Drive-Thru Happiness

Driving home after attending a morning mass at our parish, my daughter Nikkei declared, “It’s my coffee treat today!” Excitedly, I turned towards the nearest drive-thru cafe and drive-thru we did. 

So with every sip of my hot peppermint cup, and with every bite of my veggie fritata, I say, “Life is good!”

It’s not that I am a regular cheapskate provider of my family, but that day, I was. For an old man like me who is not so hard to please, these little joys go big time simply because I recognize them. The simplest things in life can be the best if only we open our eyes and our hearts to see them.

I am alive.

I am a part of this family.

I am connected to a loving God.

I am a part of this miracle called life.

And it is good. Life is.

I paid for the gas, though.

Cheers!

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A Letter to Me, Ten Years in the Future

Oh dear me,

Ten years ago today, we were just entering the third year of this pesky covid-19 pandemic. Remember the lockdowns, quarantines after another, work-from-home schemes, Zoom online meetings, pro-vaccines and anti-vaccines, face masks, stupid face shields, social distancing, deliveries from Lazada, Shopee and Amazon? If you no longer remember, oh that is sad. Very sad. I know that 72 years is no joke for memory cells to keep track of history. I feel you, me. I hope all isn’t lost, though.

But what do you recall of this time ten years ago? Hello, can you still hear me? HELLO! Is this loud enough? Can you still read clearly?

Do you remember Northpoint, our small village in Quezon City? Gil, the cute little stray cat we used to see when jogging around the block? Can you still name the usual neighbors we run or walk with? We didn’t know all their names, but we named them, remember? Do we still live here or have our prayers for a new home been answered already? Are you reading this now in our man cave we wanted to have for a new home? 

Do you remember? Wife Rissa, son Andre and daughter Nikkei? I made sure I tagged them correctly just so you wouldn’t get mixed up with who’s which. No grandchildren yet a decade ago. How many are they now, anyway? I hope there are twins. Anyway, as I write this, the wife’s still with the homeschool, Andre with me at Toespin and Nikkei just started at Henkel. Everyone working from home, still, because of the Omicron variant of the virus. Had there been more variants after Omicron?

Ten years ago, I had yet to break 100 in golf. In my last game, I did poorly at 121, hitting double pars here, there and everywhere. But since then, I made good adjustments to my grip, swing, shoulders and wrinkles that I was sure it would make for a massive improvement in my game. Well, did it? What year did the first birdie happen? Is Charlie Woods the most popular golfer now? Andre and I have been dreaming of playing golf in another country. Did that happen without making a big fool of myself?

Whisky and coconut juice were my go-to cocktails 120 months ago. It was something out of the usual shaker, so to speak. There was just this one night with the family watching a K-Drama -Run On, remember? I was craving for a drink and all that I can find were the Double Black bottle and a tetra pack with left-over coco water from dinner. That and some ice, voila! What’s your poison now?

Buchi, your nephew. I mean our nephew. I mean, my nephew. Whew! Wife Guia was expecting their second baby due August. We were hoping for a boy then. It was what Gianna, their first, wanted -a little brother named George, a character from Peppa Pig. I bet he’s now a mischievous ten-year-old tad, taking after his dad. Is he not? How many third generation rascals do we have now? I hope they get way past the 17 we siblings produced. Much more fun, I bet.

Has science found a cure for lower back pain already? How about hair loss? Is WordPress still the thing in website design? How many cameras does an iPhoneXX have now?

Who’s the president now? I hope that thieves and crooks no longer crowd government posts. I still believe in miracles, you know.

Wait! Are you still in our beloved Philippines?

Wait! Earth? Well, I’ll be…

___________

To the past ten years, raise your cup, old man. 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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The Day I Dreaded Most as a Child Came

That day came without notice. In fact, it hadn’t even started yet as I was still in bed when the call from Gigi, my sister-in-law, came telling me she’s gone. My dear Inang, 100kms away from us, succumbed to heart failure due to asthma, 19 years ago today.

I don’t remember anymore how I responded. Half awake, it jolted all my senses. A few minutes later, we were all up, calling everyone. In a few more, we were on the road to Bataan. My mind wandered. What happens now? I was numb.

