Judgments and Reflections

One morning after church, my wife and I were driving through a neighboring village. Cruising at a grandmother’s speed, I spotted a man tending to his front garden. “Look at that man,” I remarked to Rissa. “His legs are bowed.” A few meters down the road, my spy lens caught a woman with an asymmetrical bulge around her neck. “Must be goiter,” I told my lovely passenger the diagnosis.

Shortly after, just before the next turn, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Adjusting its angle, I saw an aging, bald man with visible liver spots and sagging eye bags staring back at me. At that moment, I realized my own imperfections. I was a badass. Baddest!

I didn’t know what came over me as I am not typically that judgmental. Though I am in some ways, that was unforgivable. Maybe it was a misplaced defense mechanism -a revenge in the name of all the bald people in the world who are always the laughingstock in any discussion: family gatherings, online political posts, newspaper editorials, medical dissertations, and even homilies. Like if you can’t think of anything funny or there’s a lull in a conversation, there’s a fallback. Make fun of the bald guy. It always works. You can’t miss us. We are like a knight in shining…, well, without the armor.

But revenge isn’t mine. It’s the Lord’s, says the Bible in Romans 12:19.

Mea culpa, Lord. I leave judgment to You.

The next day, driving down the same street. I saw the same garden again -it was so well-manicured. It can only be done masterfully by one who had great skills. I failed to see that the other day.

I didn’t see the lady anymore before the turn, but now I recall that she was all smiles. Like there was genuine joy written on her face. That, too, I failed to notice.

So here’s to all who may not look perfect in the eyes of others, you are perfect in the eyes of those who love you.
Cheers!

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Thanks and Fore-Ward

Hey!

I just finished reading all the comments on yesterday’s blog post and Rissa’s update. While you were busy commenting, liking, and loving, I was out early on the fairway with three of my best golf buddies: my twin brother Fred, my brother Gani, and my son-coach, Andre. We spent the morning driving, pitching, putting, and, of course, hunting down those elusive lost balls. Note: for those who don’t play the game, golf doubles as a treasure-hunt-kind of activity. Double the fun, double the time. Yep, wonder no more.

The day didn’t stop there. I attended an early evening mass as my thanksgiving offering and then capped it off with dinner alongside my lovely family. Was it a packed day? Sure. But busy? Not really. I had fun, and that’s what mattered.

Now, to those who took the time to send a like, a love, or a comment, here’s my heartfelt back-at-you. I read every single one of your comments, and as I did, I mentioned your name (or your handle) to God in prayer. I wasn’t just speed-scanning with my eyes. If you had been sitting beside me at my desk, you would’ve heard me softly -yet audibly -say your name. And if you liked or commented on both posts (FB and IG), guess what? You got prayed for multiple times!

My prayer? That God blesses you twice over for the wishes and prayers you sent my way. To the kind souls who prayed for me to hit birdies on the course -you know who you are -may you find yourself hitting birdies in your next game. I know, I know. You probably wished for a million dollars for me. Had you known, you might have wished for five million instead, right? And too bad you can’t wish for a new girlfriend for me -Rissa might have something to say about that. Or worse, something to hit me with (though thankfully, my golf bag is safely out of her reach).

But here’s the thing: God knows your heart better than I do -better than even you do. So, dacál á salámat (many thanks) to you for your kindness, humor, and prayers.

As I sit here with a warm cup of coffee in my hands, I raise it to all of you. You are all beautiful spirits, and I’m deeply grateful for every one of you.

Cheers!

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Breaking 65!

Today seems as good a day as any to dig up some meaning in my life, inspired by the witty words of my good ol’ pal George Bernard Shaw: “Youth is wasted on the young, and wisdom is wasted on the old.”

The Youth:

Looking back, did I squander my youth’s potential on Electrical Engineering, basketball, and tennis? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Was working abroad for five years and backpacking solo across Europe a frivolous adventure? Not entirely. Losing my passport, all my money and everything I had to live on as a tourist in Spain wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but hey -it gave me stories to tell the grandkids (when I grow up).

The Old:

Today, I hit 65. By any standards, I’m officially the “old” in Georgie’s quote. And yet, wisdom -or something like it -led me to swap rackets for clubs and establish Toespin, my lighting design company. Sure, my physical energy now depends heavily on creaky knees and a thinning top, but I like to think I’ve still got it. At least, that’s what I tell myself on a good day.

