FINAL MEMORIES

Visiting a cemetery can be life-changing, giving you an out-of-this-world perspective. Especially when you’re turning 65. Because, soon, you’ll be turning in your grave, instead. All that you have, all that you have done, you’ll soon trade for a nice plot, six feet under. Or a shiny jar that you don’t even get to choose.

Standing by the graves of Inang who died at 76, over 20 years ago, and of Tatang, who at 91, God called home just before Covid19 changed the world in ways none of us saw coming. I started searching through my mental archives for the last time I held their hands or hugged them. Or the last time I told them, "I love you" or "See you later" or "Bye, bye." I wanted to find those memories but couldn’t. They were not in my memory bank anymore. Maybe because there wasn’t an effort to hit a mental '⌘+S' when they happened. My excuse was that I never imagined they might be the last. And it saddened me. My remembrance of them would have been richer and more endearing, and no matter what level of amnesia I may have in the future, I would still be able to recall. Powerful memories, etched deeply in the soul, can endure through both time and illness.

But, mea culpa, I missed the chance to carpe diem.

Right there, I started to think of my own “last times” -the ones I’d want to savor today if they were the final ones to hold onto:

A round of golf with my buddies, sharing "Fore!", "Oh shoot," and "Oh dang" when a shot goes wayward. Or high-fives and fist bumps for each birdie and par;

The healthy banter exchange with my favorite daughter, Nikkei;

A cup of fresh-pulled coffee I share with my favorite son, Andre;

The nightly kiss with my bride Rissa, and saying, "Night, dear," before dozing off;

Holding the hands of those dear to me;

Taking a selfie, even if I rarely do;

Cheering for the Celtics;

Eating sinangag with tuyô and scrambled eggs for breakfast and ube to go with my espresso;

Running my last 5k;

Shaving my hair;

Making the Sign of the Cross.

Someday, all those little acts will be part of my lasts. And as much as I’d love to preserve every last detail, those memories won’t be for me to carry. They’ll belong to the people I leave behind, fragments of a life they shared with me, reminders of moments I hope they’ll look back on and smile.

Oh yeah. Life. As my good ol’ friend Charlie Brown once said, "In the book of life, the answers aren’t in the back."

I am sure that someday when I grow up, I will figure this one out. While I am still six feet above.

Over coffee, as usual.

Cheers!

THE BEST OF ME

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." -Col 3:23

Lately, I’ve been training almost daily, working hard to improve my golf swing -and, in the process, up my game. My family is starting to raise eyebrows, suspecting I’m sandbagging my rounds -just so I don’t have to treat them to that seafood dinner if I ever play my best round. I am not fixing my game. I am training for the Olympics. This is for the glory of the country, people.

I’ve also been putting in extra effort at work. As a lighting designer, I’m committed to making my firm the absolute best in Asia, and on this side of the galaxy, and securing a legacy for future generations. My descendants will thank me when they’re basking in the glow of well-lit skyscrapers, churches, sports stadiums, and golf courses.

Like a possessed workhorse, I even find time to wash and wax the car and clean the house. Not just for the family, mind you. We’re expecting a visit from the Pope. Yep, the Pope. I want the place looking spotless when the Holy Father knocks on our door.

Okay, maybe not.

I am too old for the Olympics, my company is not in any competition -not for the longest drive, not for the best in anything. And the Pope -he doesn’t even know I exist.

So why am I putting myself through all this? It’s not just about pushing myself for personal gain or glory. It’s about going beyond my own limits and striving for something greater. Sure, I want to improve, to challenge myself, but ultimately, it’s not just me, or for me.

I play, I work, to offer my very best to Someone far more deserving. My efforts, my dedication -these are my offerings to my God and Savior, Jesus Christ. And in doing so, I find a deeper sense of purpose and fulfillment that transcends personal achievement -even when at times too many, I fail miserably.

Happy Sunday, champs!

Cheers!

DRIVE X

Our Saturdate went the way of the unusual yesterday. Instead of the usual leisurely dine-in breakfast, we went for the Drive-Thru option at McDonald's because time wasn’t on our side. Induction ceremony and an extra-inspired homily by our parish priest had stretched our morning and eaten into our sit-down breakfast time.

(I’m not complaining, Lord. I’m just… mea culpa, Lord.

)

At the Drive-Thru, we rolled up to the speaker, rattled off our orders with a smile on my face (you never know), paid, and faster than the sunniest side-up, breakfast was served right through our car window. McFast.

As we cruised back home, I decided we might as well knock out some grocery shopping. Lucky for us, there’s an egg vendor conveniently located along the road to our village. We pulled off a little Drive-By maneuver. From where I was parked, I honked once to get their attention, and flashed an “X” with my fingers. And sure enough, faster than a scramble, a tray of extra-large eggs went through our car window! Talk about eggficiency!

Just as the smell of breakfast inside the car was making me even hungrier, we spotted a banana vendor near our village entrance. My wife said, “Bili tayo!” Lacatán for dessert after a McBrekkie? Why not! And so, we did a Drive-X, where X = pulling-up-the-street-to-buy-something-from-a-cart-pulling-street-vendor.

What was supposed to be the ordinary became the x-traordinary. Thanks to Drive Thru/By/X, my household was not deprived of a morning delight.

Cheers!

NOW SHOWING

And so it begins.

The biggest zarzuela.

The grandest comedy show.

The colossal display of absurdity in the Philippines.

Election fever has again descended upon the nation like a pandemic, bringing a viral swarm of candidates filing for local and national posts. The cast features a motley crew of actors, ex-convicts, thieves, and con artists, swarming the COMELEC sites with the energy of a town fiesta.

