Of Milestones, The Love of a Wife and of Friends Who Believed

My view of what legacy to leave my daughters has always been blurred. I always thought writing was my core gift, so with speaking. It was on them where I pinned all my hopes of opportunities opening up and finding one that will bring about what I wished to bequeath my children. But they remain hopes at best.

So when someone broached the idea of seniors biking all the way to Baguio, I immediately went for it. I thought it will be an experience worthy of a blog, which may somehow lead to getting this writer's work noticed. Hope rekindled.

But if it remains a hope, that I pedaled all 270 kilometers (of which the final stretch is the agony that is Kennon Road) is something my children will talk about for years to come. Even friends will view Baguio much differently now knowing one of them took on the challenge of biking it with nothing much going for him but his heart.

More importantly, trips to my father's home in Benguet will take on a much deeper meaning.

This will be my legacy.

However, through the excitement was the reality that my body now aches in so many places, my bike needs quite a number of parts to make it worthy of the journey that is ahead of us. There is also the bigger issue of funding.

But the love of a wife knows no bounds. Cecille, through her heart, saw what was deep in me, the hopes I silently keep. Even with the countless people she wishes to bless this Christmas, she promised I will fulfill my milestone.

And then there are the few special ones who believed, who were as excited I will be doing this journey. More than friends, they, without being asked, quietly pooled their resources so I can fulfill my personal goal and then help others fulfill theirs. For there are others who are looking towards their own milestones but are in want. Now they will complete theirs with me.

Though initially I was only looking at completing my quest, in the end I had my plate really filled. More than a journey of self discovery, this trip revealed much of what was meant for me.

Now I know that all which is profound, all that carries much meaning, all that will ring through the ages can never be done alone.

In this trip I discovered that it is the voices of those who love you and those who believed in you echoing in your heart that will keep you pedaling up that mountain, no matter how difficult the climb might be.

I discovered that it is the enthusiasm of friendships born along the way that pushes you when the legs are on the point of giving up, their laughter that refreshes you, your second wind.

I discovered that it is the wisdom of those who passed this way before that makes you take notice of God's wonder that surrounds you, humbles you, making you complete.

I discovered that in the midst of indifference that now envelopes the world, there are still people who believe that all we do we can because there is an Almighty looking down on us and is eternally interested.

 True, no one does it alone.

Looking back, I never imagined I will actually do it. Up until November 26, it was all but a dream. Sure bikers half my age had actually done it and in a day. Yes, it can actually be done. But none at age 52.

And happen it did. A milestone fulfilled all due to the love of a wife and of friends who believed.

Truly I am blessed.

May Bukas Pa (There Is Still Tomorrow)

I wrote this as an email to a group of close friends last August. I am putting this up on this blog hoping that, just like it did them, it may do those who visit some good. Think of it as my own personal gift.


It's December and we maybe busy running around looking for the fitting Christmas present to those who means much to us. But as the Fox in The Little Prince said: "What is essential is invisible to the eye." For, indeed, it its.....

How many of us actually watch “Agua Bendita”? My wife is a fan and no matter that the story has branched into so many agonizing and confusing twists (masalimuot best describes it), Cecille, often times with Carmella, would watch it.

I don't. Am not on my high horse here but I think I have had too many bad news to end my day with another one. Let's face it, these dramas offer nothing but more sad news. Which makes me wonder what does it have that most Filipinos find it as a fitting means to cap their already hectic and strenuous day. This query has actually been asked in an earlier blog.

But more than the story, what gets me silly is the theme song: Malayo Pa Ang Umaga (for my english speaking friends this literally means "morning is still far off"). Forgive me but I do not see the connection. Another theme that also presents something confounding is the now defunct May Bukas Pa of the loveable Santino fame.

I think these songs offer something that each of us long for: Hope. Now here comes the shocking part: hope it may be but I think it is all misplaced.

Before you start deleting this email, allow me first to present my views.

A few weeks ago an aunt died. She was living in a small nipa hut situated at the back of a nephew's lot, which leaks a lot when it rains. For all the goodness that she represented while she was still strong, it was truly an unfitting end. She had enriched the lives of those she touched and yet she passed away destitute. It was heart wrenching.

Another nephew lamentably regrets not visiting her while she was alive.

This sad event got me asking....

How many of us expressed the same regret when someone who we love suddenly passes away? How many of us painfully wished we can turn back time? How many of us remain tormented because we failed to do what we should have done when we can still do it?

Malayo pa ang Umaga and May Bukas Pa may express hope of things getting for the better tomorrow. It may even indicate faith in what is good.

But often, because there is tomorrow, we tend to postpone the good that we can already do today. Because Malayo Pa Ang Umaga and May Bukas Pa we hold back on our embraces, on our kisses, on our love expressions, on dear moments.

Because Malayo Pa Ang Umaga or because May Bukas Pa, we became complacent.

And then it is all too late.

Like anyone else I have hopes for tomorrow, too. For starters, I picture tomorrow as “collaboration day”, when someone would finally consider my writing skills, ask my contribution that will lead to a literary work and then get remunerated for doing what I love doing.

