A TRIBUTE TO 70

Today, my beloved parents, Bienvenido and Leonila, would have celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary. This post is my humble homage to the 57 years they shared, from the depths of my heart.

Last year, I made a New Year’s resolution unlike any I’d attempted -ever. For the first time in my life, I actually kept it -not just for the year, but before, during, and right up to this very moment.

The resolution was simple on the surface, yet it carried real self-denial and my own brand of discipline.

Here it is: I bought nothing personal. Absolutely. Nothing. For. Myself.

With one small caveat: I allowed myself the bare essentials -medicine, food, and whatever supplies my business required. Everything else? Off-limits. Otherwise, I’d end up a dead, rotting corpse in an old, borrowed Barong Tagalog that the owner decided not to take back after my cremation.

No new clothes, no caps, no shoes, no socks, no underwear. (Don’t worry -I didn’t go commando; the old classics were meticulously rotated.)

No gadgets, no phones, no laptops, no watches. Not even a case or a strap.

No screwsdrivers, no tools, no carmeras, no lenses.

No golf bags, no clubs, no tees, no gloves.

And -hold tight -no golf balls. That could only mean I played nearly as well as Scottie and lost fewer balls, or I picked up more lost balls than usual last year. You decide.

I strolled through Nike, Adidas, and Mizuno without once reaching for my wallet.

Daiso, Uniqlo, DonKi, Lotte, H&M, and every outlet mall sent me desperate “We Miss You” and “Wish You Were Here” emails.

Black Friday, Boxing Day, 10.10, 11.11, Amazon Prime Day -they all came and went without a single, silent keyboard tap from me.

We traveled to Taiwan, Japan, and Korea last year, and I came home with exactly zero new possessions. Lighter suitcase, heavier conscience (in a good way).

But here’s the real reason I’m sharing this. This wasn’t just some odd personal challenge or a doomsday survival DIY. It was my quiet, deliberate way of honoring my parents.

I chose not to buy, even though I easily could have. They, in their time -especially while raising us children -had no choice at all. They simply could not buy anything for themselves. They borrowed money, stretched every peso, and went without -not for a single year, but for so many, so we could go to school, eat, and have a future.

I only had to think about myself. They had to think about all of us, every single day.

I only had to skip non-essentials. They often worried whether there would even be essentials.

And they did it not out of duty or a yearly resolution, but out of a love so profound, so selfless, it never asked for recognition or repayment.

By denying myself when I didn’t have to, I wanted -even if only faintly -to touch the hem of their sacrificial cloak. To carry, for one brief chapter of my life, a fraction of the weight they bore without complaint for so long.

An imperfect attempt to say thank you.

Dearest Inang and Tatang dear, though you have left this world, your love remains the strongest force in mine. Thank you for showing me what true giving looks like.

And as for the money I didn’t spend? I’ll plead Matthew 6:3.

Happiest anniversary to our family.

Happiest New Year to y’all.

Cheers!

Happy Birthday, Son!

Andre, from the moment you were born, fatherhood became a wild, and occasionally clueless journey we’ve taken together. As you grew, I grew with you. You’ve even outgrown me by a hair -literally. Somewhere along that fatherhood journey, you quietly upgraded from “son” to “my son and my teacher,” and I’m still catching up.

I wanted golf for our birthdays; you wanted travel -so here we are in Jeju and Seoul instead of a fairway. Too cold to play here, but still a fair deal. What matters most, though, is the man you’ve become: rooted in your love for family, grounded in faith, and generous with your time and heart for God and the Church -for this alone, I am grateful. From the boy who once wandered off at a McDo store to the man who now keeps us all on course, you never try to impress anyone, yet you somehow do so effortlessly.

Happy birthday, son. Cheers to more adventures, more laughs, and fewer lost balls (mostly mine).

Hey Nikkei -and More!

My dearest Nikkei, my favorite daughter (no other contenders allowed), today we celebrate YOU -our resident eye-roller, K-Drama analyst, and master of turning my dad jokes into Oscar-worthy sighs.

I’ve made a bit of research -yeah, I had the time

. Based on previous posts, here’s what I’ve written about you, with traits that shine through every year:

✓ Sweet and lovable: From your Happy Meal days to now, your sweetness melts hearts (and ice cream cones). Rainier would agree, most of the time.

✓ Bubbly and delightful: Your vibrant energy transforms life’s sepia into vivid colors.

✓ Wise and kind: You make decisions that make us proud, staying humble and content. Except for that Korea travel adventure.

✓ Mischievous and endearing: From toy parts up noses to sneaky scotch-tape fixes, your flair keeps us on our toes. Like when those nostrils do their thing...

✓ Beautiful inside and out: No eye-roll can hide the beauty we see in you, day or night, Lazada or Amazon.

What might I’ve missed? A lot I’m sure. I am glad you’re still the same, like all of the above. But better still. More independent. More of a critical thinker. More generous. More money in your bank account. Very generous.

