To The Rain

I woke up early this morning to prepare for a round of golf that my golf buddies and I have been so excited about. It’s been forever since we played -two weeks, I think.

But it rained hard. Very hard. Hard to not-notice. Hard to pretend it’s just a drizzle, it will be sunny in a while. Hard to the heart.

The group decided to cancel and all went back to bed dejected, disappointed, disheartened, and dispirited, all in alphabetical order.

After a short nap, I went back down for some coffee. While at it, I scrolled my phone photos for pictures of our recent golf games. It was the next best thing to swinging a club outdoors.

I raise this cup to you, oh rain. I still hear you loud and clear. You have the power to ruin a parade, the might to create floods and traffic, and the emotional muscle to make a little child cry.

But you have a better purpose. I know so. I believe so. But now is not the time to ponder upon your good reasons. With this cup, I dwell in my misery. I commiserate with my sad comrades dreaming of a par or a birdie on a sunny day. 

That day will come. Without your single, tiny drop.

Cheers!

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I Grew Up, Grew Old

During the late 60s or early 70s, there was this Palmolive soap ad often played on TV that left an impression in my young mind. Its allure was that if you use the soap, you will look young or younger. I am referring to a neighbor’s TV here because we didn’t have a TV back then.

Instead of using the product, I avoided it because I wanted to look older. I wanted time to go faster so I can look older. Not using Palmolive should help.

And maybe, it did. I grew up. I grew old.

About half a century later, instead of relying on ads’ deceptive lures, I ask my daughter for advice on what cream to use to remedy puffy eye bags and to help return the elasticity of loose skin in my neck, hands, arms and legs, and large and small intestines. She’d oblige but deep in my epidermis, I know that none of them will work on this old rind -not Palm, not Olive, not Popeye. It’s just because. You know when you’re old, you sometimes run out of reasons for doing anything. You either forget or.

A product to travel back in time may just be the one I need. Hope it comes during my time. Wait, is that an oxymoron?

For now, I will enjoy sipping coffee, living life with wrinkles, and playing golf. With spf100 sunscreen, of course!

Cheers!

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Remember the Times of Your Life

Amazing how a little, even innocent gesture can go a long way for a long time.

I was doing my usual run around our village one late afternoon when kids of all ages loiter on the playground and in the streets. There was this eight-to-tenish boy with a basketball who I run into with his troop almost every time. But there was this one time that made my day.

Walking towards me in the opposite direction of my run, he greeted me with a wave and a smile, “Hi, Kuya!” Kuya literally means older brother in Tagalog but is lately used to address a security guard, a resto server, a garbage collector, a driver, a mayor, a king, etc.

I had all of those options to choose which of the categories I belong to in the mind of the little lad. I chose big brother. Then I waved and smiled back, “Hi buddy,” and went on with my run. I chose to be happy. The smile stayed ’til the next lap.

This old brain of mine is hard-wired to remember things and events that made me feel good. Like the time when I beat my uncle for the first time in chess; someone slipped a sweet greeting card into my notebook in high school even if never got to find out who did it; my wedding day (or else); my funny first airplane ride. The list is long.

On my deathbed, if someone asked me about good memories, these and the chubby kid of my ‘hood, I will surely recall.

Hey kid! Cheers!

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A Mystical Carwash

After spending long hours of work in front of my computer, I went out of the home/office for some fresh air. I found my car parked under our pomelo tree covered with dust, leaves, and bird droppings. Clearly, it was a good time for a carwash. The car needed it. And I needed it for my physical and mental health.

It’s been a habit of mine to recite Psalms verses while washing the car. Mid-through the wash, the winds carried a very strong scent of sampaguita, a favorite since I was a small kid. The scent reminds me of the time my dear Inang hangs a garland around my neck after pinning a medal of honor during my elementary days. Year after year. Naks naman!

I paused as the feeling of a mystical or out-of-this-world experience excited my senses. I lifted my gaze towards the sky and murmured,

“Inang, is that you?” and,

“Lord, have You come for me already?”

But lowering my head a bit, there I saw the pomelo tree blossoming with flowers. The smoke cleared and the heavenly orchestra featuring a dozen harps stopped playing in my mind as I reached for one bunch of flowers in one of the lower branches. Dang, they do smell like sampaguitas. 

How could I have forgotten their smell? In Bataan, we had at least four pomelo trees in our yard. Maybe because they were as tall as our house that the flowers’ scents were too high to reach my olfactory elevation. Or the other fruit trees that populated our yard must have drowned their scent out.

I harvested some from this low-lying tree in our small front yard and brought them into the house. The perfume-sweet smell filled the living room.