Irony now measures itself in my iron clubs, whose distances mirror life -short and full of unintended curves. My shots might not follow a straight line, but who says life’s adventures should? These days, I try to live by a simple mantra: Carpe Diem. Seize the day, coffee cups, bunkers, and all.

So here’s to more misadventures and the wisdom to laugh at it all. Each day is an adventure waiting to unfold and a story waiting to be told.

God be praised.

Cheers to George.

60+5 senior cheers to me!

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My New Lent Perspective

Lent season had just begun, so I thought I should shift into a more inspiring reflection.

I have a heart condition –not the usual stuff that bitter songwriters put in their sad songs. My thing is a coronary stent inserted into my artery to keep blood flowing to the heart where there used to be a partial blockage. “Partial” here means substantially partial -80% blockage. Almost seven years have passed since then. Yet occasionally, I still experience episodes of missing heartbeats and thumping palpitations. Like a broken percussion instrument or a bass guitar gone haywire.

As I live with this illness, I refuse to surrender to despair. I run, I play, I exercise. I work, too. And every time my ticker misses a beat, I proclaim boldly that my God is bigger than any illness, more powerful than any challenge life may bring, and greater than the greatest. Instead of dwelling on the problem, like worrying about who would inherit my golf clubs if I died, I fix my gaze on His boundless power and promise of healing. As an old song goes, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

Each skipped heartbeat, each palpitation becomes a poignant reminder of God’s grace and love. In faith through prayer, I affirm His power to bring complete healing. This shift in mindset transforms fear into hope, infusing me with courage and resilience. I cling to the comforting truth that God’s grace is more than sufficient for me. In my weakness, His strength shines way brighter than my forehead.

Now, I journey on with renewed faith, trusting that with every beat of my heart, I am being restored. Hey, that sounds like good material for a love song, don’t you think?

I am using this Lenten season as a time of reflection and renewal to deepen my connection with God and reaffirm my trust in His healing power. May you, too, have a blessed season of Lent.

Cheers!

PS. I’m apprenticing to be the assistant barista in our household. Today is my 4th day. Pls be patient with the latte art.

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A Wake Awakening

Strange and stranger things happen during eulogies. Words you hear can stir your emotions unexpectedly so, because, for me, I don’t claim to have been close to the person being eulogized. I couldn’t even recall an instance where we shared a common dining table to have a little chit-chat. But I nearly cried. Eyes welling up isn’t considered crying, is it? Tears must fall -that’s my definition.

In the silent atmosphere of the chapel. -although not without scattered suppressed giggles, the daughter’s narrative of witnessing her mother’s last breath shortly after whispering words of forgiveness and gratitude, echoed beyond the room into my undeparted soul.

Strange, ain’t it? In the absence of shared dinner, my being found a link to that human experience of grieving that cuts across the familiar and the typical.

Oh wait, there is something. Even if I’ve not spent any time with the departed worthy of a eulogy that makes people cry, I found her as someone who was of a kind spirit. Warm and gentle. Not much with words but just with her presence. I admire people like that. There you go. There’s the connection. Also, she was my nephew’s mother-in-law.

In the end, what began as a somewhat usual moment of almost crying during a eulogy turned into realizing the unseen threads that link us together. Like flowers in a wreath.

Well, coffee, too. Cheers!

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Traditions: A Family Thanksgiving

As the year gracefully folds its way to a grand finale, my family and I gather our laughter, gratitude, and appetites for our time-honored tradition –our annual year-end thanksgiving. It’s all about giving thanks, breaking bread together, and celebrating the journey we’ve navigated as a family.

It all begins with a humble trip to hear the early morning Mass -the centerpiece of this tradition. Just like the uncountable twinkling lights of the church retablo, there wasn’t enough time to count all the blessings of the passing year.

After Mass, our pilgrimage continues to a chosen breakfast place, where we share not just a meal but a buffet of gratitude. This tradition, a brainchild of mine, is where we take turns expressing our thanks for the myriad blessings of the past year, starting from the boldest to the baldest. NY resolutions can wait.

It’s not just about the grand achievements or milestones; it’s about acknowledging the everyday miracles, the laughter, even the tears and disappointments, and the unwavering support that binds us as a family.

Each heartfelt ‘Thank You, Lord’ becomes a mosaic, painting a picture of our collective journey throughout the year. This simple act of acknowledging our blessings becomes the glue that binds us stronger and more resilient as a family.