Speaking of which, when you were 3 or 4 years old, you told mommy and me that when you grow up, you will buy us holiday tickets to Europe and South America. At least once a year. And a new car, too, if we’ve been nice. And we have been very nice, Sta. Nikkei.

Happiest birthday, mi querida hija! We love you more than you love a good character dev.

p.s. Mommy and I can wait.

MILESTONE v2.0

Five years ago, you turned the corner of a milestone worthy of fanfare but the universe had it differently. Thanks but no thanks to covid, instead of partée, we had a pandemic. Back then, I’d dreamed of giving you something that glittered, something you could wear, something I could -almost- afford. (The 'almost’ suggests a struggle of sorts). But with vaccines still in Pharma test tubes, and my business hanging by a burning filament, that sparkly plan got shelved.

Still, we had a little celebration. You slipped into that fine dress, we gathered our “clean bubble” of neighbors and family, those that we are safe with or without hazmats. And you clapped(!) out a candle on a home-made cake so small that portions were more theoretical than actual. In math terms, negligible. Or simply, x=0. I swore then: Next milestone, I’ll make it right -measurable, noticeable and significant.

That was five years ago and today marks another jubilee year for you, another corner to dramatically skid around. I finally got you that thing: its glitter mirrors your knack for making everyone around you feel special. Its color screams your love for life (and your ability to make sweet out of sweat). Its wearability? As enduring as the smile you’ve flashed that even your old, old friends remember you by.

Consider it my pandemic redemption. My "this-is-long-overdue" present. Happy Birthday, Doe-my-dear. You’re the glitter my life needed, and somehow, even with my shiny head, I still can’t outshine you. Je t'aime de tout mon cœur.

Oh yes, wear that red lipstick proud! It matches your personality, like Chicken Joy and Spaghetti. Cheers!

I HAD A DREAM

Last night, I had a dream. Just like in a movie fantasy, I was granted a wish -just one wish. A miracle of sorts. No fine print, no loopholes. Just one wish.

Oh, except for that one tiny rule: I couldn’t wish for more wishes. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. That got me too.

So, I had to make it count. One wish to make me happy. One wish to make everyone happy.

And voilà! I got it: I wished for a miracle -that every Filipino voter, come election day, would vote wisely.

On that day in May, political TV ads wouldn’t matter. Tarps, posters, T-shirts, banners, pins, and leaflets would hold no weight. Every promise made by candidates would be forgotten. The dancing, the fake smiles, the staged handshakes, the photo ops of them eating with and embracing the poor -wasted! Money handed out as bribes would still be used to feed the hungry, but it wouldn’t multiply in the pockets of politicians.

On that one fateful day in May, only conscience would matter. Minds would be illuminated. Foolishness would morph -albeit briefly -into wisdom. Voters would suddenly remember the jet ski, the “10-minute” EDSA traffic fix, the killings, the disunited unity. And recognize that actors are just acting good. They would recall both the good and the bad -and choose the good.

Oh yeah. That’s what I wished for.

Last night, I had a dream. And I wasn’t even sleeping.

Cheers!

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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Judgments and Reflections

One morning after church, my wife and I were driving through a neighboring village. Cruising at a grandmother’s speed, I spotted a man tending to his front garden. “Look at that man,” I remarked to Rissa. “His legs are bowed.” A few meters down the road, my spy lens caught a woman with an asymmetrical bulge around her neck. “Must be goiter,” I told my lovely passenger the diagnosis.

Shortly after, just before the next turn, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Adjusting its angle, I saw an aging, bald man with visible liver spots and sagging eye bags staring back at me. At that moment, I realized my own imperfections. I was a badass. Baddest!

I didn’t know what came over me as I am not typically that judgmental. Though I am in some ways, that was unforgivable. Maybe it was a misplaced defense mechanism -a revenge in the name of all the bald people in the world who are always the laughingstock in any discussion: family gatherings, online political posts, newspaper editorials, medical dissertations, and even homilies. Like if you can’t think of anything funny or there’s a lull in a conversation, there’s a fallback. Make fun of the bald guy. It always works. You can’t miss us. We are like a knight in shining…, well, without the armor.

But revenge isn’t mine. It’s the Lord’s, says the Bible in Romans 12:19.

Mea culpa, Lord. I leave judgment to You.

The next day, driving down the same street. I saw the same garden again -it was so well-manicured. It can only be done masterfully by one who had great skills. I failed to see that the other day.

I didn’t see the lady anymore before the turn, but now I recall that she was all smiles. Like there was genuine joy written on her face. That, too, I failed to notice.

So here’s to all who may not look perfect in the eyes of others, you are perfect in the eyes of those who love you.
Cheers!

If you’ve been touched, amused, or entertained by this post, or it put a smile on your face, please favor me with a cup of coffee via GCash or PayPal. I will continue writing.

Scan a code, or click here to go to PayPal.