Warning: today, I will do some muscle flexing. Expect no modesty and meekness conveyed. I suppose 𝙮𝙖𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 is more fitting.

I was called to a meeting for a hotel project. I was made to understand that the meeting was to briefly discuss my design proposal -Design Brief, as it is called in the industry, as well as the commercial part of it. I didn’t know that the big honchos of the firm were there to meet me for the first time and that I was supposed to do an AV presentation of my company. I wasn’t ready in terms of material logistics because I only had my cellphone with me. No laptop. No tablet. No necktie. But I had my guts with me -and they were enough!

I’ve made the spiel ten thousand times before that even immediately after a 5k-run, I still can effectively and confidently present it. May I remind you: 𝙮𝙖𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜! Without the visuals, I had to be animated, dynamic and lunatic to keep them interested. I was juggling my balls, words to that effect.

That was the start of many hotel projects we did and still do with this client. End of 𝙮𝙖𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜.

On the drive back home, I knew it wasn’t just me. I had Someone who guided me not only during the time I presented but all throughout every step that led to that meeting. To Him, I am grateful.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

Working in a multi-national setting proved to be very advantageous to me. In my 20s when I worked abroad, most of my office mates did not have English as their mother tongue. My bosses were Swedish and most of the staff were middle-eastern -understandably because I was based in Saudi, and East Asians. Even my clients were mostly Europeans. Understand and be understood. That was all there was to it. Allow me to illustrate:

Me: 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘔𝘳. 𝘟. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

X: 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴?

I wanted to give him a hard response but I might be misunderstood.

Me: 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦. For as long as fine was heard, you were good.

I could have gotten by with mediocre English but I thought I was in a position of strength that I can use to my good advantage. Like when the management wanted me to transfer to another branch that I didn’t fancy much, I wrote them a letter. With words like trepidation, culpability and diarrhea, and phrases I borrowed from Shakespeare, it gave them no other recourse than to accede to my request to stay. No Google then to help them out.

Without trampling upon the birthright of others, I made very good use of what I had.

On other days, 𝘔𝘦 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘻𝘢𝘯, 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

If you’re as old as I am, or someone who grew up in the ’60s and you do not deny it, you may have remembered the 𝘍𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘴 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺 radio ad on the AM radio. It was like the National Anthem of all commercials during that peaceful period of my childhood. My Tatang must have been one of those who fell for this ad because, every week, an agent would come by to collect his premium of P5.00. Yep. Five. 𝘓𝘪𝘮𝘢. 𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰. 𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘲. Pesos. That was when a 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘢 from your favorite 𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪-𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪 store would cost you two centavos.

The sad thing about insurance then is if you outlived your plan, you don’t get anything. Tatang outlived it. He got 𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘢 out of it except for the security of cover just in case. It didn’t make any sense to me until…

I was a part-time insurance/investment advisor for a good length of time. These days, companies offer life protection with investment components. So you or your family will still get your money even if you outlasted it. My Tatang’s story I got to use to encourage my clients to invest while getting insurance coverage. It played a role in my life as a mustard seed which grew in me. It’s fruit I got to harvest 40 long years after it was planted. Thanks to the seeds that were planted.

Don’t call me, though, for estate planning, bonds and equities. I’m no longer an advisor. I’m here to tell you the story and drink this cup.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

Call me a freak, I won’t mind because I probably am. I can be a nonconformist to a certain degree as long as I don’t violate rights of others.

What gave me that freedom happened when I was in high school.

Our school like any, held the National Anthem (𝙇𝙪𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙃𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜) and the Patriotic Oath (𝙋𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙗𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙣) every Monday morning in the open area/playground fronting the main building. A student, usually a senior was assigned to lead the latter after the anthem was played over the PA. One fateful Monday was mine.

The usual manner by which the Oath was led and recited was a line at a time:

Lead: 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯

Students: 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯

L: 𝘐𝘯𝘪𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘬𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘴

S: 𝘐𝘯𝘪𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘬𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘴

L: 𝘐𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘪

S: 𝘐𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘪

…and so on.

My version was different. While I kept the first line the same, the rest I delivered like only a fearless loony would do:

Me: 𝘐𝘯𝘪𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘬𝘰!

