The Stay at Home Dad

Cancer

2012-01-20T13:53:00.001+08:00

I love writing, I love telling mystories which is why I love this blog.

But life suddenly threw something soheavy that stumped me, broke me. Nothing made sense. It was sounreal.

October last year Cecille wasdiagnosed with Stage 4 Adenocarcinoma. It is lung cancer at itsworst. The prognosis was severely devastating. It was lifeinterrupted. I lost all enthusiasm to write, to tell my story.

No symptoms. One day she was healthy,the next they accidentally discovered this tumor as big as a tennisball in her right lung and metastasis has occurred. They took tissuesamples for biopsy on the nodules that has already grown on the baseof her neck. It spread even to her liver.

I tried to hold on to anything thatwould make me understand but nothing above that which was dreadfulwould come. Some relatives and friends from whom I was counting for strength were thevery ones insistent in finding out how soon all this will end. Someeven encouraging me to start sorting our affairs, to prepare forthe worst.

Cecille and I live healthy lives. Wenever indulge on processed food particularly those that comes in cans.We consume vegetables and fruits more than most close acquaintances. Wewould rather eat in and enjoy our cooking than eat out. We have novices.

I bike till I drop while Cecille isamong the few in our village who does not take the trike from thevillage main gate to our home preferring the good 150-meter walk.

We love life and have made it ouradvocacy to help those who are stricken with cancer, those with less, those just wishing to have a little more time with ones they love.

Now it is Cecille who is sick. An irony.

This person, my reason for my writing, my inspiration,my strength, is sick. I thought we were through with this sort of journey after Carmella. I thought we were done with the aches, the anxiety, the bouts with hopelessness. I thought I would never be afraid again. I wanted to be angry.

But there is so much goodness Cecille has brought into my life. She made me complete. She is my joy.

So I chose to believe.

"Look where you want to go next, and don't focus on the rocks and bumps immediately in front of you." asone biker mom wrote in a mountain biking magazine I recently read.

“Look where you want to gonext.....” Indeed, it is not about the journey, with all itsstruggles, but where Cecille and I wanted to be at the end of thisroad.

So rather than be afraid, I chose tofocus on healing. Rather than be disturbed by the uncertain, Ichose to look, with enthusiasm, towards our plans and hopes.Rather than doubt, I chose to believe.

Down this path, this particular gnarlysingle track, I have chosen my line and I have committed.

I know I will see my self through.

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As of this writing, Cecille is currently on her fourth chemotherapy session. Middle of February she will have another CT Scan to assess the progress of her treatment. Her last scan revealed that after two treatments the tumor has shrunk by 46% while most of the nodules have disappeared. We believe that come February we will see ourselves through.

Would I Have It Any Other Way?

2011-09-22T10:38:00.000+08:00

There are times when discouragementsets in. Frustrated because of the limited space one operates in, hegets choked by what he perceives as a continuing want. He begins tonotice that everyone had ran past him, leaving him to ask if it wascomplacency or the absence of freedom, like those enjoyed by others, caused his timid pace. All the unanswered questions breaks him.

But in the middle of his distress, heturns to see his sleeping daughter and begins to ask.

Would he really choose personal freedomover her? Would all the synonyms of success come closeto the 7-letter name of his child?

Would he rather be that father busybuilding his empire or would he, instead, choose to be present andavailable for every little victory she achieves, be awed by another original and built-up-from-scratch art project, listento each story she wants to share?

Would he rather spend the day in thecompany of people he views as artists, endlessly indulging with themin hope that what he learns will give him the empowerment he seeks? Orwould he prefer hearing his daughter read him a story?

Would he chase every opportunity thatwill bring him esteemed stature among his peers or would insteadchoose immersing on the experience of living and laughing with hischild?

Would he aim at working to have all that hisheart desires or would he settle for what is basic because theendless pursuit of want may take him and his time away from her?

Would he rather have the personal spaceto pursue his passions in exchange for the chance to witness hischild's journey from leukemia to recovery?

Would he have it any other way?

Nothing can be as eternally precious as this child, he remembers.

Joy flows and he begins to smile.

When You Say Yes

2011-09-12T13:47:00.000+08:00

Photo Credit: Wikipedia

You commit.

Otherwise you would have said “No”,“I have to get back to you on that.”, “I am super busy!” ormy personal favorite: “Let me check Cecille.”

When you say “Yes”, you areessentially saying “I Can.”

When you say “Yes”, it will oftenbe understood as “I deliver.”

When you say “Yes”, you aresoliciting an “I Trust” from your audience.

When you say “Yes”, all who gavetheir “I Trust” will start holding on to your every word. Nothingless for one who has freely given his “I Trust.” Everyone awaitsthe fulfillment of your “Yes.”

The only choice is to deliver, to keepyour promise, to live up to your “Yes.”

When you say “Yes” you have tocommit for whether you like it or not, your “Yes” talks loudlyabout the brand named “ME”.

Now, if I only knew they will suddenlytake that object of my “Yes,” that led to my “I Can,” thatwas understood as “I deliver,” that elicited an “I Trust,”off the shelf.....

One Is Fun

2011-09-01T21:21:00.000+08:00

This afternoon, our Sky Cable Digiboxwas delivered and installed. Though our TV is from the prehistoricera, our viewing has now become digital and with a few more channelsadded as bonus. Yes, finally it is Asian Food Channel festival foryours truly.

The technician may not be impressedwith my TV but he was blown away by the good cable signal we aregetting. He said that compared to the many other installations he didbefore this, ours was way above average.

He further explained that signalstrength is inversely proportional to the number of television setsconnected. Ours was strong simply because this is a one televisionhousehold. Others are weak because they decided to have as manyviewing sets as there are people in their homes.

Listening to him talk, I can't helpreflect on the possible reasons why folks would want to have so manytelevision sets. Is it because the best viewing position, when mostinformation is assimilated, is while the head is propped against apillow and our back rested on our beds? I need to Google this.

Or is it because the more TV you have,the more you will be perceived as a success? Hmmm....

But as parents do we complain that ourchildren are more interested on things other than us? Could it bebecause we have allowed more television set than necessary?

I have long decided that we will onlyhave one. More TV equals more distraction and the more distracted weare, the lesser we tend to communicate with each other. It separatesus, it leads to even less caring.

Indeed, one is enough. It allows thethree of us to communicate, to enjoy as a family, to laugh as one, tocare. Not distracted is who we are. Yes, we are having fun with one.

A Parable On Grief

2011-08-17T11:26:00.000+08:00

A relative and her family was in deep mourning. A well loved member of their home was suddenly gone. What compounded everyone's grief was the way the beloved died. A son, for sometime, believed there was foul play and resorted to surfing the internet on ways to get back at the one he thought caused the anguish their family were then going through. Everyone was inconsolable.

A few days after the incident, we were there listening to all of them speak. Everyone has a special story to tell. It was obvious how much they cherished the presence of the deceased. Everyone wept while recalling the good times.

