SPEAKEASY GOING WILD

After a long night of delivering a lighting seminar to a group of architects, my buddies and I decided to unwind at a small speakeasy bar in Quezon City. Inside, a friendly bartender/waiter greeted us warmly and seemed a bit too eager to share his knowledge of drinks.

As he served us, he enthusiastically explained every ingredient in each cocktail, as if he were giving his own mini-seminar. By 11pm, the place had emptied out, and we were the only customers left. One of my buddies, who had clearly gotten comfortable with his spiked drink, was deep into a story. In the middle of his passionate rant (politics, of course), he suddenly froze.

"Ugh, what’s the word? It’s like…a pardon, a reprieve…you know, in politics!" He was biting his tongue as if trying to extract the elusive word.

Suddenly, from across the bar, the idle bartender -casually leaning against the wall near the door -confidently called out, "Forgiveness!"

The three of us turned our heads in unison -shocked, confused and amused. The bartender grinned, clearly pleased with his contribution. We exchanged awkward glances, silently agreeing not to encourage him, lest he take it as an invitation to join us.

Maybe idleness really is the devil’s playground. But tossing out suggestions from six meters away while we were mid-conversation? Not sinful, but not exactly bar etiquette 101 either, and definitely a loose definition of "speakeasy." To top it off, he was wrong! The word was “amnesty.” He lost the far side bet!

But in the spirit of non-violence (and because the cocktails were kicking in), we let it slide. We raised our glasses in an impromptu toast.

"To forgiveness!" I said with a wink.

Cheers!

PERSPECTIVES

Don’t judge a book by its cover -even if the cover is completely missing.

"You've gone bald!" she exclaimed.

The "you" in question was yours truly, and the "she" was someone I hadn’t seen since Mt. Pinatubo blew its top. Yep, that long.

Back in the day, I used to carry a comb like it was an essential survival tool, and I’d slather on the styling gel like I was prepping for a GQ shoot. As opposed to today, I’ve adopted a more minimalist approach. Hair care budget? Zero. Barbershop visits? Only in my dreams. Though I do miss the good ol’ "kwentong barbero" (barber shop tales). Might invite my barber over for coffee one of these days, just for the inspiration.

Anyway, my dear old friend only saw what was happening on the outside. What she didn’t see was that, over the past couple of decades, I’ve become quite the certified hotshot who started one of the country’s top lighting design firms. And, by the way, I can still run 5 km without needing an ambulance. She also missed an important fact: I can drive a golf ball 220 yards on a good -extraordinarily good -weekend.

She didn’t know what I’d been through or what I’d gained along the way. Can’t really blame her though. My scalp was shining like the bright glorious sun rising over Mt. Pulag. Hard to miss that, especially on a cloudy day.

But hey, she’s only human. I totally understand. I had my own human thoughts when I saw her that cloudy day, too. But I’m not telling.

That’s my little human secret.

Cheers!

THUNDERS AND MEETINGS

Aren’t you glad the rain’s finally called it quits? Thunderstorms, too. For the first time in a week, I can see the sun’s rays muscling their way through the last remnants of typhoon clouds. Speaking of stormy weather, when the thunder’s booming and the rain’s crashing down with disastrous intent, communication in my household takes a serious hit.

Case in point…

I rose from my makeshift WFH office to grab a snack from the kitchen. Now, in this household, if you’re in the kitchen at the wrong time, you automatically become "it" when the question, “Who’s gonna do it?” comes up.

Sure enough, before I even set foot in the kitchen, my wife whispers, “Dear, paki-saing.” (Translation: Please cook rice.)

Our daughter’s locked in a high-stakes online meeting, so whispers and miming were the order of the day. Between the rain pounding like mad and my selective hearing, I mumbled, “What, dear?”

"Saing. Sa-ing."

With my ears still processing the queen’s command, I wander into the kitchen like a confused commoner -looking left, looking right, scratching my shiny head like that’s somehow going to help. Then I shuffle back to my wife and, as loud as a whisper allows, ask, “Lacatán or Latundán?”

Yep, blame it on the rain, we’re going bananas!

Down with thunderstorms and online meetings. It’s coffee time.

Rain. Thunder and lightning. Online meetings. Bananas. And coffee.

These are part of what makes life beautiful, even if the sweetness is equal parts bitter.

Silent cheers!