We’re not just content with thanking the heavens at the breakfast table; we’ve added another spread to our tradition platter –the daily rosary. As the clock strikes 8 pm, our family and the families of my brothers and sister converge online for a daily rosary prayer. What started as a pandemic-induced practice in early 2020 has blossomed into a tradition that has endured for nearly four years. It’s a virtual gathering of hearts (sometimes of chismis, too), a ritual that transcends the physical distance that separates us. My prayer is to carry this tradition into the golden (or platinum) years, where wrinkles outnumber strands of hair, and the family tree expands with new shoots.

On the professional front, the year brought forth new projects and clients that shine a promising light for the future. The conference calls may have been -yawn -endless, but so were the opportunities –a fair trade, I’d say.

Amidst the laughter, Rissa, the ilaw ng aking tahanan, beams with contentment. The keeper of our traditions, she orchestrates the clutter into a melody of love and order. Andre and Nikkei, each with their own list of joys, remind us that life, much like a K-Pop concert or a birdie in golf, is a celebration to be cherished.

As the year threw some health challenges our way (mostly mine🥹) I found solace in a truth that transcends the physical –the unwavering belief that God’s strength surpasses any ailment. Each setback became a stepping stone, a reminder that resilience is not just a word but a testament to the incredible power of faith.

So here’s to traditions that echo with laughter, to triumphs big and small, to family bonds that weather every storm, and to a new year that promises more adventures, more love, and more reasons to be thankful.

Happy New Year cheers to you, dear reader, and to the unpredictable, delightful journey that is life!

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Someday at Christmas

You’ve probably come across Stevie Wonder’s “Someday at Christmas” on the airwaves at some point. I certainly have. But upon discovering a rendition by a choir, I thought differently good about it and decided to take a fresh and different perspective on the song.

I should mention that it was written not by Stevie but by Ron Miller and Bryan Wells, and though released in 1967, it remains timeless and relevant to this day and age. It sends a message of optimism and makes you dream and hope for a peaceful world.

Someday at Christmas there’ll be no wars
When we have learned what Christmas is for
When we have found what life’s really worth
There’ll be peace on earth

We celebrate Christmas every year -from September ’til the next September, no end Noel. But amid the bright lights and sweet puto-bungbong, I ask between bites, “Where is the love?”

Someday at Christmas we’ll see a land
With no hungry children, no empty hand
One happy morning people will share
Our world where people care

Yet, we keep on dreaming. I guess having Christmas every year keeps the dream and the hope alive. We find joy in giving and receiving gifts, albeit fleeting.

Someday all our dreams will come to be
Someday in a world where men are free
Maybe not in time for you and me
But someday at Christmastime

This song has been my prayer -that the dreams the lyrics sing about will be realized by those after me. When world peace becomes as easy as hitting the high notes of this beautiful song while eating delicious puto-bungbong.

Maligaya at mapayapang Pasko sa inyong lahat!

Happy birthday cheers to You, Lord Jesus!

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Dream Unfulfilled

Today would have been our dear Inang’s 97th birthday. She’s been gone from our sight more than 20 years ago already. Back then, when we bought Christmas gifts for loved ones, it was also a time to get a birthday gift for our beloved mother.

While she and our dear Tatang were still alive, I dreamed of gifting them with a trip abroad. Unfortunately, the dream outlived their life and remained a dream, never to be fulfilled. At that time, I had limited resources, earning just enough for my growing family. And when there was enough for a bigger family vacation abroad, it was too late.

Dear, Inang. My heart is content even if there is an unfulfilled desire that remains. My faith tells me there is no place here on earth or in the entire universe that can compare with the visions you see and the beauty of where you are now.

Happy birthday! You know the drill. Mention our names to God face-to-face so that we may be blessed all the days of our lives here on Earth.

Cheers to you!

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Life’s a Scare

Home Sweet Home. This was never sweeter than last night when I got home from a hospital’s ER.

The previous night until yesterday morning, I was spitting red. The previous night didn’t last more than 20 minutes, and my body gauge didn’t really register a red light. I was told by our family doctor to have an x-ray the next day. I slept unworried dreaming of the next golf weekend.

Yesterday morning came and went with more red! After the Sunday mass, we proceeded to a resto in Timog for the usual brunch. I asked for a warmer-than-warm welcome drink. Unfortunately, that triggered the panic button. Cough after cough yielded more.

With no time to lose and empty stomachs, the son and the wife brought me to Lung Center while the daughter stayed with my brother’s family. I was lucid enough to know that I couldn’t bring the whole barangay with me to the hospital.