One of the main attractions is the family dynasties. Whether running together or, at times, against each other, these shameless entities -those who have turned politics into a family business -proudly proclaim "public service" as their noble calling. Their sincerity only seems to match their ability to fatten their own pockets.

Yet, amidst all the melodrama, there’s one silver lining: This is the one time every few years when billions (perhaps even trillions) of pesos flood the economy faster than a Christmas bonus.

The printing industry -from tarpaulins to posters and t-shirts -gets its once-in-three-year surge. Even pedicabs can expect new trapal rain covers, featuring the smiling faces of 'public servants.' Meanwhile, sari-sari stores and street vendors will see an opportunity to replace their outdated 2022 'vote-for-me' shirts with the latest campaign gear. In this election season, everyone gets a slice of the action.

And let’s not forget the short-term voters, the ones trading three days’ worth of rice for three more years of corruption-laden governance. Their bellies, at least temporarily full, will have something to chew on -just like gravy on chickenjoy.

Of course, there are those whose intentions are pure and who truly seek to serve the people. But they seldom win. So yeah, there's that. May God bless them.

Now tell me, can your favorite K-drama serve up such rich content?

And so I remind myself:

You may want to sit back, grab some cheese-flavored popcorn, and enjoy the show.

But, if by any serious chance you’re not happy with this circus and worried about your children’s future, then please, drop the popcorn and do something for your country.

For starters -who will you vote for?

Cheers!

SPEAKEASY GOING WILD

After a long night of delivering a lighting seminar to a group of architects, my buddies and I decided to unwind at a small speakeasy bar in Quezon City. Inside, a friendly bartender/waiter greeted us warmly and seemed a bit too eager to share his knowledge of drinks.

As he served us, he enthusiastically explained every ingredient in each cocktail, as if he were giving his own mini-seminar. By 11pm, the place had emptied out, and we were the only customers left. One of my buddies, who had clearly gotten comfortable with his spiked drink, was deep into a story. In the middle of his passionate rant (politics, of course), he suddenly froze.

"Ugh, what’s the word? It’s like…a pardon, a reprieve…you know, in politics!" He was biting his tongue as if trying to extract the elusive word.

Suddenly, from across the bar, the idle bartender -casually leaning against the wall near the door -confidently called out, "Forgiveness!"

The three of us turned our heads in unison -shocked, confused and amused. The bartender grinned, clearly pleased with his contribution. We exchanged awkward glances, silently agreeing not to encourage him, lest he take it as an invitation to join us.

Maybe idleness really is the devil’s playground. But tossing out suggestions from six meters away while we were mid-conversation? Not sinful, but not exactly bar etiquette 101 either, and definitely a loose definition of "speakeasy." To top it off, he was wrong! The word was “amnesty.” He lost the far side bet!

But in the spirit of non-violence (and because the cocktails were kicking in), we let it slide. We raised our glasses in an impromptu toast.

"To forgiveness!" I said with a wink.

Cheers!

PERSPECTIVES

Don’t judge a book by its cover -even if the cover is completely missing.

"You've gone bald!" she exclaimed.

The "you" in question was yours truly, and the "she" was someone I hadn’t seen since Mt. Pinatubo blew its top. Yep, that long.

Back in the day, I used to carry a comb like it was an essential survival tool, and I’d slather on the styling gel like I was prepping for a GQ shoot. As opposed to today, I’ve adopted a more minimalist approach. Hair care budget? Zero. Barbershop visits? Only in my dreams. Though I do miss the good ol’ "kwentong barbero" (barber shop tales). Might invite my barber over for coffee one of these days, just for the inspiration.

Anyway, my dear old friend only saw what was happening on the outside. What she didn’t see was that, over the past couple of decades, I’ve become quite the certified hotshot who started one of the country’s top lighting design firms. And, by the way, I can still run 5 km without needing an ambulance. She also missed an important fact: I can drive a golf ball 220 yards on a good -extraordinarily good -weekend.

She didn’t know what I’d been through or what I’d gained along the way. Can’t really blame her though. My scalp was shining like the bright glorious sun rising over Mt. Pulag. Hard to miss that, especially on a cloudy day.

But hey, she’s only human. I totally understand. I had my own human thoughts when I saw her that cloudy day, too. But I’m not telling.

That’s my little human secret.

Cheers!

THUNDERS AND MEETINGS

Aren’t you glad the rain’s finally called it quits? Thunderstorms, too. For the first time in a week, I can see the sun’s rays muscling their way through the last remnants of typhoon clouds. Speaking of stormy weather, when the thunder’s booming and the rain’s crashing down with disastrous intent, communication in my household takes a serious hit.

Case in point…

I rose from my makeshift WFH office to grab a snack from the kitchen. Now, in this household, if you’re in the kitchen at the wrong time, you automatically become "it" when the question, “Who’s gonna do it?” comes up.

Sure enough, before I even set foot in the kitchen, my wife whispers, “Dear, paki-saing.” (Translation: Please cook rice.)

Our daughter’s locked in a high-stakes online meeting, so whispers and miming were the order of the day. Between the rain pounding like mad and my selective hearing, I mumbled, “What, dear?”

"Saing. Sa-ing."

With my ears still processing the queen’s command, I wander into the kitchen like a confused commoner -looking left, looking right, scratching my shiny head like that’s somehow going to help. Then I shuffle back to my wife and, as loud as a whisper allows, ask, “Lacatán or Latundán?”

Yep, blame it on the rain, we’re going bananas!

Down with thunderstorms and online meetings. It’s coffee time.

Rain. Thunder and lightning. Online meetings. Bananas. And coffee.

These are part of what makes life beautiful, even if the sweetness is equal parts bitter.

Silent cheers!