My mother lived with asthma all her life. I’ve seen her suffer, grasp for air during attacks. It was painful even for a little child like me then to see her in such pain. She endured with all her might -for us, until she couldn’t anymore. That pain died with her, of course, but a new one replaced it. The pain of not being able to see or touch her again -still resides in me. 

I can live with this pain if it’s the only thing that reminds me of you, Inang. A lovely soul left this world for a place you never have to endure any.

I’ve never heard you tell me I was a good son. I didn’t ask you to do so because you showed it much. It doesn’t matter now. I can just look up in the sky, and even in this world’s madding noise, I’d hear you say in my deepest core, “I love you, my boy. You’re a good son.”

This I believe because I have kept you there, closest to my heart, where no noise could ever drown out.

I love you, too, Inang. Cheers!

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The Best Weekend of my Life

The thing is, it hasn’t happened yet. I mean, I am looking at the time in hopefully not-so-far future when anyone would ask me over coffee what I did during the best weekend of my life, I’d have something to say. 

Golf with my buddies on a cool cloudy windless Saturday morning came in very close second. But if I can still break par anytime soon, weekend or not, it will be my best weekend ever!

For now, this is what I am looking forward to:

The Activity

5k run. For a 62-year old bald chap like me, there is no other activity that gives me the drug-free, stoned-high feeling I get after playing three straight sets of singles tennis when my bones were in their twenties. It’s been ages since I played. Just thinking about it makes my lower back throb in pain already. I haven’t lost my love for the sports, though. I still follow most of the major ATP and grand-slam events.

In running, there’s no mental studying an opponent’s move and there is less risk of breaking an ankle. No one controls your movement -you’re on your own. Only your body will tell you to go, slow down or stop. 

The Place and the Weather 

It’s got to be a place where I need to drive 20-30mins, preferably away from the city, from the usual traffic, smog and tall buildings. To a place where with plentiful trees, heavy breathing is an easy thing, and where I could let go, no need to rush and just be.

No rain, no hot sun, no strong winds. Just a gentle breeze that would carry my thoughts away. 

The Playlist

A must for running -for me, at least. The beat helps in keeping my pace while the lyrics help to keep my mind off the distance I am running and give me the boost I need to go on and on.

It should include songs like:

• Top of the World by the Carpenters
• Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on my Head by B.J. Thomas
• This Day Belongs to Me by Seals & Crofts
• Up on the Roof by James Taylor

Running or driving or eating or working or simply loosening up, these feel-good songs make me, you guessed it right, feel good! There’s more to append to this list, but I value your reading time.

Connectivity

Off the grid, really. No ringing, no alert sounds, no notifications. I allow myself to be free from all that. My watch connected to my ear bones (it’s what I call my wireless bone conduction headset). This is all the connection I need. Phone stays in the car. I can’t be bothered. Perfect weekend, remember?

The Drive Back

I will stop at a hole-in-a-wall bakery that serves honest-to-goodness donuts topped with nothing fancy but just sugar. Fresh off the oven. That, and the coffee by my barista son kept hot in my thermos flask. Seated with my still wet running shorts on, I will watch people buying pan-de-sal or walking past the bakery -ordinary people living their ordinary lives. I will silently bless each of them. Though unseen, I may probably be the only one to bless them that day.

On the final drive back home, I’ll look at my reflection in my rearview mirror, smile and tell myself, “That was a mighty fine run.”

___________

It will happen before long. When it does, I’ll go back to this post, tweak a few lines, update the tense and post it again.

Until then, cheers!

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Music & Coffee. And Me.

“Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and life to everything.” Says my good ol’ friend Plato. 

This morning, as my playlist spins, I sing along with Paul and our mop-top friends belting “Hey Jude” while sipping this cup. 

If you’re anything like me, you’re an old, old soul. I listen to music the same way I eat my meals or watch movies -with variety. My Spotify playlist is a mixture of inspirational (gospel), pop, a bit of jazz, slow, fast, rock, paper and scissors. But I always go back to a few favorites, the cassette tape music of the 70s and 80s.

This music and coffee -great combo in the morning. I am not sure if it’s the caffeine or the melody or both, but with every cup, I am reminded of places I’ve been to, people I’ve been with and stories I’ve heard. If I had been there during WWII, my family would have had way too many stories about me having coffee with sir Winston repeated every day. 

___________

Espresso or drip, black or latte, blend or otherwise -it’s never too old to sip, reminisce, rock and roll.

Come Jude, join me, take a sad song and make it better. Cheers!  

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On My Wake

You might be thinking, what wake? This isn’t what you do after sleeping or of coming around after losing your common sense. I don’t do wakeboarding so don’t expect a sporty post here. This one refers to the gathering of friends and relatives after someone’s death, which in this story, is mine. 

Not for me, but perhaps for many, there is something about the idea of death that triggers the most negative emotions. Maybe because all they’ve seen in wakes and funerals were black clothes, crying and sad faces -some real, some not-so. Also, the combined scents of lilies, daisies, roses, orchids and other flowers usually found in funeral chapels horrify them. Mine is going to be delightfully different. This is how I want my wake to go down.

The Place. 

Not a chapel or a church. I don’t think this type of wake is allowed. It should be one where festive gatherings like weddings or birthdays are held. An events place not so expensive, not so cheap. Tables and chairs instead of pews. 

A photo of me is not mandatory, but would be nice. It would be great if it were a picture of me after I made my first hole-in-one in golf. As of this writing, it has yet to happen, but with my swings getting better every day, I am optimistic.

A frame should hang big and visible with the words:

“I love you guys so much. Don’t be too sad. I had a good run. Enough already. You won’t miss me, though. Just look up into the sky, you’ll see me there.” 

The Service.

Holy mass will be celebrated as it should. I wouldn’t want my new start to bridge my end any other way. But instead of a casket in front, my urn will be placed on a table at a corner of the room that is not too conspicuous as to steal the attention away from the Altar. I prefer cremation since it’s already allowed by the church. I mean, take your fancy between Earth fire that extinguishes and Hell fire eternal. I know, right?

The Food.

Coffee will be served with local kakanin like ube halaya, nilupak, and ginataang bilo-bilo -all my favorites, really. No kare-kare or adobong anything. No garlic or steamed rice. There’s a catch, though: instead of flowers, visitors must pay for the coffee and food. Paypal, ApplePay and GCash only will be accepted. No cash. No credit card swiping. If you bring your own cup, third serving is free.

Andre and Nikkei will cover the coffee service while my grand kids will wait on tables. Tip-giving will be allowed for the generous. For the NOT, face-to-Face, I will ask the Lord for mercy.

Or it can be a self-service thing where you clean after you go.

The Entertainment.

Anyone can go up in front to say a short story about me. No mic-hogging will be permitted -my family must have experienced pain with my passing already. Extended pain will be more difficult to bear. This is for last respects, remember? So yes, respect!

A hired guitarist/singer will provide live music featuring the songs of James Taylor, Don McLean and Bread. Alternate with a crooner singing James Ingram, Al Jarreau and Kenny Loggins. Without a speaker or entertainer on stage, music from the 70s will be piped in. I was contemplating on having a stand-up comedian but it may not be appropriate. Respect.

The Time.

Late afternoon on a weekend is probably the best for this perfect fit for merienda time. I will ask God for a little afternoon drizzle because it’s what made me feel good when I was still alive.

The Guest List.

I will invite anyone who knows me. Family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, and people who knew me through www.coffeecupreflections.com. Even if they are strangers, their presence will not be considered a breach of good manners as long as they pay for the coffee. If you didn’t like me, you can’t be included.

_______________

I know that this would cost a bit more than usual, but no worries, I was heavily insured. Take some from a payout, enough for a two-day wake. Make it three if the public insists. Charge more for the coffee. 

My wife Rissa is against this post saying she should go first. I told her, “Ok, but you’d miss the fun!”

_______________

That should be it. Hey, if you’ve outlived me, I’ll see you there.

When you sip your coffee, please think of me. And say, 

Cheers!

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