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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