I picture tomorrow as a day where my gift of gab becomes a channel of blessings for others who are still trudging along their own journey of illness.

But today I will not hold back. I will never hear of Malayo Pa Ang Umaga or May Bukas Pa for it may be too late then. Today I will enjoy the blessings I have received, to hug as much as I can, kiss those I love as often as I can and tell them I love them, bless them, have fun with them, listen to them, feel them, enjoy them.

Today I will tell my father I love him.

I will look forward to hearing Cecille's stories when she comes home later today.

Today I will teach my daughter the Roman Numerals.

And I will, right now, send this email to you guys for you have been a blessing to me, too. Holding it for tomorrow may just be too late.

Essential

Over a week ago, Carmella was in a birthday party where her best friend got a new Samsung Champ touch screen cellular phone as gift. I was curious how she saw this phone compared to what she has and so I asked. Her reply really humbled me and made me one proud daddy.

Carmella began by saying that if she has one, she might just drop it and scratch or even break the fragile touch screen. She went on telling that her very basic Cherry Mobile P1 already fulfills three of the most important things which according to her are:

1. talk to mommy,
2. send mommy text messages,
3. send Ate Trish text messages.

That she can do all these with her phone is, for her, good enough. Well, in my mind, that she also saved for it makes it a premium item. That's right, it is all her money.

So what humbled this father?

In my heart, it is how this child defined, in not so may words, “essential”. From the view of what her phone delivers, these things come to mind:

Essential does not need a touch screen. Essential does not need to be state of the art. Essential does not have to be the best of the best.

Essential is simply being able to connect to those who are important to you, to tell them how you feel, to be able to send them your love.

Suprisingly, “essential” is what most of us adults often fail to define.

We grown ups think of essential as the latest, the shiniest, the branded, the fashionable, the fastest, the expensive, the stuff that makes us feel unique, the gadget carrying the fruit logo, the things the Jones have.

With this follows the view that these are what completes happiness only to realize, after a few weeks, that they fade, they get scratched. So we embark on collecting more of stuff we perceive as “essential” only to end our story like how it begun.

Earlier I mentioned being one proud daddy and truly I am. For as young as 9 my daughter is able to define her "essential". And it isn't jaded.

Who wouldn't be proud of that?

Why The Tummy?

It happens all the time.

Whenever I tell them of my bike adventures, their eyes, for some reason, gravitates towards my mid section.

It's not horrendously big, as a matter of fact. It could be better but it is not beer belly in any sense. It's just not a six-pack. 

But the sort of response I get manifests the distorted view that a six-pack tummy equates to exercise success.

This is Tony dela Cruz. He is a very good friend, a biking mate and an inspiration to all he rides with. He may not have a six-pack but when we rides, he is one of those leading the peloton. 

Yes, he is always at the front, even on those agonizing uphills. He is among the toughest riders I have known and maybe even the fastest in his category. He would give those twice younger than him a run for their money.

At each annual physical examinations where he works, he consistently proves to be the healthiest. In fact, he tells me that they would point to him as, what I would personally call, “the fitness benchmark.”

There is no six-pack in this picture, no sculptured biceps and chests, no Mr. Universe triceps. What we have here, despite the lack of visual evidence, is simply a picture of healthy folks.

We may not have the physique that will invite hundreds to our chosen sport. But as in everything that is essential, the profound remains invisible to the eye.

In my mind, it is our mad quest for vanity that often push us to get into so many things all at the same time only to end up failing in all of them. The gym time, the spa visits and the running in a steam suit all comes to naught.

And it is perhaps this same attitude that is mirrored by our life choices.

We obsesses over evidences before we set out trying things and so we end up getting nothing done at all. We focus on the impossible, on the difficulty, on the things that can go wrong. Yet at the same we wonder why we do not take off.

This heart beating in my chest remains healthy in spite of its age because the mind has decided that a healthy heartbeat is far more important than a six pack tummy. That I continue to ride just says it has chosen it's priorities well.

What Is Wrong With This Picture?

We now lived in a world that mostly fall into a region called “the gray area.” Lots of standards have been redefined that many people have mistakenly identified bad as something passable. Though obviously bad, that they have been labeled as modern should make them widely accepted.

So what is wrong with this picture? Pooh Bear mug, obviously directed to kids. But a Cappuccino Tumbler? What was in the mind of the one who conceptualized this product? Are they really expecting me to allow my 9-year-old to a heaping tumbler of Cappuccino? 

What are kids into these days that brought about this idea they need a caffeine boost via a Pooh Bear coffee tumbler? Too much PSP?

Or have I remained in the dark ages without knowing it? Has coffee become the in-thing for kids as well and I simply missed that trend? I find this all confusing.

I am still trying to figure out the Starbucks concessionaire that I once mentioned in an earlier blog. I do not know if the whole idea was misplaced or that it is now perfectly acceptable for kids as young as 7 to be identified to a coffee shop. OK they serve non-coffee drinks to, I assume, appease children brought in by their coffee crazy parents.

