things aside. It doesn’t take much to make this balding guy happy.

I am enjoying this simple coffee and 𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘱 biscuits while writing this post.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #simplehappiness

The Two Women I was Scared Most as a Child

One was an aunt of my father, the other was her daughter. The mother and daughter tandem of my childhood life of terror were known to us as 𝘈𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘨 Feling (grandmother) and 𝘋𝘢̀ Ción (aunt).

Like life playing tricks on me, their house stood a fence away from the church and just about 150m away from our school which made it nearly impossible not to see them.

𝘈𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘨 Feling had healing powers using her crafty fingers. By pinching and pulling the skin of the nape of sick people with her index and middle fingers, they’d supposedly be relieved of whatever pain they suffered from -like headache, dizziness and erectile dysfunction. I wasn’t sure really. The dark red parallel lines that decorated the napes of her patients were enough reasons for any child to avoid her.

Her daughter, on the other hand, was less quacky. She was a midwife. In our barrio, the midwife was the closest we could get to a doctor or a nurse. And by being so, gave her the license to administer injections. Only a psycho child fancies a needle prick. I hid pebbles (as weapons) by the entrance to our house in case she dropped in unannounced. 

They were the last people on earth that I wanted to be trapped in an island with. The day I left home to study in Manila became my Independence Day from terror.

I don’t remember seeing them again after high school. The older one passed on unnoticed while the younger one married a German and migrated to Germany.

By my beer-drinking age looking back, I knew they meant well and my fear, not really unfounded, was just a part of the stuff every childhood memory is made of. Something that I can now look back on with fondness.

Because I was once a child.

Cheers!

Are You in the Right Job?

Are you in the right job or business? I asked myself.

You may think my nuts are roasting in an open fire that at 61, I still ask myself this question. At this age, matters of retirement, pension and arthritis are supposed to occupy my mind. True that but I am still in the thick of things -I still run a business, I’m learning new skills, I still do short and long term plans. I see nothing wrong in asking.

I do have an answer but first, what if I’m not? I could have been an actor.

When I was in Bangkok the first time in 1986 as a tourist, my tour guide told me that with my good looks, I could be a movie star in Thailand. I believed him. My mother did, too, when I told her the story. Looks and charm, maybe. Guts and spunk, no. I viewed my confidence vs. competence curve as inversely proportional. Also, there were things private that I wanted to keep private. So, pass. I knew then I’d be passing the chance to perform before royalties, eat unlimited 𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘶𝘮, and make a lot of Bahts! Baht no thanks.

It wasn’t meant to be. Although I did a cameo acting part in a local TV series, that was the start and end of my sparkless show biz career.

I got into the lighting design business for all the good reasons -not only for me and my family, but also for those whose lives, that through it, were made brighter.

Yes, I am in the right job because it’s one of the things that drives me to get up every morning. But I’m not in my #Ikigai yet, I think. I am still working on that one. But for now, I’ll make this day nothing short of brilliant.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #whatif

I Drink to That

Turning vegan/vegetarian was my way of 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦 or self-discipline after undergoing an angioplasty.

For the past four years, I haven’t eaten any meat -no pork, no beef, no mutton, no chicken, no hotdogs, nothing that walks or flies or slithers, no wings, no drumsticks, no bellies. The last time I ate meat was during a lighting seminar I gave a big group of landscape architects. Illumined by my talk, the organizers ordered what they may have thought to be most appropriate for their famished guest speaker: McChicken meal. With fries. And ketchup. And coke, watered-down flavor.

My thinking then was if I did, I’d be healthier and live to celebrate Earth day 2121. It did good to 𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 but not to my joints. If you’re a vegetarian and aging, with an overloaded level of uric acid, you’re left with nothing more to eat but paper and cardboard food packagings. Life can be unfair.

