The Great Tikky Rescue, But Tikky…

Taking a break from my so-far futile attempts to figure out AI tools that promise “coding without coding” (duh!), I decided to tackle something less brain-melting in the kitchen. This 50-year-old brain can only take so much. The ’50’ explanation: there were times I didn’t use it, so I deducted those moments from 65. There -you do the math. And as for that kitchen duty? It’s dishwashing.

There I was, elbow-deep in bubbles, scrubbing away, when something small, scaly, and uninvited wiggled into my soapy battlesink. Meet Tikky, the baby lizard -no bigger than my pinky. But Tikky, distressed maybe, looked as valiant as a gator. He wasn’t there for a quick swim. Instead, he was trying to leapfrog from the sink but his wet skin prevented him from springing up and out of the mess.

With my hands all soapy and foamy, I had to call for assistance.

“Andre!” I bellowed.

Sensing the urgency in my tone, he came running -Andre, not Tikky. In five seconds flat, I fired off a quick synopsis of my little friend Tikky’s dire situation. Andre grabbed a small plastic spatula so Tikky could hop on without getting squished. After several tries, Andre and Tikky finally succeeded -his dignity still intact. Andre’s. And Tikky’s, too. Tikky was now onboard his plastic chariot.

Then…

Enter Nikkei. Fresh from an online meeting and blissfully oblivious to the rescue effort we’d been mounting, she stepped in to grab a cup. Aboard the vehicle, Tikky jumped off. And just as he landed, Nikkei stepped in. And on -Tikky. All her weight, all her mighty step. On poor Tikky. A minute ago, a valiant little gator. But Tikky, now squished like a…

WAIT. HOLD UP. That last paragraph is pure fiction, inspired by real movies. What really happened was this:

Nikkei was never around. Tikky had, in fact, landed safely on the counter and scurried off under the stove. He’s alive. Somewhere. I hope.

We were heroes. Tikky was lucky. ButTikky may not know it. And that’s okay.

That was one good adventure break from learning AI.

Cheers!

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iGoodbye, iHello

I bid farewell to my trusty sidekick, the iPhone X -my morning paper deliverer, DJ, alarm clock, personal taskmaster, game master, bank assistant, and all-around boss for six glorious years. What a ride!

It’s not like I wanted to break up with it. It’s just that it couldn’t keep up with the latest iOS updates anymore, and that’s a major security no-no for my business. Plus, the whole 5G thing -it wasn’t hard-wired for it. And my family guilt-tripping about me using the ancient X while they flaunt their fancy 13s and 14s. Everyone was so glad I was leveling up. Now they have one reason to upgrade, waiting when the time is right. 🥹

Although it was old, the Apple store agreed to a trade-in for credit toward the purchase of the latest model. After the data migration thingy from the old to the new, it was hard-reset time. Sadly, my old phone no longer recognized me. It was displaying Hello in different languages like the very first time I opened it. Talk about drama!

Sad, but I had to let go. And in the tradition of Marie Kondo, I held it close and whispered, “Thank you for your service.” Then, as if on cue, the new phone played the song Hello, Goodbye by the Beatles. Yep, melodrama, alright.

But happy! I’ve got a new phone now -a little bigger, much faster, and with a touch of that sexy assistant vibe.

Hello, new buddy! Cheers to the future!

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Rediscovering Hong Kong

It’s good to be back in Hong Kong after four years, thanks to the pandemic easing its grip. Hong Kong is my happy place -though I might reconsider if Hawaii enters the picture. But for now, it’s Hong Kong. Despite its bustling streets, crowded subways, and perpetually packed places, this city offers solace, providing a break from my usual daily hustles. As long as it’s not business work that I am walking, talking, and hustling for, it is a respite for me. 

I am back to the annual lighting fair in Wan Chai where I get updated with the latest and the brightest trends in the industry. This is work-related alright, but since it’s not within the confines of the office, it still brightens up my day.

It felt like a homecoming as well, returning to our usual hotel where most of my favorite shops including traditional Chinese restaurants that serve the best dimsum dishes are literally within sniffing distance. Conveniently, bus, tramway, and train stations are just a short stroll away, never more than a few minutes on foot.

A visit to Tung Chung for the best deals in town, siempre. For a bargain sucker tourist like me, a stopover here is non-negotiable.

I am back to my favorite church, Christ the King in Causeway Bay, where I hear mass every day. Even if services are done in Cantonese for most days, I can still follow the mass sequence and respond accordingly.

Nathan road, Canton road, Harbour City, Mongkok, Central station -I am a little kid in a toy store!

Life caught up with me, or I caught up with life in Hong Kong. I was 24 again, reminiscent of my first encounter. It was too good to last, though. Now, I’ve gone back home to where real life-work is, but feeling rejuvenated. This will last until the feeling of “I need a vacation” creeps back in.

Bet your love handles, I shall return.

Cheers!

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Remember the Times of Your Life

Amazing how a little, even innocent gesture can go a long way for a long time.

I was doing my usual run around our village one late afternoon when kids of all ages loiter on the playground and in the streets. There was this eight-to-tenish boy with a basketball who I run into with his troop almost every time. But there was this one time that made my day.

Walking towards me in the opposite direction of my run, he greeted me with a wave and a smile, “Hi, Kuya!” Kuya literally means older brother in Tagalog but is lately used to address a security guard, a resto server, a garbage collector, a driver, a mayor, a king, etc.

I had all of those options to choose which of the categories I belong to in the mind of the little lad. I chose big brother. Then I waved and smiled back, “Hi buddy,” and went on with my run. I chose to be happy. The smile stayed ’til the next lap.