For indeed, coffee will not be coffee if accompanied by screams from a bored kid. Which is exactly why I have coffee when the whole house is still asleep. So give that child some brain-freeze-caramel-flavored-massively-topped-whipping-cream frappe-stuff to stunt any intended wailing while we enjoy our Macchiato. Isn't all these comfy? This is perhaps why coffee shops have turned into family zones. 

Still, in spite of all the modernity, the fact remains that the future is not about gray areas. What brings us there is our ability to identity bad from good. We have all the tools to be able to do that. And we are far more educated now to really be contented, even accept, that good enough can pass off as excellent.

And as a parent, even at the expense of sounding like some blast from the puritanical past, it is my responsibility to be able to define the lines clearly to my young child. There is no future for fence sitters. The future belongs to those who have a clear view of what is good and excellent and work towards it.

So what about that confused Pooh Mug? Ah, it now belongs to this coffee crazy father.

The Homeschooling Dad

“So when is Carmella going back to regular school?

“We will do it until, perhaps, high school.”

“WHAT?!!!”

I can understand their shock. Parenting, after all, isn't easy. But to include home schooling in this already complicated task can, for some, make parenthood all the more overwhelming.

Yes, no one is easily convinced, not even the closest of friends or relatives, that I am capable of giving my daughter the mentoring she needs. Once I was yelled at, jeered, suspected, doubted only because I have considered myself as Carmella's teacher.

But it does not surprise me at all. 

Schools have always been the safest place to bring our children. They have experts who had it all figured out with data to prove their studies, who know what technically works while we parents simply lack that same degree of training.

The only thing going for us is that more than anyone in this world, we know our child. We are a party to his universe. They are of us. 

And inadequate we may be, we are keenly aware of what is really at stake here. For clearly, who they ultimately turn out to be is solely on us. 

Hence as homeschooling parents, we do our best to explore all avenues to make our mentoring count. The whole experience may leave us drained, sometimes frustrated, other times in tears. Still we do not delegate and we trudge on. We learn as they learn.

Indeed we are the brave ones. On our own, we fearlessly took the task of preparing our children for bigger things. 

We may lack the tools that most trained mentors have but are continuously willing to face all the challenges, learn new things no matter how awkward that may sometimes be, recall stuff we would rather forget because once they were dreaded subjects, sing even if signing was never a gift, all for the sake of being a true hands-on parent.

Can there be a nobler task than this?

Birthday Musings

Lately, Carmella was in a private children's party. And so with other parents I was there enjoying the usual party favorites and even more. For some wicked reason, I see parties as excuses to pig out.

As expected in children's parties, moms talk. What caught my attention was a story one mother was telling about a recent birthday of a classmate of her daughter. These children are in early grade school, around age 7, but the extravagance of the event was something that blew this mom's mind.

It was apparent the classmate's parents were pretty well off. Only the moneyed can actually afford to rent a special tent venue right in the vicinity of a former army base now an upscale business park and invite concessionaires, Starbuck's among them, to put up stalls to cater to invited guests who are mostly their daughter's classmates. Instead of the usual and once more personal offerings of party poppers, chicken lollipops, ice cream and cakes, there is now the mini food court.

While trying to process what I was hearing, I was also hard at work trying to remember when hands-on children's birthday parties became passe. I was also trying to figure where Starbuck's fits in all these.

School cafeterias, particularly in the bigger and more exclusive schools, have adopted the food court concept. The wall colors and the table settings are so fast food. Gone are the days when the type of food served are those supervised and prepared by certified dieticians. They have been replaced by concessionaires selling their fat laden, sugar rich, generally oh-so-very-unhealthy menus to kids. After exposing our children to all these, it should not come as a surprise if we are left with obese, sickly wards.

I personally find this approach as selling a life style more than food. So more woe to our children.

Sadly, the same concept is being adopted by the very well off for their children's parties. What was once a pure parental effort has now been sub-contracted. The parents are given to the idea they'd rather pay someone else to make things happen for them, for their children. This leaves me asking questions like where all this will lead, what have become of us as parents, what all these seeming indifference will eventually tell our children.

Please don't get me wrong. I believe that so long as we can afford it, we can go all out in celebrating our children's birthdays. We have actually done it with Carmella.

But when the focus is more on the event rather than the celebrant, then it becomes alarming. Our kids now becomes the excuse rather than the reason.

I believe that on birthdays, they need to be hugged more than the usual. Most specially on this day of remembrance, they need to feel how blessed we are because we have them. These expressions don't cost anything and yet their effect lasts a lifetime.

They need to be guided to become somebody rather than join the ranks of the anybody who would instead indulge on extravagant parties and others like it in their quest to be vainly recognized. They need to know they will always be above all the glitter and glamor this world can offer.

We should help them recognize their own gifts and birthdays are reasons to celebrate these gifts. Let us teach our little ones to share what they have been given to bless others.

Let us then teach our children, on their special day, to hug back.

My Favorite Panadero

This is Domeng, my favorite panadero. He delivers my pan de sal each morning which, I have to admit, complements my instant coffee. 3-in-1 coffee mixes sucks. That is until I have it with Domeng's pan de sal.

So is Domeng's pan de sal to die for? Not really. Though they are clean and oven fresh, the true blue pan de sal eater will surely have a thing or two sour to say of his bread.

But what his pan de sal might lack Domeng makes up through his love of work.

You see, no matter the difficulty of his business, through heat and rain, Domeng smiles.

No matter how little you buy, he continues to smile and will still cheerfully include an extra piece into your paper bag.

No matter how pressed he is for time, he would engage in small chat if he feels you are up to it and often, a little wisdom gets tossed into your conversation.

Adding value in what he does seems to be his call of the day. He loves his work and that love, unaware he might be, extends to those who buys his pan de sal.

In my mind, it is this brand of cheer that creates the flavor in my bland 3-in-1 coffee mix. And it is this happy morning encounter that brings about a positive and enthusiastic start to my day.

And for those unexpected instances, like missing a day's delivery because he has to attend a fiesta at their home town, they are quickly forgotten. After all, a daily dose of kindness is sure to bring out the forgiving spirit.

So after a day that is dominated by chaos due to congested roadways, surly security guards, yapping fuel station attendants, gossiping sales ladies, devil-may-care drivers, inconsiderate fellow road users, overloaded buses, corrupt traffic enforcers, grim office politics, noisy fastfood buzz boys, long queues at ATM machines, the generally unfriendly world, it is perhaps a bit assuring that kindness and good cheer is just a morning away, courtesy of my favorite panadero.  

Rewards

Can all your biking put bread on the table? Will this obsession put money in the bank? Will it really make you rich?

Frankly? No, it will not.

It might, in case someone decides my enthusiasm born of passion is worth investing on. But that is wishful thinking. I am already 52. What is there to invest on this man who may appear to many as merely bike crazy?

Yes, there is no money here.

Only rewards.

I am rewarded with a friend who knew I would enjoy biking more by going clipless and so without much ado, gave me his spare Ritchey pedals.

I am rewarded with friends overjoyed I am going clipless, and rewarded with another who, upon learning I was trying to save up for a set of cleats, biked some 15 kilometers to hand me his brand new set.

I am rewarded with a friend who instead of selling his extra biking apparel, gave them all to me as gift, and with another who, in times of want, would generously cover for me so I can move on.

I am rewarded with a friend who, in spite of being exhausted himself, would cheer me on as I agonize that steep climb, and with friends who are jubilant that I had never given up and had conquered that mountain even if I have to unceremoniously stop or walk my bike plenty of times.

I am rewarded with friends who will keep up with my often laborious pace at the rear of the peloton, would stay on even if they feel they can pedal faster because friendships are far more important.

I am rewarded with friends who look past what I can afford, who insists that biking itself stands taller than what I bring.

I am rewarded with friends from far away who are so eager to share my happiness, and with one specially going out of her way to complete what I lack.

I am rewarded with friends who are basically keen on making the best of what I already have technically and would go one farther by taking on babysitting duties for me.

I am rewarded with biking stories that often challenge the human spirit, stories of bravery, stories of humility in spite of greatness, stories of genuine friendships.

I am rewarded with laughter which all the more makes biking fun.

I am rewarded with a view that changes my often sad perception of life, rewarded with the awareness of the richness of what surrounds me, rewarded with opportunity to enjoy God's grandeur through His creation, rewarded with gratitude for all blessing He has already bestowed upon me.

Many continue to work hard to save enough so they can finally spend time on real friendships, feel God's bounty, and then be filled with gratitude.

Biking did not bring bring money into my savings account but then again, I already had my fill.

Photocred: ASRivera

Why Am I Always Tired?

“Why am I always tired!!!?”

Too often I hear this complaint from well salaried folks, folks whose annual income wants me to turn green with envy.

Perhaps I was being naïve by thinking money should bring comfort, not stress and has figured these complaints as mainly a slang of the rich. But I have, since then, grown wiser and had begun to see that more than often, the cause of this fatigue is self inflicted.

We are tired because we over spent, tired because we lived beyond what we can truly afford, tired because we take on a profligate life style.

According to Dave Ramsey, fun can be bought but not happiness. I think the mistaken notion that happiness is a commodity has people chasing after the wrong goals only to discover their joy lies elsewhere.

This can probably explain why our dresser has more shirts or dresses than necessary, our closet more bags than we will actually use and our shoe cabinet more shoes than we need.

In my mind all this is a consequence of want, which is spontaneous and often superfluous, disguising itself into a need, which is a valid condition, and whatever line that differentiates them has been blurred.

Sadder still, with the midnight madness sales, buy-one-take-one offers, zero-interest options, the line gets even murkier that for some of us, want has mutated into a need. Consequently, we become disoriented and our priorities gets bent.

There is really no reason to be buried in debt. But the humongous cash flowing out of those ATMs can, indeed, inflict one with the I-Can-Afford-This Syndrome or perhaps create some sort of foggy confidence that there is always the next salary to cover any spending oversight.

And while the aim of all our disbursal is to achieve happiness, we still are not. Instead we find ourselves wallowing in an even bigger debt.

I personally believe that to spend is also to understand the value of money. Unwarranted spending is the effect of ignorance of worth which, consequently, leads to a life lived beyond our means.

And so we remain tired.

Photo Cred: vonichi of cpb/armanSrivera

The Birthday Registry

I am turning 52 in a few days. I do not know if senility is starting to set in but I feel I am becoming more and more sensitive about birthdays.

2 years ago, I never knew I was turning 50 and that being 50 was big deal. It took a surprise birthday gift from Cecille, a trip to Boracay actually, for me to realize something unusual is afoot, that a chapter is being started, that I am old.

And old I think I am which is why anything birthday related is contentious topic.

Like birthday gifts.

For some reason, it has become a habit for friends and relations to ask what the celebrant wants to have for his birthday only to give him something "they" want rather than what "the celebrant" himself wants. You know I love to bike, why the long sleeve office shirts? Very puzzling indeed.

Which is why I think weddings are easier.

Many wives may strongly disagree with this timid view but I personally feel weddings always turn into truly memorable events because it has “The Wedding Registry.” The new couple are assured they won't get twice as many punch bowls, twice as many wall clocks or electric fans or frying pans or self cleaning flat irons.

Above all, they can also safely bet that no redundant wedding gift from someone's else's nuptial will find itself “re-wrapped and re-presented.”

Wedding Registries should be the envy of birthday celebrants. Nothing beats writing what you think you need and then actually getting it. Wedding registries are very much like owning a genie in a lamp.

Imagine that happening on birthdays. Imagine if there is also such thing as “The Birthday Registry.”

Think about truly receiving that stuff you have been dreaming of and drooling over for the last 11 months, not something which was hurriedly paid for and then wrapped without much thought accompanying it.

At last you can be sure you will be getting biking shorts and not neckties.

Yes, I am old and am, indeed, getting very sensitive about birthdays.

Occupation

I hate being stumped.

And I get stumped every time someone asks me where I work and had to say I am a stay at home dad.

It is not a very pleasant experience the way they sometimes respond to that reply. For some wicked reason, domesticated for them means pet.

Which probably explains why I hate filling up forms. It is a deeply excruciating experience trying to figure out what to put on that line that asks: “occupation”. For years I just left it empty and consequently, for years I have been unfairly regarded as a nobody.

Recently Cecille was involved in a painful accident that needed 5 surgeries. I was left to fill out all the medical as well as accident report forms. And there I was, face to face with that line that asks the dreaded question: occupation.

Strangely, this time I found myself bravely putting in “writer”. It was perhaps faith on this thing that I love doing that moved me to label it and then put it as an entry on that once frightening line.

I may not be in the same league as Seth Godin or Rajesh Setty, a Tom Peters or John Wood nor am I a Dave Ramsey, all of who I deeply admire and whose styles I try to emulate.

But like them, I suppose, I was blessed with the skills to tell a story through incessant and often (particularly in my case) emotional thumping of this keyboard. To tell a story which, in the words of Anne Jackson, the world needs in order to be complete.

I am a writer who loves talking of life experiences and share the tools for living I pick up along the way in hope it brings enrichment to the world around me. I am a writer because I love doing work that I believe matters.

Penelope Trunk wrote that what's important is to be kind, and be gracious and do it in ways that make people want to do that for someone else.

Hopefully, through my writing, I am able to do just that.

Coffee Moments, Profound Thoughts

I was having coffee with a brother-in-law this morning and I was pleasantly surprised on the lessons I learned from him.

Tony believes that during this age of supposed mid-life crisis:

a) Sibling rivalry is no longer an issue.
b) There is nothing more to prove.
c) We have run the race.

What I think Tony really meant was life would be a more pleasant experience if we learn to taper down our expectations, if we learn to let go, let things be, learn to be more accepting.

Too often we fit people around us in a box we so designed in order to please ourselves. I do not know if this desire is driven by our own sense of mortality. We are intent on choreographing each and every dance that will take place in our lives in fear that our happiness will be compromised if someone steps out of line.

But rather than enjoy the moment, we end up more miserable than ever.

We have forgotten that in the richness of the diversity that surrounds us is where we can find true happiness. It is not defined by a single point of view but rather is infinite. And that view will never appear clear to us if are not willing to let go, to let things be, to be more accepting.

As Cecille says, letting go is expecting less. And rightly so for it is in expecting less that we learn to be more accepting.

Indeed, there is nothing more to prove specially at this age of supposed mid-life crisis, myself at 52. We have seen better days, have experienced finer things. We may have yet to achieve most of our dreams but we know how it is to be happy. We have loved and have been loved back. We have run the race.