But before I get any further, it was not a person that died. It was their pet rabbit. And the suspect? Well, everyone believed the neighbor's cat that did it. It was, however, a theory I find deeply suspicious and was eventually quashed after hearing the complete story.

Photo Credit: Larry D. Moore

Bunny Rabbit was everybody's favorite, far more than the family's black Labrador. Bunny Rabbit entered the family after a successful school project. Everyone has grown fond of him, even Carmella herself. And as a consequence, here was one overly pampered bunny.

There was something about his cuddly nature that comforts. It must be the “Awww” factor, the one I hear from Carmella every time she sees something cute and cuddly. And even if Bunny Rabbit was getting bigger each passing day and has become messy, he still occupies a space inside the family's abode where everyone can see him from any point in the house. In his short life he never experienced spending the night outdoors.

It is no wonder then that everyone blamed the neighbor's cat for the demise of their favorite pet. The anger was so deep that someone started to Google means to get rid this supposed menace once and for all. Everyone wanted to point a finger at the reason for their pain. Everyone wanted to pass the blame.

The truth is, Bunny Rabbit died because someone decided to bring him out for a dousing of free vitamin A, inside a cage, in the middle of summer and then forgetting about the poor creature. So there it was, with no additional water and no additional food under the blazing sun the whole day. Bunny Rabbit died, not because the neighbor's cat did him in but due to heatstroke.

Still everybody insisted on blaming the neighbor's cat. The good thing was no one organized a posse to pursue the innocent suspect. It still freely roams the neighborhood to this day.

Even better, the anger and suspicion died soon after hearing my opinion on the matter. But I never heard anyone blaming themselves for their oversight.

Isn't this typical? Isn't it true that most of the time, we'd rather blame others for all the sad things happening to us than taking full responsibility for our actions? Isn't it true we'd rather accuse someone for our misfortune even if it was a consequence of our decision to remain miserable instead of choosing action and seek a better path? Isn't it true we would rather blame the causes of our addictions even if it was ourselves who willfully allowed our passions get the better of us?

Maybe it's time to stop blaming the neighbor's cat.

Purposeful Purchase

2011-07-27T12:52:00.005+08:00

Photo Credit: Austin Kleon

As an avid mountain biker, I am continuously awed by the leaps and bounds bike components have evolved. 21-speed was, once upon a time, more than what a mountain biker needs to get him up that hill no matter how gnarly and technical that single track is.

Considering the founding fathers of the sport started on a 1941 heavy steel framed BFGoodrich by Schwinn and running on single speed drive trains with no suspension at all except that provided by its sprung saddle and smooth balloon tires, 21-speed bikes back then was thought of as the future. That was until 24 then 27-speed drive trains arrived.

Today we either have a 30 or 20-speed drive trains as choices. This apart from the dizzying other possible upgrades on forks, shocks, wheels, hubs and so many other which qualifies more as a bling rather than a move towards pedal efficiency and all of them promising to make better mountain bikers of us.

What I personally discovered out there on the trail was what you have on your steed does not create for you a brave spirit. Engaging those ruts, roots, tight switchbacks, rock gardens, uphills and, steep drops will all depend on how big your mountain biking heart is and not whether you have a SRAM XX or a Shimano XTR.

A friend would constantly tell me that “wala sa pana iyan, nasa Indian” or loosely translated as “it is not the arrow but the archer”. I think so, too. But I also have to admit that it does provide some level of confidence having state-of-the-art working with you; like that remotely adjustable seat post for example. However, without commitment, without a biker's heart working for you specially out there on the trail, there will be no engagement and we may as well call ourselves posers and not bikers.

This brings to mind my biking mate Alex.

Alex, on the left, inside our favorite trail with Ram

If identified by the region he comes from he will surely be labeled a tightwad. But Alex has always been my mentor when it comes to purposeful purchases. He is my walking specifications expert, my component and upgrades evaluator and, my product specialist. All these qualities and more makes him someone you would want to listen to when that upgrade bug starts to work its poison in your system. He would not hesitate to give you an honest opinion complete with the necessary technical computations if need be. And yet with all his unbiased views, there are still those who insists they are thoughts of an Ilokano. Ah, it can get hilarious sometimes.

The thing that I most admire about Alex is his willingness to suggest what he loves to call as “bang for the buck” items. A Fox fork maybe the bees knees or even that XT Servo-Wave Disc Brakes. But for Alex everything is relative and whatever is efficient and gives you joy when you pedal, no matter how entry level it may be, will always be of premium value.

For example, a Duro wire beaded tire for him is of tremendous value. It may pale in comparison to a folding bead Schwalbe Nobby Nic, may cost pennies and, may be scoffed at by those who think expensive is better. But that it exceeded his expectation is good enough for Alex.

After all, what others think does not make him a less of a mountain biker nor his rig less of a mountain bike. What will happen on our next trail ride, whatever it is that we will overcome, be it our fear or that intimidating rut, or the feeling of success after conquering that drop without ever uncleating, will be a reflection of what is truly in his heart as a mountain biker. That goes for the rest of us as well, inside those trails for the sheer enjoyment of the sport we come to love.

And I just can't wait for that next time.

There Is Hope

2011-07-11T09:53:00.003+08:00

Jose Rizal once said that the youth is the hope of the nation. He, I presume, saw idealism and enthusiasm as traits that will free a nation, a character that essentially describes the youth.

Looking at the landscape today, however, wants me to question that view. Perhaps lacking in parental direction, most of our youth would rather be stereotypes than strive to become someone extraordinary. Making a difference threatens most of them because it can make them an outcast. They believe in being a member of a tribe but not on leading it.

During our recent trip to Iloilo I met two young gentlemen who made a severe dent on my view.

A cousin is one of them. Carl, as early as grade school already set a vision for himself. It helped that he had a very good friend who had lofty ambitions but that is, in my view, more a matter of the extraordinary attracting another extraordinary. Indeed, you draw unto yourself all that builds your beliefs.

Carl is the youngest child of my widowed aunt who struggled through every adversity to make sure she sends all her children to good schools. It was this maternal effort that influenced this young man to pursue a vision. And now he is living it.

Rather than seek employment in a 5-star hotel, Carl was intent on making a name for himself as a hotelier. Now a rising star in Iloilo, he together with several partners acquired a 3-storey hotel right in the middle of the city. They are currently renovating it.

Surprisingly, in the midst of the facelift, it is business as usual for them and business has never been brisk. It takes a special hands-on approach in order for people to patronize you while you are busy reconstructing and Carl has that gift. He is essentially an other-oriented person, willing to go the distance to pursue his goals, always accommodating. He is passionate in his beliefs, full of enthusiasm about the future and driven, characters all of one who is a cut above the rest.

He is definitely his mother's son and Iloilo is blessed to have someone like him.