Although deprived of a supernatural experience, the short-lived drama was enough to reset my mind from mental fatigue while the car was back to its shiny state, ready for its next spin.

Cheers!

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Mi Familia

Here’s an artist’s rendition of my family. Not too accurate but some details cannot be denied.

The one with the hairless head resembles me. I mean, it’s supposed to be me. If you got this one wrong, you may offend 75% of this household. Them, the rest of the family who still buy, keep, and use hairbrushes and hair conditioners. And from what I see, they will do so for a long time.

There’s something not right with my render, though. In real life, I still do have hair on my head -on the sides and at the back. But that’s maybe too tiny a detail that the artist didn’t bother adding. A hundred tiny microdots would have been precise.

Then our height. The other male in the renders appeared a lot taller than the bald guy. It ain’t so in reality. Andre is just a few millimeters taller given that he’s got thicker and taller hair. Another cruel travesty of truth.

The photo on which this interpretation was based was when we attended a wedding at the Manila Cathedral. Notice our barong tagalogs and the long black dresses of the ladies? The outfits as shown almost reflect the true formality of the occasion. This I give the artist. On point.

The doll beside me is my bride. No doll can do justice to her beauty. Next to her is the princess of the family. Notice the tiny earrings and pearls around her neck? Princess, yeah.

Now let’s take a look at the shapes and sizes. This is the part where I shut my mouth or I’ll be rendered unfavorably and lose ninety-nine pogi points. 

I will stop here. Just meet us in person. You’ll see what I mean.

Amigos y amigas, ángeles y santos, esta es mi familia. 

Peace on earth.

Cheers!

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Eating Tartine -The Basics

I’m not so picky with the food that I eat although some boundaries cannot be crossed. Like a crunchy toast going soggy. I mean, who likes soggy toasts? Raise your hand and beat yourself.

Take tartine, for instance. It’s an open-faced sandwich where all ingredients are neatly placed on a toast (usually sourdough or French bread) -the pâté, thinly sliced salmon, cherry tomatoes, pink radish, cucumber, and onion slices, arugula leaves, sunblock, and ground necklace. 

I am not a fast eater so by the time I am halfway through the sandwich, the toast isn’t crunchy anymore. The juices from each of the ingredients have soaked into the bread, and therefore into the crunch and the crunch is no more. And that takes the fun away from eating.

In a restaurant last weekend and aware of what the future holds for me if I ordered the ordinary, I asked the waitress to serve all the ingredients to me separately. I will do my own little sandwiches with every bite, in my sweet and sour time.

The advantages: the ingredients tend to be a bit generous because they are seen separately, not based on the size of the toast; the toast keeps its natural character; and, there is more fun in eating. Just follow these simple steps:

-cut a bite-sized portion of the bread;

-spread the pâté (veggie kind for me);

-place a small thin slice of salmon;

-then small portions of all the rest;

-a dash of pepper;

-open your mouth, you know the drill;

-lick fingers. Rinse. Repeat.

Dang! I’m salivating already.

Next time you order your tartine, raise a bite-sized crunch for me.

Cheers!

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Daily Grind

One day. I had a scheduled meeting at 2:00 pm. Thirty minutes prior, I felt sleepy. So I reclined my chair, lifted my legs, and dozed off. My laptop did the same. At exactly 2:00 pm, Nikkei woke me up for the meeting. Still giddy from the power nap, I woke my machine up, put on my earphones, cleared my throat, and joined the meeting.

“Good afternoon.”

I was a minute late but who cared? Nobody. The organizers were still waiting for tardier people to join in.

-

Another day. While at Landers, I told Rissa I’ll wait at the resto section to do some work while she wove through isles of groceries. Just one of our weekly dates on weekdays. Work here means I have my mobile phone with me, connected to the Internet, with no pen or paper. I was wearing a cap, my old pair of chino shorts, and Andre’s pair of white slip-on Birks. There were emails to respond to, emails to read, and emails to ignore. Busy, busy, yes. Heck, by the time my wife showed up at the counter to pay, I was almost through a successful negotiation for a project in Cebu. It was silent work -no words came out of my mouth and nothing needed to be heard. 

-

Thirty years ago when I was still working for a hi-tech multinational company, these daily grinds were unimaginable. If someone had told me then that the future would look like this, I would have whacked his tail for prophesying falsely. Sure, a CEO of the 90s can play golf and do business with his massive phone of mass equaling a car’s battery, telling his secretary to do this and not that -no, it’s not the same. It’s far beyond what it was before.

I can only wonder what work would be like a decade from now. I’d be disappointed if they would still call it work by then. I may still be around to find out.

Cheers to future daily grinds!  

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