Yesterday morning, emerging pain in my right-foot toes was telling me I should expand my 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦 further. Without taking any meds to prevent a full-blown gout, I tried good ol’ water therapy. All throughout the day, I took eight gulps off my 1-liter tumbler every 15 minutes, my watch as a timer. That and a hundred trips to the toilet, I consumed 4.75 liters in and flushed a hundred liters down. Our water consumption will rise but dang, it worked! By the afternoon, after work, the littler pain didn’t bother my footing anymore when doing practice golf swings in the garage. Today, there’s more water to chug.

For every problem that sprouts, there is a solution that ain’t in a tablet form.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #HazardsOfAging

Strummin' My Life

I was nearly ten-and-a-half years old when I held a guitar for the very first time. Thanks to an uncle who bought one for his son, our cousin who couldn’t put do-re-mi together in the shower or anywhere else for that matter. That guitar landed in our house to find its real purpose.

It was a full-sized, right-handed, classical guitar. Not too perfect for my virgin fingers but left-handed beggars cannot be choosers. With the help of our kuya Boy and a regular supply of #JingleMagazine, all my brothers and I learned to pluck and strum pop songs from #LemonTree to the Beatle’s #HereComesTheSun. That -despite daily fights over who gets first dibs to it. That -to the delight and disgust of our parents.

My guitar skills became my passport to sing in school plays and serve in the church choir. It proved to be handy, too, when doing #harana to my future bride. And as a good daddy, I bundled my good looks with this skill and passed it on to my children. La-la-life, for me, became a song.

And about that poor cousin of mine who couldn’t carry a tune, he became a back-to-back golf champion and drives a BMW and a Benz. Life carried the tune for him.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #talkingnonsense

Space Oddity

As a kid, I don’t remember being asked the standard question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Or maybe I may have been asked and maybe, I’ve answered, "Astronaut” because that was what I wanted to be. The #cosmos filled my juvenile imagination that even when pasturing 𝘛𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨’𝘴 carabaos in rice fields, I entertained my thoughts with riding a space ship and maneuvering through the asteroid belt. Watching #FlashGordon at our cousin’s house after school might have contributed to this fascination.

Even when I was already in college studying billiards and sometimes engineering, I still spent time reading books about astronomy in the library. And through early employment -I gifted myself with a subscription to #NatGeo magazine with my first few salaries hoping that it would feature #Voyager1 and #Voyager2 expeditions. I was disappointed, no space stuff. Never renewed.

During my fist airplane ride out of the country, I thought Saudi was one of the moons of Saturn. I’d work there for just a year which translates to 29 Earth years. That was just fine with me because if I traveled at the speed of light, I would have returned home as a toddler and started over again. If you are confused, think 𝒆=𝒎𝒄².

The farthest I’ve gone 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 is a mere 13kms above sea level. But I’ll get there I know. When that times comes, time and space won’t even matter any longer. I’m not in a hurry, though. This life goes on for me and my cup of coffee.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #talkingnonsense

Breakfast Guest

Yesterday’s breakfast consisted of crunchy toasts with #Nutella spread. Yep, that’s in plural form -one ain’t enough if paired with a fresh pull of hot americano. No matter how hard I try with every bite, crumbs fall off my plate and the table and my lap, sending a breakfast invitation to my guests: the ever vigilant, constant, vagrant ants.

The earliest one I found treading along the side of the table across my belly where some of the crumbs fell. It carried with it a morsel ten times its size. As it provided for my morning amusement, I didn’t find the heart to do anything that will disrupt its rhythmic march toward its queen. But that was just my minor reason.

The major one happened when I was an innocent kid. For a stupid reason I can’t recall, I took one 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘬 (weaver ant) and did one horrendous thing to it. If you cannot take grim and grisly graphic details of an insect kill, stop reading!

With a corroded safety pin, I pricked its eyes! Like a sheep being sheared of its wool coat, it was silent. Hearing no scream, I felt neither satisfaction nor remorse and threw it away. One of those boring moments of my early childhood.