Another is a nephew, Philip. It is easy mistaking him for someone who is happy-go-lucky, a Red Horse drinking buddy even gadget crazy. After all most of those in his age group identify themselves this way.

But here is a young man so focused on his priorities, takes his father's wishes to heart and who, through his actions, taught me an important lesson on legacy and simplicity.

We had the good fortune to have lunch at their family's seaside restaurant in Dumangas, Iloilo. The superb cuisine there is sure to make this a pilgrimage site for the discriminating foodie. The uninterrupted view of Siete Pecados in Guimaras adds to the pleasant experience of dining.

But what has truly amazed me was that Philip, the owner's son that he is, served us lunch. To translate that: he waited on us. While most would choose bossing themselves around to glaringly show their being heirs to the thrown, Philip chose to personally serve his customers. No pretense, just uninterrupted service with a smile, an honest offering of self.

We had the chance to chat on this attitude during their short stop at our hotel a few days later.

Philip said that it was his father, my first cousin, who mentored them to treasure their family's legacy, a legacy that was born of hard work by those who came before them. While it may be quite far from the city, they all learned to embrace, respect and nurture what is being handed down to them for its significance. The lights in Iloilo maybe be so alluring but it is the family business in Dumangas that shines more brightly for Philip and his siblings. And they are all willing to roll up their sleeves to keep it alive, a trait so missing from most youths of today.

Whenever I find myself in a mall these days, rather than view all the materialistic tendencies of the youth with contempt, I try to think of Carl and Philip. With them and their kind all is not lost. Indeed, this nation will be buoyed by its youth for among them are those who has vision, who believe it and who are willing to make them come true.

Thank you Carl. Thank you Philip.

Signs And Directions

2011-07-01T07:35:00.000+08:00

Recently, a friend of ours was lamenting on how her son has soon given up being a busboy at the newly opened Mang Inasal just outside our village shortly into his probationary period. He quit because he finds the work difficult.

I remember the same mother telling us some 10 years before it was perfectly alright with her if he would get a job as a service crew at the nearby Mac Donald's. Cecille and I were shocked. Is she sending her son to school, break her back so she can afford his tuition fees merely for him to learn how to say, in proper diction, “Good Morning! Welcome to Mac Donald's!” and “Thank for coming!”?

I do not understand her latest lament. If we are lazy as parents then we should expect lazy children. If setting up signs and directions for our children to follow we see as trivial mainly because they are laborious, then it is our fault once they go berserk. If their view of the world is myopic, they just inherited that from us. What you sow, you reap. There should be no blaming them.

Cecille and I chose homeschooling for Carmella because, while still feeling her way, we wanted to raise the sign post along her journey ourselves. For most, however, all that task is left with the school. We have good schools but schools are not washing machine in themselves. We can not, no matter how much sacrifice we have to endure in meeting those rising school fees, expect our children to end up “whiter than white” after a full cycle. All that is still up to us.

The world is noisy and the noise keeps getting louder for children to hear their parents. It now becomes even more necessary to persevere when giving instructions for them to follow, constantly hoping that in the din it is our voice they will keep hearing.

"You Pay Peanuts......

2011-05-31T09:44:00.005+08:00

….. You Get Monkeys.” This old Asian saying jumps to mind whenever I get the rough end of a bargain.

Just like what we had with a new local carrier Zest Air who chose to identify themselves as “Asia's Most Refreshing Airline”. If anything, their Airbus, even their chosen colors orange and green, are all that gives an impression as “refreshing” and tragically slips from there.

For this 82^nd birthday, we thought of giving Papa a trip to his home city Iloilo. Curious about their claim as being “Asia's Most Refreshing Airline”, their young fleet and their very attractive rates, Cecille decided the four of us will give Zest Air a try.

Our flight was scheduled for 5:10 in the afternoon. This was last May 23. Overly excited, we were at the airport shortly after 2PM.

Lamentably, we were only able to board our plane at around 8:15PM. It was 3 hours of senseless waiting. Their staff, when asked about the cause of the delay can only provide this flimsy, halfhearted explanation that their aircraft was still stuck in Cebu.

But it should take severe hounding from an exasperated couple before they finally made steps to update their screens in the airport lounge. Passengers were at lost but none among the Zest Air staff was decent enough to promptly inform the now restless crowd of the delay.

On similar situations, other airlines would immediately jump on the chance to provide value added service. They will do their best to go beyond providing refreshments to the listless passengers. They will make their presence felt. They will now turn an unwanted situation into one that will leave everyone feeling special. All will be forgiven, passengers turning into patrons.

No effort whatsoever with this airline.

Unquestionably irritating was the attitude of the ground crew. While those wearing black shirts, presumably the supervisors, would try to accommodate the complains, those in green were totally useless. One in particular was so busy on her phone while I was talking to her. I normally would have yelled at her and create a fuss but I was intent on making this trip angst free specially for my father.

As it was getting late, both my father and my daughter were getting hungry. There were limited selection being offered by the concessionaires so we left the airport lounge to head for the restaurants across the street. We were surprised hearing from those we met on the way out that delay is common with Zest Air. We thought this was local but those who met us in Iloilo told the same exact thing. Why management did not hear this seemingly loud observation escapes me.

The trip back to Manila was, surprisingly, on time. Sadly, some crew in green at the check-in counter in Iloilo exhibited the same arrogance as their counterparts in Manila. I was beginning to wonder if this was a Zest Air thing.

While those handling our luggage made all effort to secure our stuff, the gentleman issuing boarding passes retorted “Hindi po kami nade-delay! (We do not get delayed!)" when asked by Cecille if the flight was on schedule. I can only think that for this person Manila might as well be on another time zone. Either this or Zest Air is in complete denial.

Cheap rates does not give anyone the right to abuse. Cheap rates is not a license for arrogance, to be “bastos”. Cheap rates does not mean being cheap. Cheap rates, if anything, is to attract people over towards you and the value service you sincerely believe only you can provide.

People look up to those who make the best with little resources. It will be difficult for it will demand one to seriously think out of the box. But it creates brand loyalty. You do not have to spend an amount equivalent to a small nation's budget to advertise. Your customers will willingly do it for you. And that will be louder than any huge billboard along EDSA.

During this time when competition devours competition, paying peanuts does not have to mean your customers getting monkeys. In fact, here is an opportunity to tell the world why you are better than the rest.

But sorry Zest Air, me and my friends will no longer ride with you.

Thank You!

2011-05-25T09:48:00.002+08:00

" Thank You!"

Two words that for some means more than being appreciated. For me personally, “Thank You!” is:

an affirmation, the highlighting of all that is good in me, few they may be

telling me you will always make time for this relationship even if it can only be as brief as in saying these two words

a prompting of the heart

But these days, maybe overwhelmed by everyday affairs, greetings, even those that are deep and personal, are seen as a given. And so responses like “Thank You!”, unless related to paid service, has become more like a figure of speech, a stoic and automatic response.

So we ask: are we now exceedingly busy to remember those who took the time to remind us how important we are to them?

Do we now think we are extra special that some remembering, specially coming from the well off, is more better than the rest and that they carry more weight than ones from people who have less than us?

Have we seen “Thank You!” as empty phrases like “How Are You?”, often said when we are left with nothing sensible to say, that we have completely taken them off our list of good expressions?

I have to admit I am guilty and more. Today that I am turning 53, I will make amends. Once again, from deep within my heart, allow me to say “THANK YOU!”

“Thank You!” for remembering and reminding me of my special days when I myself have forgotten.

“Thank You!” for taking time to put dates in your calendars, set your phones to early morning alarms hoping you'd help start someone's day with gratitude and cheer.

“Thank You!” for all of you who said a special prayer when the odds where stacked against me.

“Thank You!” for the unexpected help during those times when I do not know what else to do.

“Thank You!” for appreciating this person.

“Thank You!!” for that shoulder when I need one to cry on.

“Thank You!” for all the hugs that made sure someone is with me in my corner.

“Thank You!” for allowing me to touch your lives through my writing and my incessant talking.

“Thank You!” for encouraging me to keep going with the one and only thing I know I am good at.

“Thank You!” for your patience.

“Thank You!” for helping me grow.

“Thank you!” for continuously reading my blogs even if sometimes they are mere rumblings of a frustrated soul.

“Thank You!” for teaching me the pentatonic scale.

“Thank You!” for our coffee moments.

“Thank You!” for braving those trails with me.

“Thank You!” for helping me put Efcie together.

“Thank You!” for Efcie.

“Thank You!” for helping me make sure Papa will enjoy his Iloilo vacation.

“Thank You!” for laughing with me for no reason at all but because we are cousins.

“Thank You!” for making sure I am up for that Baguio challenge.

“Thank you!” for being the great person that you are.

Finally, perhaps my biggest, “Thank You!” for trusting me as your friend.

Justin Bieber And The Why's On Being Off-Centered

2011-05-16T12:35:00.002+08:00

Recently, Justin Bieber was in town. One mother, a friend of ours, was willing to sacrifice the month's food allowance for a ticket because her 9-year-old was at her wits end. They were already at the concert gates when suddenly the mom held back because she never expected those tickets would cost more than her estimate.

Exasperated with the unexpected turn of events, the daughter sobbed, unable to comprehend how $47 can be more important than a few hours with Justin Bieber.

While this uncompromising and immature reaction comes from a child, some adults actually behave similarly albeit on a different level. In fact, that a child would come up with such argument can be traced to parents unable to relate to what is truly essential, a view so ironic specially when one considers that this is a country where the daily cost of living for a family of six is around $10, based on data from the National Wage Commission.

But how do you explain that to a 9-year-old who thinks the world for her will end if she does not get to see this concert, even from the most cheapest seat in the house?

Lucky for our friend, a good Samaritan saw the daughter's distress. He thought he needed a better seat, which essentially equates to a more expensive ticket, and so gave his current to her. For free. I am impressed because amidst the screaming of delirious fans, someone still heard a child's voice.

And so both mother and daughter ended the evening feeling euphoric, but surely more so for the mom. It is not everyday we encounter acts of random kindness.

But what do you actually do when, except for you, all your mates in school watched Justin Bieber and talk nothing but? I think it is all too much for a 9-year-old to handle. So rather than put their kid in such awkward situation, parents, whether it causes a severe dent on their budget, buy a ticket.

All this pushed me to start a mini survey through my Facebook page. I asked friends if they will, granting they have the funds for it, buy their 9-year-old a ticket to a Justin Bieber concert and why.

Almost everyone said they will. One mother even paid nearly $400 for it, justifying the purchase as a once in a lifetime event.

But a comment stood out like a sore thumb because it was the only one opposed to the idea, even seen by a few as off-centered hence grossly unpopular. Simply, this gentleman believes the cost can not justify the expense.

He is with the opinion they are better spent on books or given away to help ones who have less. Learning is, for him, above all. And after reading the text of Rico Hizon's speech during the Toastmaster's International District 75 Annual Conference in Manila entitled "Being Proud of our won Filipino-English Diction", I have to agree with him.

While going for a ticket may be perceived as being the best and the easiest, here opens an opportunity for real parenting, a time to really connect and to communicate.

Here is a time to talk about values and explain that, to borrow from Seth Godin, "Popular is almost never a measure of impact, or genius, or art. Popular rarely correlates with guts, hard work or a willingness to lead...."

Here is a chance to explain what really matters. And at an age when guidance is key, there is no better setting. We may still end up buying the ticket but the opportunity at parenting never wasted

I read that the creative few you usually find off the center. Eccentric is the most common term used. But off center, in fact, is where genius often emerges.

So to close, let me share this.

My daughter is often seen as unusual, even thought of as incapable of being a social creature, all because she is being home schooled. But more than any kid, she is fearless when it comes to expressing her art. She does not have to look at what the other is doing before starting on her goals. She would rather be in flannel shirts, jeans and high cut Chucks. For her, independence is king.

Yes, she is not mainstream, a non-ordinary.

Importantly for her, she does not believe she has to be in a Justin Bieber concert in order to be in. Being herself is enough.

Simple And Beautiful

2011-05-03T08:03:00.000+08:00

Cecille, very impressed with a nephew's new girlfriend, told him how she found her simplicity truly attractive. Perhaps overwhelmed with the everyday “fakeness”, she found the beauty refreshing and Cecille can not help voice her compliment.

Ironically, her nephew took the comment as hostile. Cecille found herself defending her view and I felt really sad for my wife. While she had the eye to see beauty at its core, others insists it should be complicated.

I find it sad we have evolved into someone who think that the covering, no matter how horrendous looking they may be, is far more important than the person being covered. And so because no one noticed that new shoe or this new bag in the office today is plenty good reason to give it away. Even if that mini dress, which shamelessly expose those hams, gets proudly worn just the same because it is a Vera Wang.

I find it sad that we have defined beauty as something outside ourselves, to see simplicity as next to nothingness. And so we insist on having those noses and legs and breasts on our portraits perfected through Photoshop. Glutathione has now become the wonder drug for the many who are confused and cosmetic surgeons the new gods.

Indeed, we have become complicated. And the more complicated we are, the more important and beautiful we see ourselves. We hate looking at that person in the mirror immediately after waking up in the morning because who we see is not the one we imagined us to be.

Such a heavy luggage to carry, me thinks. Even so it drives us farther away from our core which is where real beauty lies: unblemished and uniquely ours.

An artist nephew once wrote on his Facebook wall: “I do not like slim jeans because I hate seeing sausages.” Just because the world says it is cool should we also define it as beautiful, even if they make ridiculous creatures of us.

Beauty, if one means real beauty, need not be complicated.

Papa

2011-03-23T09:32:00.006+08:00

I do not know if this is what nature dictates, if this is how we, finite beings, should evolve.

I noticed that as one grows much older, we seem to become more and more sensitive to all the faults and misgivings surrounding us. And rather than take action ourselves, we mouth tons of criticisms on the flaws that we never cease to see. Sadly, we refuse to move beyond that, to act on the situation ourselves, perhaps given to the thought that at our age being critical is a right.

And whenever we are left with very little choice then forced to take action, we hire someone to do the work for us. I think this is so we can continue mouthing criticisms which, for some, has become a sport.

I find myself becoming more and more like this.

Which is why I find Papa quite unique and very special. At nearly 82 years old, rather than criticize, he would quietly analyze and then act. He is one of those who believes that if you want things done, you better get a go at it.

(Photo credit: Kyrke B. Jaleco)

At 82, Papa would go around DIY shops to research on color themes, seek out the best brand and then get the stuff he needs to start his project. And so our home in Baguio remains as beautiful and homey as it was the first time we moved in.

At 82, while the rest in his age group hire a cabinet maker, Papa will work on building the cabinet himself.

At 82, except for the roof, he would paint the whole house, inside and outside.

Once he saw an expert install a built-in closet with louvered doors. Seeing how beautiful they were, he took on building louvered doors by himself for one of the closets at home. Though he later admitted it was some challenge he got himself into, he did finish them. It was finely crafted that one will not suspect it was built by someone without experience, by someone who just believed he could.

At 82, Papa's mind is constantly at work for ideas on home improvement. He knows which type of faucets will work, what parts to get for your plumbing, why this sort of material work best, which tools will rightly apply; all opinions drawn from personal experience.

He also knows which fertilizer will suit the type of orchids my late mother left to his care. In fact, he knows how to propagate them. He is pretty adept in using compost in caring for his small garden. Not bad for a retired Army Colonel.

And so our home in Baguio continues to be a comfortable place to be in.

His wisdom, as I later learned, came from humbly asking the experts. Surprising at his age, Papa has become even more receptive to fresh inputs and continues to be. Indeed, his lack of understanding does not intimidate him. He loves listening and learning from those who know their craft, regardless whether they are half his age, even younger. What was always important for him is that he is learning and it is through his humility that he continues to build wonderful things with his hands.

Papa may have his moments and can get pretty impatient with those who put no premium on their work. But people's reactions to everyday situations are reflections of their beliefs. For Papa, nothing else works but a job well done. And at 82, he still lives by this creed.

I was in Baguio a few days back and was quietly listening to his stories. The journey he has taken and the heights he has reached will always awe and inspire. I can not help thinking that I have a big shoe to fill here.

It is a different thing to criticize, another to act. The former, from my view, comes from an empty heart while the latter from an indomitable spirit. The last best describes Papa.

Yes, I am deeply honored I am my father's son.

True Gifts

2011-03-11T17:39:00.000+08:00

Recently I received a gift. It's one of those you never dream ever landing on your lap, that leave you gasping for breath out of disbelief and then makes you cry.

No, it is not that dream house up the hill. Not yet. But it is just as grand and very much up my mountain.

And to receive it from someone totally unexpected, (someone who until recently was just known to me as a dear friend deeply devoted to his advocacy, of unbelievable humor, hailing from some far away Texas) truly makes it a thing of deep value.

There are gifts that hold you spellbound for weeks, even for the rest of your life. Like the gift of your first born, her first smile, her first laugh and her first “Papa!”. Gifts like her first ballet recital, her first bike ride without those trainers, her first lap of the pool and her triumph over leukemia.

And then there are gifts that remind you the true meaning of friendships, of the self-giving that still abounds. Priceless gifts they are for they came from deep within the giver's heart, born out of deep faith on the one receiving the gift.

They are special gifts that makes the recipient want to give back, to be generous, to pay it forward. They lead hearts like my own to seek goodness in all things, appreciate all things, grateful for all things.

A favorite author wrote in a blog that “A true gift is a heartfelt connection, something that changes both the giver and the recipient.”

I couldn't agree more.

Values

2011-02-27T10:13:00.003+08:00

So who administers Carmella's exams?
I do.
And who grades her?
Me.
W-H-A-T????!!!!!

Yes, I get this horrified reaction from people every time I talk about homeschooling.

Most homeschooling parent take on the daunting task of teaching their children because they believe that learning is far more important than ranking. And so with no teaching certificates nor mentoring experience whatsoever, they embark on this journey filled with so much challenge with their hearts as their only beacon. Some have even given up their careers because their children is now the goal.

Maybe Carmella is totally different from ones coming from regular school. She may view the world differently from the next kid, choose a different tool for her art and may be lacking the sophistication or the finesse of one coming from an exclusive girl's school.

But that she can read, do multiplication and division, express her feelings in water color without art school, openly expressive of her creative mind, dance ballet, focused in spite of pressure, independent, at ease around older people, be a charming and loving grand daughter, who treasures friendships deeply and more, all of it born outside regular classroom environment, speaks much of this father's heart.

And this heart discovered it is all about our experiences and what we learned from those experiences that defines us. This is real education.

In this world where competition is fierce and has become the norm, being at the top of the heap has become, sadly, synonymous to success. And in the desperation to put ourselves there, it is often our values that takes a beating. Because of the rush, we can no longer identify with what is true and honest and find integrity a strange word.

Which is perhaps why people are so suspicious about parents homeschooling and then rating their children. Maybe because most of us now find being honest as a truly formidable task.

But when we decide on eroding our values just so we can position our children over and above the rest, no one else losses the most but them. What does that make of us, of them?

So I continue homeschooling Carmella. And surprisingly, not only does it teach her the essential, less the fun fare, but the whole exercise also teaches this father how to be true to himself.

Are We Afraid Of Giants?

2011-02-02T10:51:00.000+08:00

Are we afraid of giants? No, not the Gulliver sort of character but rather the breed of people deeply focused on pursuing something bigger than themselves?

Do we shy away from nobility, a class which for me, are those having a sense of cause? Are we intimidated by their selflessness because it leads us to examine our own sense of worth?

I use to feel this way until Jojo came into the picture. Better known among his friends as GKJo, Jojo has always impressed me with the work he continues to invest on Gawad Kalinga.

There is nothing that will stop him in his pursuit to make things better for his fellow man. Be it joining a marathon, a bike ride that calls attention to his work for the poor because of the livery he decided to be painted on his ride, or by any means that will highlight the mission he truly believes in.

And being the giant that he is, all that enthusiasm he carries, without fail, makes those who listen to him want to reflect on their own sense of purpose.

In the two weeks he has been here, I learned a lot about passion than I ever imagined. Jojo tore a ligament on one knee after the last marathon he joined, an agonizing act carried out for the sole purpose of bringing focus to his chosen advocacy. For a while he struggled with the question “Why?” only to smother all the doubts with “Because no one else will.”

It is a pure class act to rise above your set backs and seek out other ways to continue your work on empowering the helpless and the poor, to search for avenues on how you can bring dignity in their otherwise forgotten existence and to finally cheer them on when they rise above their poverty. This is true nobility at work.

I never had a true understanding of what passion is. I always thought that doing what makes you feel good is passion enough and so I find my biking fitting that definition.

I saw passion as exclusively about the self, confined to personal happiness. I never qualified passion as a selfless act of giving until it hurts and then still have lots of humor left. I never thought of passion as making a difference, of accomplishing work that truly matters in spite the daunting journey up ahead.

I never saw passion as a means to inspire other people to do acts of greatness.

Now I know better.

2011

2011-01-07T11:45:00.000+08:00

Simon Sinek has written this on his Facebook wall: "The challenge of the unknown future is so much more exciting than the stories of the accomplished past."

If there is anything we weary life travelers need it is the enthusiasm to search for possibilities, to be excited about the future.

My wife constantly nag me for lacking the skills when it comes to huddling with relatives during family gatherings. She finds it bad manners that I shy away from their discussion and she is right. It shows self righteousness, a wiser-than-thou attitude. And it does not a good in-law make. So these days, I try.

Not that I am against looking back. Sure there are good memories to hark back to which leads one to appreciate the present blessings. What actually kept me at the distance for so long is the expected re-hash of stories from the last family reunion.

My difficulty in college, and in most meetings I get invited to after that, was to stay interested on talks that are a remake of what I already heard before. So there I am, dozing off which I find more productive than being awake and hating the speaker.

It is for the same reason why I'd rather be somewhere else, like the buffet table, during family reunions because I find peace there, no hating anyone for not knowing what else to tell but the nth repeat of his escapades of 1979.

But slowly I am beginning to understand. Indeed, there is something about the future that people would rather choose looking back. The unknown has always been intimidating and there is no comfort in that thought.

A cousin was asking what business to put up. For a start, he was consulting the wrong person since I have been struggling finding answers to that same question for as long as I can remember. Still, I love this cousin and told him several options. I really felt he was looking for much needed input.

Which was why I was not ready for what came next. I did not expect that for every suggestion I will present him, he would emphasize on what will go wrong. In the end, I thought that no matter how much advice I will give, there will be a setback of some sort he will surely come up with. So I stopped, wondering if this man was really searching for opportunities or a debate.

Whenever I start encouraging friends to save up for a house, a car, an investment, the answer will always be a flowery metaphor that, simply put, says “I can't”. Much like the cousin, I do not know how they still “can” when they have already sealed and stamped it with an “I can't”. And I think that just like the folks in our family reunions, they are anxious more than excited of what lies ahead.

There are reasons why life goes on as it is. And one that each new year brings up so clearly is “chance”. We are offered a chance to make things right, to make amends, to hope, to be better which we should grab without hesitation.

So once again here is a year of possibilities, of challenges that though threatened by how much poise we may lose while trying to cross it, we will give it go just the same.

Perhaps more importantly, here is a year of opportunities to do stuff that matters, a year that can bring about a change on how we view ourselves. And that is what I believe we should be excited about.

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

2010-12-22T15:40:00.000+08:00

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)

2010-12-09T18:09:00.006+08:00

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

2010-10-20T11:52:00.000+08:00

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:

talk to mommy,
send mommy text messages,
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?

2010-10-05T08:36:00.000+08:00

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?

2010-09-13T10:02:00.003+08:00

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

2010-08-19T23:09:00.000+08:00

“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

2010-07-26T18:16:00.000+08:00

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

2010-07-18T17:38:00.000+08:00

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

2010-06-16T12:05:00.000+08:00

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?

2010-05-30T20:09:00.002+08:00

“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

2010-05-23T16:45:00.000+08:00

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

2010-05-08T22:38:00.000+08:00

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

2010-04-18T21:03:00.001+08:00

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

2010-04-07T16:40:00.000+08:00

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

2010-03-16T10:20:00.001+08:00

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

2010-03-08T09:11:00.000+08:00

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

2010-03-04T17:07:00.001+08:00

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

2010-02-21T23:47:00.000+08:00

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

2010-02-10T09:31:00.001+08:00

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

2010-02-04T10:16:00.002+08:00

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

2010-01-27T14:35:00.002+08:00

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

2010-01-18T14:14:00.000+08:00

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?

2010-01-13T13:49:00.001+08:00

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?

2010-01-09T00:27:00.001+08:00

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

Gratitude

2009-12-30T16:20:00.000+08:00

I have been mountain biking for quite a time now. And to quote a good friend and biking mentor:“Biking for me is a way of life and has shown me life's different faces. It brings me anywhere I want. It has given me the opportunity to meet all types of people. It has showed me what is beautiful and what is worse. All my adventures are with my bike. Next to my wife is my trusty old mountain bike.” - Syano09

True, it was on my mountain bike that I had seen much of life up close through the stories of strangers I met on the trail.

Where we ride is Malipay, an area where one can find a people remotely isolated. Most have no running water nor electricity. Some would hike a couple of kilometers to fetch their drinking water. And when the river that runs across their village rises, they are completely cut off they have to gather rain water for their needs.

But they, in spite of their want, would cheerfully and without fail yell out “Good Morning!” when we pass them by. They have, in fact, become my second wind. Their smile and their greetings brighten further the landscape God has so generously blessed us to enjoy on our bikes.

I would love to listen to their stories. I would love sitting with them over a cup of even the cheapest 3-in-1coffee mix after a hard ride. For there is something behind their cheerful demeanor that reveals the secret to true joy. A joy which we try to vainly seek through the incessant upgrade we do on our steeds only to be left still feeling empty and even wanting more.

I would like to treat that man a bottle of soda for eagerly pointing to us the way out including all the expected obstacles. His direction is the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel” for this wandering biker.

I would love reaching out to those little children who find it great fun doing a high-five to a passing biker. I would always oblige for it is a way I can thank them, at that moment, for allowing me to run through their space.

I would like to return the kindness these simple folks have unknowingly blessed me by their presence. I would like to be more than that nameless face rushing by on his bike. I want to make a difference, bereft of any funfair, through a simple and quiet giving of self.

Mountain biking has blessed me much. It is time to give something back.

The Missing Christmas Box

2009-12-27T14:58:00.001+08:00

I think that as one grows older, the boxes intended for us under the tree either gets smaller or is all together missing.

Unlike those days when we measure Christmas joy through the quantity of boxes intended for us under the tree, as one mellows with age, Christmas joy is now seen through how much we have been hugged on Boxing Day.

Honestly, I was actually hoping for some biking related gifts last Christmas. Everyone in this family knows that would truly cheer me up.

But except for a soccer shirt that can double-up as a biking jersey, I got no biking related stuff. No cash either to purchase biking related stuff.

Instead I got something truly more meaningful: I got hugged. A lot.

Hugs can not be boxed. They are much too big for any box to hold.

Hugs can not be wrapped. No wrapping paper can truly be colorful enough.

Hugs can not be bought. It is simply too precious to be limited by price and to be carried by most high-end stores.

And it needs no instruction on use, has no expiry date, no sizes, no color. All it comes with is a virtual warranty card that assures the recipient of the love that endures.

This Christmas I got more than a box or a wish can hold: the love of my family through a hug.

Photo credit: syd delicious@flickr

11 Years

2009-12-22T01:48:00.000+08:00

Yesterday Cecille and I celebrated the 11 years of our married life.

How does one describe this milestone?

Well, we have our moments. At this age, a person seems to be sensitive to almost anything. While Cecille thinks I should now be acting my age, I believe she should know better. So there, our life story of the last 11 years.

Seriously though, an overlooked but deeply significant part of our journey together has revealed itself to me only recently.

The other week, Carmella asked her mom to write our names on a piece of writing pad. She then taped it on our wedding picture hanging in our bedroom.

Looking closely, one name in particular says so much about how one-sided this relationship has been: Cecille Jaleco.

Yes, she has taken up my name. All things about her now is about being a Jaleco. Her signature will now include Jaleco, she will vote as a Jaleco, will be addressed as one and her children will carry my forefather's name.

But she has also given up much of who she was, her dreams with all the joys of being single and free, and happily embraced her new identity. She decided to fall in love and to endure the pain of childbirth.

She learned to love what I love, value what I value and share my joys with me. She loves me and continues to love me no matter my misgivings.

Indeed, this relationship has been one-sided but sadly, always in my favor.

And it is a regret that I have not promptly responded to the selflessness that was apparently there from the start.

It is a time of giving back and to be in love like the first time.

It is a time to be grateful for the good 11 years.

My Daughter Danced

2009-12-17T14:08:00.001+08:00

Last Sunday was Carmella's first ballet recital.

She of who some two years ago was diagnosed with a life threatening disease, who had to skip regular school to avoid infection that can cause havoc to her immune system.

She who had just finished her two year chemo treatment for Acute Myelogenous Leukemia last month. Yes, last Sunday she danced.

She danced and danced with grace and gusto. Together with her ballet classmates all dressed as Autumn Fairies, she beautifully glided across the stage in the main theater of the Cultural Center of the Philippines. The joy that she showed while doing their short routine I shall never forget.

I never heard the music, never remembered it. I just saw my daughter dance. And dance she did. She danced while I wipe away my tears.

For cry I did.

I cried because I remembered how not so long ago we nearly lost her. I cried because I remembered our journey where our only prayer was for the good Lord to bring our daughter back.

I cried because of the joy welling up inside me, for the sacrifices are slowly paying off.

I cried because I was witness to a triumph that was being played onstage through a dance of Autumn Fairies. I cried because no matter how many seats I was away from the stage, I saw the smile that said so many good things.

My daughter danced. And dance she did.

My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad!

2009-12-08T10:13:00.002+08:00

This latest NBC offering, currently being shown in The Disney Channel, has become Carmella's favorite. For her, the challenges faced by the participants is entertaining.

In this show, bravery is measured by how scorpion-brave is dad and strength by how accurate he can swinging his child, hanging on a rope, to a target of maximum points.

Here, "better" is measured by knowing what is your child's favorite video game, or what he wished during his last birthday and a reward of $10,000 for each correct guess.

But entertaining it may be for her, it is a dilemma allowing Carmella to watch this type of shows mainly because they wrongly label a person.

It does not genuinely define “best” according to one's inner goodness but rather through means that are totally trivial.

Entertaining, perhaps but it also presupposes that superficiality can be a standard of judgment. And this can lead to intolerance.

Indeed, I can never be the better Dad for I do not know the struggles of other dads nor their definition of victory.

I do not know how much they give up for their children or the noble steps they take to make life better for them. I do not know their journey.

I do not know the pain they carry every time their child is sick or distressed.

I do not know how they have fun with their families. I do not know their prayers.

No, I can not be the better Dad.

I can, at the very least, try to be as great.

A Different View.

2009-12-02T20:24:00.002+08:00

All too often we are asked how we can manage our finances when it is only Cecille who earns in this family. She's not in the corporate world earning humongous corporate salaries. She is, in fact, in client services.

And yet we manage quite well with her humble pay.

We can afford to give tithes, extend assistance to family and friends in dire need and still have some left for savings. We can still, on occasions, indulge on our favorite food or go on out of town trips, thanks to promo fares.

But many genuinely wonder how.

Nothing unusual, really. It is just Cecille's view of rewards.

Most salaried folks to tend pay themselves after being paid. They believe they deserve the reward after braving the tide of deadlines, screaming clients, tons of paper works, office politics, mean bosses, the HR Dept, overloaded public conveyances, daily traffic.

Cecille, however, views it differently. Oh yes, she does face the same screaming clients, deadlines, paper works, office politics, traffic, the works. She trudges on like anyone else.

What sets her apart is she views her WORK as, in itself, THE reward. As such, there is little desire to further pay herself after getting paid.

She believes that being able to make ends meet against not being able to because she is without a job, makes all the difference. And it is this difference that moves her to respect her work and constantly add value to it. After all, you nurture the tree that feeds you.

This attitude has flowed down to all aspects of our daily life. We manage well mainly because we can identify the need from the want. I would like to believe this is the core of excellent money management skills and Cecille has become very good at it.

We learned to value money, importantly the effort behind how it was earned. It has taught us to prioritize, to invest only on what is truly essential, to be basic. And it has prepared us well during this time of biting global economic crisis.

We may not be as jeweled as the prominent Juan's in our society, nor can we readily afford those boutique cafe's in the business district, or those pampering foot spas or manicures, or afford the latest gadgetry, or join the frenzy of those midnight sales.

But we know how to be happy with less and it has given us an overwhelming sense of freedom.

Equally important, it has allowed us to share.

The Graduate

2009-11-27T11:12:00.002+08:00

Carmella has finally “graduated”! After 2 years of treatment, Carmella has just finished her last chemotherapy course.

The closing of this chapter, however, is filled with mixed emotions and that she has finally “graduated” has yet to sink in.

Maybe because this joy we feel is new and has completely overwhelmed us.

Though it now seems ages since that September when Carmella was diagnosed with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia, the memories of those early days remain vivid.

What started as a fever we never imagined was already leukemia. No one can forget the rapid loss in weight due to intensive chemo, the sleepless nights spent monitoring her neutrophil count constantly praying they would improve, the high grade fever that never leaves, the vomiting, the endless trips to the toilet even when there is nothing to move and then the falling hair.

It was the most excruciating 58 days of our life for we thought we were saying goodbye.

But she overcame the induction phase, where the bone marrow was removed through chemical means so a new, leukemia free marrow can regenerate. She then went on to complete the consolidation phase in which the doses were a little milder.