The hospital ER’s room temp was a prep for a body going into the morgue -it was effing freezing cold. Also, a bag full of ice was placed on my chest to prevent further bleeding. I wasn’t sure that if I died in there, it might have been a toss-up between losing blood and hypothermia.

X-ray and CT scan initial findings were a multiple choice: pneumonia, TB, or a cyst. No, I wasn’t given a choice. I was told instead to wait for the official results in two or three days. I have that much to storm the heavens with prayers.

Life offers all sorts of surprises. I guess this is a manifestation that its beauty lies in having parts bitter equal parts sweet. I would have never, never thought that such would happen to me. I run regularly. I don’t eat meat. I play golf. I’ve kept my BMI within normal. I play golf. I pray.

This is not to say that all these are for naught. I mean, the Lord died in order to save us, right? Somehow, that comforted me. 

There was another thought that consoled my freezing mind -that this, too, will pass. I was psyched.

On our drive back, I smiled recalling it -that it did pass. I prayed the worst is over.

I was told not to eat or drink anything warm or hot because it might trigger another similar episode. Now I know. Meds were given to control both cough and bleeding.

This morning, I raise this iced coffee and say cheers to a brand new morning.

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A Mystical Carwash

After spending long hours of work in front of my computer, I went out of the home/office for some fresh air. I found my car parked under our pomelo tree covered with dust, leaves, and bird droppings. Clearly, it was a good time for a carwash. The car needed it. And I needed it for my physical and mental health.

It’s been a habit of mine to recite Psalms verses while washing the car. Mid-through the wash, the winds carried a very strong scent of sampaguita, a favorite since I was a small kid. The scent reminds me of the time my dear Inang hangs a garland around my neck after pinning a medal of honor during my elementary days. Year after year. Naks naman!

I paused as the feeling of a mystical or out-of-this-world experience excited my senses. I lifted my gaze towards the sky and murmured,

“Inang, is that you?” and,

“Lord, have You come for me already?”

But lowering my head a bit, there I saw the pomelo tree blossoming with flowers. The smoke cleared and the heavenly orchestra featuring a dozen harps stopped playing in my mind as I reached for one bunch of flowers in one of the lower branches. Dang, they do smell like sampaguitas. 

How could I have forgotten their smell? In Bataan, we had at least four pomelo trees in our yard. Maybe because they were as tall as our house that the flowers’ scents were too high to reach my olfactory elevation. Or the other fruit trees that populated our yard must have drowned their scent out.

I harvested some from this low-lying tree in our small front yard and brought them into the house. The perfume-sweet smell filled the living room.

Although deprived of a supernatural experience, the short-lived drama was enough to reset my mind from mental fatigue while the car was back to its shiny state, ready for its next spin.

Cheers!

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My Old Man and Me. Two Ordinary People.

A day before my board exams for Electrical Engineering, my dear Tatang came from the province to show support. My study group had been busting our tailbones daily to prepare for the exams. But on the eve of the exams, we were told by our wise-cracking professors to take it easy. Chill is the word we use these days. But those were the days, my friend.

My old man and I went to see Ordinary People -a drama. I must have chosen it because Tatang would have gone for a non-stop action movie like Die Hard or MI or FF over a heavy drama flick featuring a non-stop yackety-yakking. Why I chose that movie? I don’t know. Maybe because it won the Oscar’s Best Picture that year or the math and engineering formulas residing in my head at that time may have poisoned my simple decision-making abilities.

That was 42 stone-age years ago. I wanted to re-watch it to see how good or bad it really was and to find out how much torment my old man was willing to suffer if only to be with me that day.

So I re-watch it. Just recently. My conclusion -it is a good movie. And my father suffered much because there is absolutely no way he would have appreciated it. I just hope that he slept through it after finishing his popcorn and soda.

I also wanted to see it again to see how much I was loved by my dear Dada. The bus ride from Bataan; multiplied by 120 minutes of heavy drama stuff right before your eyes; plus checking on your sonny boy’s sanity before a big day; equals unqualified love.

We were ordinary people sans the drama, significant to each other. We were happier than those characters in the movie.

Happy Father’s day, Tatang. I love you and I miss you. 

Cheers to you!

PS. I’m playing golf now so please watch over me.

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I’ve Got a Big Problem. But.

I’ve just been informed by my accountant that I owe the government P1.750 million in taxes, penalties, surcharges, coconuts, and melons. Ya. That big. Though it’s nowhere near bigger than the P220+ billion a big guy in the government owes the government (and the people), it still looks and feels big to a tiny businessman like me. But unlike that guy, I intend to pay because I always pay my taxes. But then, why owe?

