#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! 

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I Dream

Dreams are strange brain activities, abstracts I sometimes do not understand.

I still dream about being late for my high school exams.

I still dream that I have long bangs covering the unsightly pimple breakouts on my forehead.

I dream of running but not getting anywhere -trying hard to run faster but my legs won’t move.

I dream of losing brakes while driving and of driving a car so tall I can’t see what’s below. And driving on reverse without brakes.

When I dream of our old house in Bataan which has undergone several changes over many years, the one that I grew up in is always the version I see in them.

I dream of my dear 𝙄𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙜 and 𝙏𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜 when they were younger, never older.

When I shared about these dreams to others, I found it amusing to know that they, too, dream the same. No, not our old house or my long hair or my parents or my car -their own, silly!

I think most dreams are playbacks of the experiences that shaped us -rounded or linear. It comforts me knowing I am not abnormal after all. Or that there are many of us who are normally off-the-wall.

I console myself with that last thought. And this cup.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #dreams #iDreamedADream

Anti-Boredom Drill

I didn’t know that the sound of a handsaw cutting through a 1cm thick wood board and a hammer drill digging its bit through masonry can soothe or in my bored pandemic state, revitalize one’s mind. Yep, this is #mentalhealth issue yet again.

The garage wall light needed to be replaced. These idle hands needed flexing. If lockdown boredom is a sickness and I am a doctor, then I’d prescribe a handsaw and a hammer drill before or after a meal. This worked mightily fine for me. Maybe it would do you good, too.

When temporary insanity is attempting to settle upon your household because of excessive non-activity apart from hitting like buttons and scrolling up and down, finding something menial to work on will drive it away.

See the reflection of a happy face on the shiny hood of a car you laboriously waxed. You’ll find a new perspective in life after manually shifting the toilet bowl 90° clockwise.

Most feelings of boredom are invitations to a physical activity that when ignored can lead to misery -and bigger beer bellies. Words of wisdom from a coffee drinker.

Stay active & healthy, folks.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

B-I-N-G-O!

If someone hits your nerves 𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙤, it ain’t a winner. It just means you’ve had more than enough with that person, his antics and mistakes. But there are times when a bingo is a call for you to be a little more patient. And it has something to do with the kind of person at the other side of the story.

At that other side in mine is my wet market #𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙞 who I pay extra to buy fish, meats and other food stuff outside of her own veggie stand.

First, she didn’t get the right cut of meats;

Then, she forgot to load in the bag some veggie items included in the list but already paid for;

Then, she forgot to give me my change;

Today, I ordered a slice of squash, she gave two, and instead of a bundle of leafy greens, she gave two. Also, she forgot to put in the price list.

I can’t fire her, sue her or threaten to expose her in social media. Because she’s all I’ve got to do the dirty #𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙚 job for me. Her good service far outweigh all her petty crimes multiplied by five. That I appreciate.

In a lockdown, one needs patience that’s miles longer than the string beans you put in your #𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙚_𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙚. Unlimited, just like the coffee servings I get.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes