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!

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.

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.

As the year comes to a close, we cherish our Thanksgiving tradition of attending Holy Mass and, during breakfast, sharing reflections on God’s abundant blessings throughout the year. With grateful hearts, we welcome the New Year, praying for joy, peace, and prosperity for all. Wishing everyone a blessed and Happy New Year!

Losing Andre, Finding Andre

Instant panic. In seconds, the quiet McStore turned into a hide-and-seek arena. We scrambled in and out of the store, frantically searching for our little adventurer.

“Check the deep fryer!” Rissa shouted.

‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ came rushing to mind.

We finally found him inside a nearby video arcade, his neck outstretched, watching older kids playing games. He was completely unbothered and oblivious to the terror we were having for lunch. We, in contrast, aged a decade in those ten minutes.

Forward 25 years, and the boy who wandered off is now the man who keeps us on course. Literally, like a compass. When we travel, Rissa and I willingly switch into what we call “bobo mode” because we know Andre (and happy-meal Nikkei) have it all figured out -directions, itineraries, logistics -you name it. But, much like those McDonald’s meals, I still paid.

His influence extends into our lighting design firm, Toespin. Previously, I would say he “works for me.” Now, I proudly say he “works with me.” Of course, he complains occasionally, frequently, but that’s ok.

Andre, the best golf coach I never asked for, introduced me to the game. Now, the fairway is our shared playground. Despite missed putts and lost balls, we’ve had more laughs than birdies. Joy doesn’t always come from perfect drives but from being together.

And, of course, his barista skills. The boy who once disappeared is now the man who fills our cups -both literally and figuratively.

Andre, as you turn 29, know this: the best is yet to come. Life rewards hard work, kindness, and faith, and you embody all of that.

Happy Birthday, son. Thank God for returning you to us all those years ago. You have led us ever since.

Now, give me a cortado, please, so I can raise a toast.

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.

Thanks and Fore-Ward

Hey!

I just finished reading all the comments on yesterday’s blog post and Rissa’s update. While you were busy commenting, liking, and loving, I was out early on the fairway with three of my best golf buddies: my twin brother Fred, my brother Gani, and my son-coach, Andre. We spent the morning driving, pitching, putting, and, of course, hunting down those elusive lost balls. Note: for those who don’t play the game, golf doubles as a treasure-hunt-kind of activity. Double the fun, double the time. Yep, wonder no more.

The day didn’t stop there. I attended an early evening mass as my thanksgiving offering and then capped it off with dinner alongside my lovely family. Was it a packed day? Sure. But busy? Not really. I had fun, and that’s what mattered.

Now, to those who took the time to send a like, a love, or a comment, here’s my heartfelt back-at-you. I read every single one of your comments, and as I did, I mentioned your name (or your handle) to God in prayer. I wasn’t just speed-scanning with my eyes. If you had been sitting beside me at my desk, you would’ve heard me softly -yet audibly -say your name. And if you liked or commented on both posts (FB and IG), guess what? You got prayed for multiple times!

My prayer? That God blesses you twice over for the wishes and prayers you sent my way. To the kind souls who prayed for me to hit birdies on the course -you know who you are -may you find yourself hitting birdies in your next game. I know, I know. You probably wished for a million dollars for me. Had you known, you might have wished for five million instead, right? And too bad you can’t wish for a new girlfriend for me -Rissa might have something to say about that. Or worse, something to hit me with (though thankfully, my golf bag is safely out of her reach).

But here’s the thing: God knows your heart better than I do -better than even you do. So, dacál á salámat (many thanks) to you for your kindness, humor, and prayers.

As I sit here with a warm cup of coffee in my hands, I raise it to all of you. You are all beautiful spirits, and I’m deeply grateful for every one of 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.