“Open cases,” it’s what they call them. And I intend to find out, dig deep into our archives for the last 10 years, and pray like I’ve never prayed before.

For now, I am taking comfort in comparing sizes.

This problem may be as big as the Earth I see. Versus the sun, more than a million Earths can fit in it assuming they don’t melt in the fitting process. But my problem ain’t as big as the Earth. 

It may be as big as the sun. Versus the Milky Way galaxy, 1.5 trillion suns or stars can fit into it. At the speed of light, it will take over a hundred thousand years to traverse it. But my problem ain’t as big as the sun, either.

It may be as big as the Milky Way. Versus the universe, the Milky Way is merely a tiny, negligible speck of dust. It will take forever at the speed of forever² to cross it. Just thinking about this makes me sleepy. But my problem ain’t as big as the Milky Way, either.

It may be as big as the universe. But there is Someone faster than the speed of light and bigger than this universe we know so little of. He is the Great Light and the maker of this universe. He is God Almighty. Not only is He bigger than the universe, He transcends it. Just thinking about this gives me peace.

This problem may look big to me compared to the material resources I have but I have a bigger God. And it is to Him that I pray.

So I sip this cup in confidence and in peace.

Cheers.

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Not Your Usual Fairway Tale

A round of golf can be distressing. Not just because of missed birdie putts and slices going beyond golf course boundaries. After more than two years of playing the game, I’ve somehow accepted that these are part of the game -my so-so game. 

Then, my caddy -a  married, female caddy, who, according to the other caddies in my flight, is physically abused by her husband. In times like this, it’s easy to turn from a lousy golfer to a lousy marriage counselor. 

“(Tell her to) Leave the husband,” I suggested to one of the other caddies.

“She can’t,” downright rejecting my bright counsel. “Four kids!”

The simple life I knew, for a brief moment, became like a game of golf for me, difficult and complicated. I searched my golf bag for a brochure on “How to Deal With an Abusive Husband” or “How to Keep a Happy Life Despite Having a Miserable Married Life.” Nothing in the bag that will help. 

Nothing more I can do for now. I switched back to being the lousy but handsome golfer which I consider myself to be. Not a miracle worker.

But miracles do happen when a prayer is lifted. This I believe!

That night, I had a special not-so-golf-related entry to our family prayers.

I raise this morning cup to a better golf game for me and to a better life for someone I hardly knew.

Cheers! 

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A New Story of the Heart

It’s been nearly six years since my angioplasty, the process of inserting a micro tube into the artery to let blood flow from the left to the right or vice-versa depending on where your heart is relative to your blocked artery.

So I visited my doctor whom I didn’t want to see for consultations. If only for coffee, anytime. He loves coffee, too. Seeing him was I thought good for the heart. Besides, I thought I’d been missing some beats now and then. Atrial fibrillation, too –a condition blah, blah, blah. Episodes where mi corazon hammered from largo (55-60bpm) to allegretto (95-100bpm) easily became more frequent than K-pop concerts. I did some math and came up with a solution. One plus one equals seeing my cardio.

In his clinic, I thought I noticed him nearly dancing to the thumping he heard as he pressed his stethoscope against my chest. He immediately grabbed his iPad and played “Beat It” by Michael Jackson on Spotify. Kidding! He grabbed his pad and wrote a referral for a Stress Echogram Bruce Protocol –a procedure blah, blah, blah. 

Echo results revealed something. Something here is defined as anything but good. And so my good doctor made another referral. This time, for an angiogram, double setup. If that something is substantial, an angioplasty will be done immediately after the angiogram. Thus, the double setup. It also means, double the worrying, and triple the hospital bills.

From when I got the referral to when I was being wheeled to the catheter lab in the hospital, family, friends, angels, and saints started praying for me. My wife and her legion of friends even joined the Camino de Santiago twice. Online, though.

I also started using a wand device that uses Tera Hertz frequency (Iteracare) in healing the body. 

I prayed specifically for a no-angioplasty, an angiogram through the radial artery (wrist, not the groin where recovery takes a lot longer), and that my HMO card will cover all expenses.

God answered all my prayers. Angiogram (radial) revealed no blockage, I didn’t pay a single centavo, and I was out of the hospital by the early evening of the same day. Never mind hospital food -they were cooked in such a way you’d want early discharge.

A few days after, I was back running. No skipping beats, no A-Fibs. God works miracles!

Cheers!

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