S: 𝘐𝘯𝘪𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘬𝘰!

Me: …𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘴!

S: …𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘴!

Me: 𝘐𝘵𝘰!

S:𝘐𝘵𝘰!

Me: …𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯!

S: …𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯!

Me: …𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘪I!

S: …𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘪I!

The entire school was laughing, although remained faithful to the Oath by repeating every word and phrase I uttered with the flagpole behind me. I kept a serious face all throughout.

At the end of the Oath ’performance,’ while acknowledging the accolade given by the students and teachers, there was one person whose reaction I was a bit wary of -the principal. I still remember her name, Mrs. Maura B. Peña. I scanned the area amidst a field of white uniforms thinning as the crowd headed towards their respective first period classes which was then already delayed. And there she was, nonchalantly kicking pebbles with her leather shoes. Her stoic face tells me that none from my bloodline will be summoned to her office. Her reaction or the absence of it, secured my future as a bald comedian.

"If you don’t take a chance, you won’t stand a chance."

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

I love my mother tongue which is Kapampangan. It was the language that we spoke in our household and still is when I speak with my siblings, aunts and uncles, and some cousins from both sides of the family. Although ours is what the Pampangueños describe as bastardized because you won’t hear any of the deep old form that OGs from Pampanga speak, nonetheless, I love it and I thought of a way to honor it.

Since my old man passed on nearly two years ago, the old ancestral house is deteriorating fast. It’s no longer a matter of what but when -take it down. Sadly. So sadly. My sibs and our children expressed the same sentiments when I shared the news from our eldest kuya, Boy (Leonido) who took charge of the maintenance. But before that happens, I intend to take pics and vids of the property and write a coffee book about it. In Kapampangan!

I have a volume of memories to write about. So does everyone else. From the time Fred and I were decorating the walls with fresh feces to the time when the second gens loitered about naked.

I will need help in writing because Kapampangan spelling is a major challenge. I’d like the book to be faithful to the real deal. May the Good Lord bless this plan before all the memories get permanently erased from our rotting brains. I raise this cup to this.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

I remember bluffing my way through English when I was a junior in HS. There was no question that the teacher asked that I didn’t raise my hand to to be called. To every question, I had an answer -though not necessarily right but in HS English, you can never be far away from the correct answer, can you? At least that was how I looked at things. That was until the teacher finally said, "No more! You’re bluffing again!" But even then, I knew somehow that I was an amusement to her. I was pleased at myself knowing that even if I didn’t study for the recitation, I won’t be called anymore. Mission accomplished!

Those were my early beginnings not as a con man but as a salesman. I wasn’t aware then of the now popular adage, "Fake it ’til you make it." But, more or less, I did.

Later in life and even now, I draw inspiration from those days. Like when I speak before an audience, I always assume that I know more than my audience (even if I don’t) -otherwise, I won’t be up the stage with the audience below. My HS foundation gave me the confidence that I can look back on when needed.

There are episodes in my early life that still help me run this sometimes dastardly race called living. The mantra I go by now is no longer that "fake" adage I mentioned, it’s "I made it then, I’ll make it now."

I raise this cup to those early days of brave guts.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes

On our way home from a game outside the metro, we stopped by a fruits & veggies stand that sits along the road. Pun intended. I beg you. You see many of these pop-up stores in the city outskirts -families that sell their own produce, a sort of an underground economy that, to my twisted knowledge of local government regulations, no one complains against.

I bought several kilos of fruits while my brother, sacks of veggies. All fresh like milk to a nursing baby. We did ask for the prices but haggled no more. As sons of a farmer, we know the difficult labor that goes with the prepping, planting, growing and harvesting of these produce. The elements, too, that they go up against along the hard way. And then selling them for less than the price we paid for the game we just played. We also recognize the reality that without their drops of sweat and tears, none of us will be fed right. It’s a violation of human rights to deprive them of good profits. In a farmer’s household like mine, these are the rules.

To those who toil under the sun or in the rain, in the fields and in the shining seas, I raise this cup.

Cheers! #MyCafeNotes