Back to the breakfast story. In atonement for that dastardly hideous juvenile deed, I let that poor ant proceed uninterrupted. As silent as my victim, I told the little ant, "Forgive me for making your ancestor suffer." Then slowly sipped my coffee, careful not to spill any on that side of the table.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #theindustriousANT

40 Cheers!

I was in a wedding 40 years ago today as one of the secondary sponsors to the bride and groom. Although the groom is my brother, I cannot recall now why I became a sponsor because I neither paid for the cost of the wedding or reception nor gave money to the couple. Yet I was one, broke as a shattered tempered glass of a cheap cellphone. Don’t tell them but I still owe them a wedding gift.

Nearly two generations ago, there are just a few details that I can still recall:

-There were as many priests as there were wedding guests. The wedding mass was concelebrated by half the entire congregation of the #OblatesOfMaryImmaculate (#OMI). My future sister-in-law’s beloved 𝐼𝑚𝑎̂ (mother), who was an honorary Oblate, invited them all to make certain the wedding pushes thru.

-I was the candle sponsor. I must have focused so much on the light that day that it didn’t depart from me anymore. That light still shines brightly in my lighting design business today, #ToespinLighting.

-Above all, with that same light, I met my future wife, Rissa, who happens to be the bride’s first cousin. Although it took another 13 years before we tied our own, it was the start of my heart beating for a reason. Where do I begin to tell the story? I begin on that glorious day 40 years ago. One thrilling story was sealed with God’s blessings. Another begun. In a place worthy of such.

Without Gani & Gigi, I would not have met my own lovely bride. I would not have Andre, my chief barista and Nikkei as my children. And I would not have this perfect barista-grade coffee to enjoy.

Happy 40th anniversary, Gani and Gigi. My family is forever indebted to you.

Forty cheers! #MyCafeNotes #40thWeddingAnniversary

Say Cheers!

This thought process is not a product of an idle lockdown-minded brain: I wanna re-purpose my love for photography that’s been in the bin for so many decades. Like a dormant volcano, it’s now spewing ash and steam.

My senses were tickled by a movie I was watching recently whose main character was a budding photographer. While watching, another movie was simultaneously playing in my mind -that of my early years of lugging my SLR around my neck waiting for picture-perfect opportunities present themselves. That inner movie hasn’t stopped since.

This may set me back several months of my retirement funds plus about a dozen drive-thru lunches, I am now saving for a new cam. I can’t wait to get my hands on those ISO and speed dials, the focus ring and the shutter release button with my eye pressed against the viewfinder. I’m as excited now as I was then waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. I have a name for it already: my 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦́𝘳𝘦𝘯.

This journal, albeit irregular in issuance and the volume of pictures that will hopefully fill the memory of my hard drive, will serve as the #MgaKwentoNgLoloKongKalbo to my future grand and great grandchildren. Now, there’s the new purpose!

No selfies. No promises. Just say,

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #NikonZfc

#Kaizen

He was my eldest brother’s Elementary School classmate. He was also ours. For data privacy concerns, a pseudo name, Rupert, will be used in this post. I will not append an 'o' to that because it will reveal his real identity. I will behave.

He became our classmate because being the oldest among his siblings, Rupert had to stop schooling for four years to help out in his father’s machine shop business located 20kms away from our barrio.

At 4-5 years ahead of the entire class, he was miles ahead in skills, but not necessarily in looks. That was my department. I remember in Practical Arts, his works were always done beyond perfection. His lantern outshone the sun, his wicker clothes hamper was wickedly handsome and his paint and varnish strokes could challenge Rembrandt. And because of his training in their shop, he could identify a bus engine by its sound. I couldn’t even tell a bullfrog’s from a burp.

I didn’t know then that age was a factor in being well-skilled but he became a sort of an early inspiration to me. I was reminded of Rupert because, recently, I came across the Japanese word 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙣 -loosely translated, it means "in pursuit of perfection." When I get bored with a boring work, this is what I nudge myself with. And thoughts of Rupert.

So here’s to you, 𝘙𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨!

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #kaizen

Rise Above

There are two unprecedented events now happening in our families. I wish that both are good news but they’re not:

One - this pesky pandemic. It feels like years since we’ve all been physically together. Except for a few visits of a few every not-so-often, there’s been no touch, no high or low fives, no #ManoPo.