This old brain of mine is hard-wired to remember things and events that made me feel good. Like the time when I beat my uncle for the first time in chess; someone slipped a sweet greeting card into my notebook in high school even if never got to find out who did it; my wedding day (or else); my funny first airplane ride. The list is long.

On my deathbed, if someone asked me about good memories, these and the chubby kid of my ‘hood, I will surely recall.

Hey kid! Cheers!

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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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Daily Grind

One day. I had a scheduled meeting at 2:00 pm. Thirty minutes prior, I felt sleepy. So I reclined my chair, lifted my legs, and dozed off. My laptop did the same. At exactly 2:00 pm, Nikkei woke me up for the meeting. Still giddy from the power nap, I woke my machine up, put on my earphones, cleared my throat, and joined the meeting.

“Good afternoon.”

I was a minute late but who cared? Nobody. The organizers were still waiting for tardier people to join in.

-

Another day. While at Landers, I told Rissa I’ll wait at the resto section to do some work while she wove through isles of groceries. Just one of our weekly dates on weekdays. Work here means I have my mobile phone with me, connected to the Internet, with no pen or paper. I was wearing a cap, my old pair of chino shorts, and Andre’s pair of white slip-on Birks. There were emails to respond to, emails to read, and emails to ignore. Busy, busy, yes. Heck, by the time my wife showed up at the counter to pay, I was almost through a successful negotiation for a project in Cebu. It was silent work -no words came out of my mouth and nothing needed to be heard. 

-

Thirty years ago when I was still working for a hi-tech multinational company, these daily grinds were unimaginable. If someone had told me then that the future would look like this, I would have whacked his tail for prophesying falsely. Sure, a CEO of the 90s can play golf and do business with his massive phone of mass equaling a car’s battery, telling his secretary to do this and not that -no, it’s not the same. It’s far beyond what it was before.

I can only wonder what work would be like a decade from now. I’d be disappointed if they would still call it work by then. I may still be around to find out.

Cheers to future daily grinds!  

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Story of My Light

My lighting design firm, Toespin, turned 12 years old yesterday, March 3, 2022. It is truly a delight to celebrate these years, but the years before that were not all bright and sunny -far from it.

That day, 12 years ago, is still fresh in my memory. From our house in Caloocan city, our first home, I walked several blocks to register a business name at the nearest government agency for business registrations. My first choice was Luxoré -playing on the word lux, meaning light and the letters R and E, my initials. When read, the last syllable should sound like ‘ray,’ thus the acute accent. The letter “O” is there to bridge the two to sound fancy and sophisticated. My pinkies were raised as I handed over my application form to the public servant at the counter.

It was denied. Somebody else had previously taken the name. They were selling furniture, I think. Or was it salted eggs? I can’t recall anymore.

I had to come up with another one fast. The first thing that comes to mind when push comes to shove is one’s name, right? Because if you can’t remember your name, you are not in a position to introduce yourself.

So here is Toespin’s etymology. Its first two letters are the last two letters of my first name and the last five are the first five letters of my family name. If that sounded like I was talking from a speeding roller coaster, you’re not wrong. It’s probably the same way Google, eBay, Yahoo and Youtube got their names, too. Their names suggest absolutely nothing of the nature of business they’re in -my inspiration, exactly.

After a few minutes, Toespin was born. I had to do something to make sense out of what appears to be a senseless name taken from the dark by shedding some light into it. And oh, that light came. It came at a time when all the money I had in my bank account was just enough to pay for penalty for not maintaining the required minimum balance. I remember pulling up a gas station and told the attendant:

“Fifty, please.”

“Fifty liters, sir?”

“No, fifty pesos.”

True story. Not joking. I wasn’t bald yet.

And so as I look back, I do so with awe and wonderment. As Rafael Nadal would say it -unbelievable! It’s only through God’s grace that we have a business that has survived the years. That, and despite the fact that I started this when I was already 50 effing years old! That just proves that you can’t be too old to think young.

God favors the old and the balding. I’ll take that anytime of day. 

Story of my light. Cheers!

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Two Twin Stories

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I find it difficult to recognize people’s faces these days with only their eyes exposed. Even when they speak, their muffled voices sound like a medieval language. I wish there’s a new Google app that translates muffled voices into clear voices. I can’t even recognize my twin brother, Fred. Without seeing his entire face, I can’t tell whether it’s him or me looking in a mirror. Yep, just one of the double disadvantages of having a twin in a pandemic.

Even before this masked pandemic, we’ve had our share of adventures of being mistaken for the other.

One time, I was in a hotel project in Makati, a burly American guy called out Fred’s name, briskly walking toward my direction. I knew right away that this was one of Fred’s.

Even before he opened his big mouth, I blurted out,

“Sorry, I’m not Fred.”

“Don’t f** with me. Of course, you are Fred!”

“No, I’m not. I’m his twin brother. Watch your language.”

“Fred never told me he had a twin.”

“Maybe you haven’t asked.”

“C’mon, show me an ID.”

Exasperated, I pulled one for him.

“OMG, you’re not him. F***!”

And then, without me asking, he told me a story of him bumping into Fred in Singapore, blah, blah, blah.

___________

There was also a time when, out of Alice in Wonderland, a woman I’ve never before seen in my entire happy life startled me with a hug  - along a public walkway somewhere. She was Fred’s officemate, of course.

When she found out I wasn’t him, she jumped into an open manhole. Of course, I was kidding about the open manhole. It was actually closed. Nonetheless, it was a spectacle seeing her face collapse in embarrassment. Good thing she didn’t carry a knife or a rope that time. But I carried a smile on my face until the next weekend thinking about it.

___________

Fred has his own stories to tell, but this is not his blog post.

___________

Back to the main point.

Don’t you wish this pandemic is over already? The lipstick industry is losing heavily.

Cheers to the new normal.

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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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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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