We learned to accept that rivalry, sibling and others, is no longer important. Far more important is that we were blessed with people who were happy just to have spent even a slight moment of their years with us. No matter how far fetched their beliefs may be right now, there is no denying they have been a good part of us.

Oh yes, as a close, it does takes tremendous effort to let go specially because it demands humility. But humility often leads us to people who love being with us, think highly of us mainly because we are not complicated.

I love coffee moments. Sometimes along with the aroma comes the profound.

Through Children's Eyes

Children have so much to teach. In my recent road trip with Carmella, she did just that.

It was only me and her, in an old van with a broken down air conditioner, on a long trip to our family home far up North.

But not a whimper. She is busy thinking of the fun she's going to have with her cousins. Her expectations is far more important than the uncomfortable trip.

Yes, we adults may have an idea of what probably lies on the next bend and children may have a limited view on most things.

But while we may have the experience, children have their innocence. Which is perhaps why they continuously see only what is good in all things.

Yes, us adults put too much emphasis on what can go wrong while children just can't wait for things to happen.

Adults are so obsessed on making sure events turn out the way they expect, insistent on control. Children, on the other hand, just enjoy whatever comes along.

Adults see the hotel and it's amenities. Children see the beach.

Adults see differences. Children see similarities.

Adults take many things for granted. My 4-year-old nephew Jack-jack finds an old squeaky gate at Grandma's house along Brookside Road something worth his whole afternoon.

Adults aim for perfection. Children are prepared to be wrong.

Which is why, in Sir Ken Robinson's view, they always come up with something original.

How?

Adults try desperately to sing that song as close to the original as they can. Children, on the other hand, will sing about Superman, Ironman, Batman or any of the Justice League in the tune of an old Spiderman TV theme and be so proud about their sense of originality.

The secret to their joy? I would like to think it is in their way of sensing the extraordinary in things we adults ignore, their enthusiasm to have fun, their ability to focus on what truly matters in their youth.

Young they may be but are the true experts on enjoying the moment. And why not when the world is constantly a fun place in their eyes?

When A Daughter Runs Away

She just left.

No explanations, no trace.

Perhaps so afraid of consequences, of failed expectations.

A deeply sorrowful mother weary from much crying,

yearning
for a relationship that could have been far less distant.

A very young sister so confused,

praying, hoping, wishing,

for that important part of her to come back.

A distressed father

who traveled all the way north in search for her.

And failing. 

A family now deeply longs
for that joy found only in that embrace

from the daughter who ran away.

Obliterate The Competition

A few weeks ago I had to retrieve a phone at a shop after its failed repair attempt. Since it was Cecille who turned it in and little information was on the claim stub about the store, I had to ask for directions.

An outlet store of a very popular Finnish brand was the first one I saw. Huge and very prominent, I had this impression they had “the” presence and will most probably know the ins and outs of anything that is cellular phone in this their territory. Was I so wrong.

It has instantly become apparent that they have “Obliterate The Competition” as their mission statement. They could have just told me off instead of giving me a litany of how crap the model of phone I was using, of why the its manufacturer has left the Philippines, etc.... I was there to retrieve a phone, not to solicit bad news.

Crap is already a given otherwise I would not have this phone repaired on the first place. But is it necessary to make it look like I was the lousy one for having this lousy phone? Do I have to be embarrassed openly for my choices?

I can see two things happening now. First, I will not buy a phone at this particular outlet even if they have the best deal in town or even the whole country for that matter.

Secondly, I will seriously consider Korean before even thinking Finnish. Perhaps I would have instantly replaced this American model with a Finnish brand if I hadn't been turned off by bad salesmanship.

I believe that the most effective come-on does not hinge itself on animosity but rather on how we are willing to walk the extra mile. It is good manners that always bring people back.

Sadly, so many I know are focused on “Obliterating the Competition” not only in their business but in their private lives and relationships. And so their own sadness and anxiety flows out in conversations that stress those they talk with.

Oh yes, that “lousy” phone did get repaired eventually, by a friend who insisted on not looking at “lousy” but on just making it work. And it now works great.

No wonder then why his business keeps growing by the day. PHONETHICS is his shop and I can see the emphasis on Ethics. Truly, here is one who would gladly walk that extra mile.

Photo Credit: Thomas Hawk @ Flickr

Relaxation And The Evening News

I just do not get it.

Most people I know, after a stressful day at work, would still turn on the local evening news. More stress to get over the initial stress?

Here in the Philppines, evening news is synonymous to bad news. For some unexplained reason, news will not be news if it isn't bad. Is it because bad is enlightening?

And the evening news will always be followed by soap operas dwelling on more bad news: intrigues, oppression, victimization, corruption, rape, scandal and all other negatives one can think of. Is it because bad sells?

Still people stay tuned.

Does all this suggest that seeing people worse off than ourselves makes for a relaxing situation? That they are the one in a fix and not us should make us feel better? That the resounding misery around us qualifies for entertainment?

So what does all this make of us?

Anne Murray once did a song titled "A Little Good News". Utopian? Maybe.

But all this bad news on TV sure makes for more wishing.