Two - the holy rosary. This is the good news, the silver lining, the bright side. For the past 519 days since April 4, 2020, my siblings, their families and mine pray the rosary together via Zoom. Each family takes turn in leading each of the mysteries as we pray for one another and for others. That’s everyday, without fail.

Traditionally, it’s only on special occasions when everyone is present, like Holy Week in Bataan, do we get to pray as a whole family with our dear 𝘛𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 and 𝘐𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘨 (our children’s 𝘓𝘰𝘭𝘰 and 𝘓𝘰𝘭𝘢). Never in our lives have we prayed consecutive rosaries together for more than 10 days, let alone 500+ days. God is good.

We’ve seen babies and toddlers grow up and the oldies grow older online. The little tykes provide the entertainment before, after and even during the rosary and blow out candles on TV monitors after the prayers. It feels like we’ve grown even closer.

Two unprecedented events now happening in our families. The first we wish to end. The second we employ for the first to end. We will overcome and rise stronger above the first through the second.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #HolyRosary #AFamilyThatPraysTogetherStaysTogether

@23

The year I turned 23 was 1982. If you’re 23 now, you may need to know that 1982 was way beyond World War II. I was employed as a design engineer and even if I was supporting no one financially, it was a huge challenge to afford going to work everyday. Daily expenses -bus/taxi fares, lunch, coffee breaks and hair growers were exhausting my paychecks before I got them. I couldn’t even afford buying a new watch which I needed then because my old one couldn’t keep up with time -I was always late for work.

So I started applying for jobs abroad as a dancer, massage therapist, splitter of atoms and as an electrical design engineer. Lucky for me -and for the other companies I applied in, I ended up in Saudi as a lighting engineer. By the time I turned 24, I was already on my own, cooking mostly decent and edible, doing laundry and ironing that I hated most. Thanks to some Pinoy families who adopted me as their pet, I sometimes got to eat more decent meals.

I made big and small decisions that gave rise to the person I am now. One instance when the company car issued to me consumed more oil than gas, I decided to buy my own - a second hand Mazda. I was given allowance per km of travel to projects sites which were mostly beyond 120kms away. With the allowances I received, I was able to recoup what I paid for the car and sold it at the same price I got it for. Good deal, eh?

My life’s third decade became my training ground for the life ahead. It was the time to make unlimited dumb mistakes and risky moves -I gave my self that.

That was then. This is me now -a bald coffee drinker!

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #Turning23

Age Matters

In high school, we had a gatekeeper -a security guard sans the arsenal that makes one, who, I thought was very old. He was 25 then, I was about 13 or 14. As a teenager, that was how I looked at people who were older -rotten old. But when I reached that old age of 25, my paradigm shifted radically to something more forgiving. I’ve matured enough to realize that someday soon, I will turn ancient myself.

The year I turned 30, people were already saying that it was the new 20. And when I turned 50, it was the new 40. Now I wonder, when I turn 120 (heaven forbid!), will it be the new 110? You know, like an auto-voltage appliance that you can plug into any power outlet!

Because today starts the ber months, like Christmas-just-around-the-corner thing, my birthday is, too. And at that turn, I will be 62. Ya beach, I am freakin’ medieval! And please, don’t give me the “It’s the new 52” hype. After six decades, it doesn’t work anymore. All it takes for the hype to fade away is a good look at the mirror. Haha.

When I could no longer hide my bald spots with my bangs, I’ve accepted the fact that when women still look at me, they do so not for the good looks but they probably think I’m rich!

At this age, age is no longer just a number. It matters to me more than it didn’t then. I can’t change reality but I can change my frame of mind. The more I embrace, the more I strive to live life to its fullest. Like right now.

Cheers! 

If you’ve been touched, amused, or entertained by this post, or it put a smile on your face, please favor me with a cup of coffee via GCash or PayPal. I will continue writing.

Scan a code, or click here to go to PayPal.