Breakfast Guest

Yesterday’s breakfast consisted of crunchy toasts with #Nutella spread. Yep, that’s in plural form -one ain’t enough if paired with a fresh pull of hot americano. No matter how hard I try with every bite, crumbs fall off my plate and the table and my lap, sending a breakfast invitation to my guests: the ever vigilant, constant, vagrant ants.

The earliest one I found treading along the side of the table across my belly where some of the crumbs fell. It carried with it a morsel ten times its size. As it provided for my morning amusement, I didn’t find the heart to do anything that will disrupt its rhythmic march toward its queen. But that was just my minor reason.

The major one happened when I was an innocent kid. For a stupid reason I can’t recall, I took one 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘬 (weaver ant) and did one horrendous thing to it. If you cannot take grim and grisly graphic details of an insect kill, stop reading!

With a corroded safety pin, I pricked its eyes! Like a sheep being sheared of its wool coat, it was silent. Hearing no scream, I felt neither satisfaction nor remorse and threw it away. One of those boring moments of my early childhood.

Back to the breakfast story. In atonement for that dastardly hideous juvenile deed, I let that poor ant proceed uninterrupted. As silent as my victim, I told the little ant, "Forgive me for making your ancestor suffer." Then slowly sipped my coffee, careful not to spill any on that side of the table.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #theindustriousANT

40 Cheers!

I was in a wedding 40 years ago today as one of the secondary sponsors to the bride and groom. Although the groom is my brother, I cannot recall now why I became a sponsor because I neither paid for the cost of the wedding or reception nor gave money to the couple. Yet I was one, broke as a shattered tempered glass of a cheap cellphone. Don’t tell them but I still owe them a wedding gift.

Nearly two generations ago, there are just a few details that I can still recall:

-There were as many priests as there were wedding guests. The wedding mass was concelebrated by half the entire congregation of the #OblatesOfMaryImmaculate (#OMI). My future sister-in-law’s beloved 𝐼𝑚𝑎̂ (mother), who was an honorary Oblate, invited them all to make certain the wedding pushes thru.

-I was the candle sponsor. I must have focused so much on the light that day that it didn’t depart from me anymore. That light still shines brightly in my lighting design business today, #ToespinLighting.

-Above all, with that same light, I met my future wife, Rissa, who happens to be the bride’s first cousin. Although it took another 13 years before we tied our own, it was the start of my heart beating for a reason. Where do I begin to tell the story? I begin on that glorious day 40 years ago. One thrilling story was sealed with God’s blessings. Another begun. In a place worthy of such.

Without Gani & Gigi, I would not have met my own lovely bride. I would not have Andre, my chief barista and Nikkei as my children. And I would not have this perfect barista-grade coffee to enjoy.

Happy 40th anniversary, Gani and Gigi. My family is forever indebted to you.

Forty cheers! #MyCafeNotes #40thWeddingAnniversary

Say Cheers!

This thought process is not a product of an idle lockdown-minded brain: I wanna re-purpose my love for photography that’s been in the bin for so many decades. Like a dormant volcano, it’s now spewing ash and steam.

My senses were tickled by a movie I was watching recently whose main character was a budding photographer. While watching, another movie was simultaneously playing in my mind -that of my early years of lugging my SLR around my neck waiting for picture-perfect opportunities present themselves. That inner movie hasn’t stopped since.

This may set me back several months of my retirement funds plus about a dozen drive-thru lunches, I am now saving for a new cam. I can’t wait to get my hands on those ISO and speed dials, the focus ring and the shutter release button with my eye pressed against the viewfinder. I’m as excited now as I was then waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. I have a name for it already: my 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦́𝘳𝘦𝘯.

This journal, albeit irregular in issuance and the volume of pictures that will hopefully fill the memory of my hard drive, will serve as the #MgaKwentoNgLoloKongKalbo to my future grand and great grandchildren. Now, there’s the new purpose!

No selfies. No promises. Just say,

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes #NikonZfc

#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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