Photo Credit: CarbonNYC@Flickr

Super Dad

 Sometimes I just don't realize how much I try to be Super Dad. I found this out the other day during my weekly laundry encounter.

We do not own a modern load-and-leave washing machine, one that is peppered by buttons and has a mind of its own. Ours is the basic model that requires so much elbow grease for a really clean wash. Indeed, doing laundry in this house is one tough job.

Amazingly, as tough as it seems to be, in between this washing and rinsing contest I was able to prepare lunch, organized math and writing practice work for Carmella, checked her previous work, fix the bed, changed the sheets, wash the dishes, prepare the daughter for her bath, chat with her about recent discoveries, has set the table, watered the plants and do light dusting.

But in spite of the lack of focus on a particular task, my laundry will still turn out smelling clean and fresh. I must have been created to be good at this.

Recently my good friend Jon briefly experienced being in my situation. He is my biking mentor, my ride buddy and it was surprisingly enriching talking about housework with him while enjoying our favorite sport. I can sense his special joy in walking this particular mile for his family.

It was also during this time when I discovered that this man cooks a mean beef stew, something I would have not probably known if not for that moment of being in his zone when he did a Super Dad. A great mountain biker he is but being a good cook is a pleasant revelation. Indeed, we bring out the best that is in us when we give our best for others.

My brother in law once said that in his eyes I am a true hands-on dad and a morning of suds was all it took for me to really understand what he meant.

A lot of sacrifice is often needed to truly become a part of the weave called family. And perhaps, being a Super Dad, the one who covers as much as he can, the best he can while he can, is a route I am quite familiar with.

To all Super Dad's out there, may your tribe increase!

Photo Credit: www.superman-picture.com/logo/

Reflections

Carmella asked me the other day how long will it be when she turns 18.

I thought it will be good math exercise for her so we began counting the years, comparing the differences in age between her and her favorite cousins, and how old she needs to be before she starts trail riding with me. Homeschooling? Precisely.

Counting the years, however, also brings to mind the finite. As we were going over it, the math exercises made me reflect on my own mortality.

I will be turning 52 in a few months and Carmella 9 a month after me. It will be 9 more years when she turns 18 and perhaps another 8 when she gets married. The 9 may be a stretch but the next 8, if I make it that far, will be a milestone. It will be a great blessing to be there for that next 8 years.

Sadly, thinking about those numbers made me imagine what I might miss.

I may no longer be there during the best days of her life, when she begins fulfilling her dreams.

I may no longer be there when she deals with the stages of falling in love and then, finally, seeing her off to start a family of her own.

I may no longer be there to see her firstborn.

I may no longer be there to hear her children laugh, play with them, shower them treats and feel their love through their hugs.

I may no longer be there to tell them stories of their mom's courage as she fought Leukemia.

Sobering thoughts, really.

But sobering they may be, thoughts of the finite can also lead one to pursue a determined effort to treasure and make the most of what we have, of the time still at hand. Truly, they are more precious than gold.

I may only have the now, the now to cherish each and every moment Carmella is with me. But it will be my legacy, my gold.

Yes, mortality makes for even a greater reason to love, to make the most of life, to be forever thankful that I have what I have.

And making the most of my present I will.

Fiercely.

The Push

For the past week I was in a slump.

I was not thinking well.

I was feeling sorry for myself because my projects did not pan out as I hoped they would.

I had a hard time thinking of what to write in this blog, which is probably the consequence of the above.

I was not riding my bike as often as I want which really distressed me a lot.

And yesterday, I got my Electrocardiogram results. The doctor saw something that shouldn't normally be there and so requested an Echocardiogram. This compounded the sulking even more.

Yes, I was not a pleasant person to be with. Period.

Then this morning I came across a video of  the late Gabrielle Bouliane.

In the midst of all our heart aches and frustrations, truly, there is still so much to be thankful for.......

Photo credit: iiana@flicker

Of friends and friendships

After my last blog, I realized that I never really set big things for myself. Indeed, I never challenged myself worthy to be an example.

So the other day saw me finish my first 100 kilometers on my trusty mountain bike. It was total struggle. In fact, two days after the ride and it was still difficult having to sit. Everything was sore as sore can be.

But rise to the challenge I did.Yes there were moments of tremendous pain, of nearly giving up. But I pedaled and pedaled with all that I got.

It was also the first time I was out wearing cleats. I was clipped-in for most of the 100 kilometer trek. There was always the chance of falling over because I am, literally, attached to the bike. But fall I did not. That monkey is now off my back.

Looking back, I realized the one thing that shadowed all these: true friendship.

I was able to go clipless because a good friend gave me his pedal.

I made it clipped because another mate gave me a brand new pair of cleats to use with my new clipless pedal.

I never had problems with sweat running down my eyes because a buddy gave me a head gear that helps absorb sweat.

I was not the strongest and so I was constantly at the end. But everybody stopped to wait to check if I was alright.

I now know what else I am capable of accomplishing and will enjoy mountain biking even more because of friends who made sure I will make the most of this ride.

Finally, I made it through my first 100 because I have friends who rode with me to the finish.

And surely, I will achieve bigger things this year, both in and out of my chosen sport, because I am in the company of those who think I mattered.

Resolutions

Maybe because I heard it often enough that New Year has subconsciously etched the word “resolution” in my mind. I wouldn't be surprised if soon a thesaurus search on the noun “resolution” will yield “New Year” as a result. It may have unknowingly turned into a tradition much like the New Year itself.

Perhaps it is because of this, or the thought that 2010 is synonymous to me turning 52, that I suddenly found myself aware of flaws once accepted as a normal part of my unique personality. Flaw they maybe but they are what makes Roy this Roy. Cecille even thought they were cute. Once upon at time, that is.

It was while watching Carmella bike around the neighborhood recently that I caught myself yelling directions: stop there, watch the gutter, don't turn that way, you are going too fast, avoid the dog, etc.... But Carmella continued on, oblivious of this screaming father.

Since when did I turn into a Marine Drill Sergeant? Was I like this all along? Is this why Carmella has become more and more argumentative with me? Have I become a difficult person to deal with?

I am afraid asking Cecille because I already know what she will say: yes, you have become the stiff one and you are no fun.

I love hugging my daughter and I love it much when she would hug be back. But as she is growing up, I should expect that there will be less and less of the hugging back.

So I believe it is time I should try to work on being the gentle one, to drop all those Drill Sergeant paraphernalia from the year before and work on being the coolest Dad ever and to be hugged even more.

It is time to train my eyes to see all that is good, to choose seeing the battles we have won, the blessings, the healing and the friendships that came our way, over the anxiety brought by illness in the family.

It is time to appreciate the collective strength of this family and to always celebrate togetherness.

It is time to be grateful for each day that we have each other.

So, am I making a resolution here?

A goal for sure.


Photo credit: Chica and Jo@ Flickr

Have we forgotten how to have fun?

Yesterday I re-tweeted, emailed, posted in a local mountain bike forum and shared on Facebook a YouTube link about a mountain biker who thinks he has captured something eerie while riding at the Backbone Trail in Malibu, California.

An artist friend from New York and a fellow biker together with his office staff were spooked by the video. Some of my biking buddies who've seen it thinks that their nightly bike commute will now be more exciting.

But there are also friends and relations who believe the video is all fraud. Admirably, a couple of them even went deeply technical to explain their point. Which led me to ask: when did we become too serious?

Has the rush of CGI technology in movies made us overly suspicious of what is real and what is computer generated that we are now so determined than ever to answer all the “WHY's” in the world?

In his book Attitudes That Attract Success, Wayne Cordeiro mentioned that when we try to figure out everything, when we become so caught up in the details of life, before we know it, it is over and we missed the whole ride.

Maybe it's a fraud but do we have to do an autopsy on every event that passes our way? Do we have to have an explanation every time? Must I know why my daughter laughs the way she does?

Why do we insist on exhausting ourselves answering the “Why?” when a “Wow!” is all that is needed? Why can't we just enjoy the ride?

Or have we totally forgotten how to have fun?


Photo credit: Sismoon@flickr

Do I Want To Be Rich?

So many times I have been asked what is my goal or what do I want money to do for me. I must have answered in many different ways that I am already confused on what it is that I am really aiming for.

Lately a friend was explaining the value of financial intelligence and the popular view that through thorough understanding its concept can one truly achieve financial wealth. Names of John Maxwell and Robert Kiyosaki would occasionally pop up during our conversation. John Maxwell is someone I have grown to admire while Robert Kiyosaki is someone I am currently trying to know. But both, in my opinion, had already seen the "light".

It was a good talk in that it brought a lot of introspection. I went home and then to bed with the nagging question “How financially rich do I really want to be?” Which led to a night of severe tossing and turning.

Perhaps I would have slept better if from the start I was asking the question “Why do I want to be rich?” 

Is it to leave an enduring legacy that will continue on even when I am already gone and back to my Lord and Creator, a legacy akin to the Taipan's and the Mestizo's in our society?

Or is it so I can fulfill a purpose?

Rick Warren in an interview said that the very first thing he did after his success was to return all the salary he has received since he started as a preacher. He felt so liberated for having preached for free.

While it may be true that I long for a more comfortable life, one that will allow my family to lessen our dependence on public transport that insists on sitting ten people when it will only allow for 8, I will aim for nothing more than what will basically fill the need of this family. For basic means less and less means having more left to give.

Dave Navarro in his ebook 7 Steps To Playing A Much Bigger Game has defined value as being about what we can do for people who need what we can do.

If I can help a friend focus on things that he believes are good rather on things that disappoints and if it will help him move on full of hope, then I have provided value, I have fulfilled my purpose.

If I can ease a mother's aching heart towards a daughter so sick, then I have provided value, I have fulfilled my purpose.

And if being rich will help me achieve these and more, then I have answered my question.

Photo Credit: AMagill @ Flickr