That was immediately followed by a year and a half of monthly trips for the blood tests, maintenance cycle chemo therapy confinement that lasts for days instead of weeks, quarterly lumbar punctures and bone marrow aspiration, home shots I have learned to administer. Though still painful procedures, they offered us hope. Fear has been replaced with promise.

During that year and a half, our lives has become synonymous with treatment. We wanted to be spontaneous in our plans but the rigid hospital schedules and the limitations of being a chemotherapy patient prevents us. We led structured lives. It has become our new normal.

And it has changed much of us. A simple sneeze or wheezing causes much alarm. A slight fever would bring us on the verge of tears. We are constantly on our toes. There is so much to consider even when we are already on holidays. Cecille noticed I have forgotten to relax. I laughed less.

But looking at Carmella these days, it seems almost impossible we nearly lost her. She has grown into a bubbly and a cheerful child. There is no trace of that tough battle she once had gone through and won. She has learned to balance herself on a bike.

Indeed, she has "graduated". She overcame.

I can again laugh more.....

The Visit

2009-11-22T23:48:00.000+08:00

Some things, even it falls short from what we expected, do turn out for the better.

We were just back from a visit to our family home in Baguio. We were there for 5 days and I thought I can do some blog writing in between my biking and family. I was determined to stick to my plan only to fail miserably in the end.

I did attempt to write some stuff, two actually, but I can't seem to get over the draft stage. No matter how hard I try, I just can't organize my thoughts well.

I tried biking, even fell off my steed a couple of times, once badly spraining my right pinky, just to get the mind going. No joy there, only a sprained pinky.....

So why the writer's block?

Maybe because my body has switched to vacation mode, my conscious mind says it is but my subconscious has yet to process the change.

Or maybe because there is this deep need to re establish my ties with my 80 year old father, to again hear and relive his stories, to immerse myself in the feeling of what it is to be his son.

Maybe because there is this unfulfilled wish to engage with my younger brother, to talk of simply anything, to have fun and a good laugh with him.

Maybe because Cecille needs to be taken on a special date, to feel what it is we felt when we were young and just starting out and Baguio has the perfect setting for that.

Maybe because I need to catch on with what I miss in this family, to reconnect, to hug my nephews, to enjoy our legacy.

Maybe because I need to go back, this time on a bike, and explore the paths that I only saw through the window of a bus while I was growing up in Loakan, to finally fulfill a promise made during the days of my youth.

Maybe, I do need a writer's block so I can do all these.

And I actually did.

Age? Probably.

2009-11-06T09:27:00.005+08:00

It must be age.

For suddenly I found myself skipping most other sections of the dailies and would linger more on the news and the business section. I would now and then breeze through the food section, if there is one. I use to cover all but lately, I have been more selective.

I feel the entertainment section is just too glossy and is nothing but. No input here unless by input one means getting into the murkier side of someone else’s private life.

This reminds me of a family gathering I had recently where one close relative proudly related how lucky she had been to find herself in the same plane with a controversial local actress. It’s not that they were actually seatmates but that she was on the same flight was what makes everything worth talking over dinner.

She then went on to report that this particular actress was with a man other than her rumored boyfriend and then closed her piece with an analysis of how this actress’s life must be coming on.

More on the entertainment issue, on her recent blog post, a cousin picked on Noynoy Aquino's recent video ad. She zeroed in on the overwhelmingly huge number of movie stars that were in that ad. Yes, I can only agree: "It simply plays to the shallow celebrity mentality of the masses."

And sadly, Noynoy may get voted into office mainly on that thinking. Not on platform but on being celebrity-linked. I find this very, very dangerous.

I think that our country is slogging on laboriously the way it is because most would rather identify with a movie star, no matter how weak, murky or immoral their standards may be, than those who silently contribute to the uplifting of many. Only a few would instantly recognize Tony Meloto only because they themselves are driven by their passionate commitment to the poor the way Tony is.

Going back to the dailies, I really think there is just too much advert going on in too many pages. Are we less of a person because we cannot have this cell phone or that car or as fashionable as those anorexic models? The flood of adverts insists we are.

The same is echoed all over the metropolis, this time by gigantic billboards that can topple over and can kill innocent passersby. Once it actually did. Too much premium has been given on being noticed than on being trusted or being engaged with.

In one of Seth Godin’s blog on what he calls “cable news thinking”, among others he listed that in this sort of attitude, “Things become important merely because others have decided they are important.”

This is precisely the reason why I have become selective in my readings: I will decide what is important.

Age? Probably.

The Kitchen Conundrum

2009-11-04T12:57:00.001+08:00

I was not born a cook (though I wish I was) but current circumstances dictate I should, at the very least, know basic cooking by trying simple recipes. So its off to the cooking channel, the food section of the major dailies and those free recipes that comes with that brand of noodles or this soy sauce for ideas.

I was looking at one recipe recently. It came with the egg noodle that Cecille would like to try. Sweet and Spicy Beef Egg Noodles, it says. It looks delectable so I thought I would give it a go.

I browse the ingredients: Canola Oil, minced chilies, garlic, egg noodles, salted black beans, down to cucumber, julienned carrots and bean sprouts.

Surprisingly, the procedure did not include the last three ingredients. I have read it four times over and still did not see the cucumber, carrots and bean sprouts being mixed in. I am no longer sure if I would try this. I might be setting myself for some disappointment.

I think that if they intend to miss on some items, perhaps it would have been better if they just wrote under Procedure “Surprise!” and nothing else. Or maybe “Explore!” which I think is better once taken on the context of a verb. Splash out all the ingredients and leave the adventure to the would-be-cook. That would be fun.

But on the second thought, wouldn’t this oversight also say something adverse about the product it was suppose to promote? How do we know they did not miss out on the important ingredients? Will it really taste genuinely egg noodles? How can we be sure if it is really safe to eat?

Oversights, it seems, are also the in-thing even with the humble but ever popular instant noodles. It has become some sort of a staple that the government uses it as price benchmark. If it remains cheap, then the economy is stable, so they say. Yeah, sure.

It is cheap alright but is often hell getting on with. The companies try to save on convenience packaging and as a consequence those little packets are so difficult to open. And when you do, it’s all over you. All that oil, soy sauce and powdered flavors they insist as nutritious condiments splattered onto that favorite shirt. It is cheap.

So it’s back to the food channel for me. But that may even be cut short for cable rates had gone up and we decided to unsubscribe. This is indeed turning into adventure time.

Photo credit: foodie.jenius @ Flickr

Braver than Brave

2009-10-30T22:02:00.006+08:00

On her confinement next month, Carmella will once again go through a Lumbar Puncture and Bone Marrow Aspiration procedure.

It is a very traumatic experience both for her and us her parents. It was no coincidence that a few days ago, Cecille spoke of being “Braver than Brave.”

Though Carmella is heavily sedated and the region where the aspiration needle will be inserted is topically anaesthetized, she can still sense when it starts. The eyes may be heavy and her body limp but she will still moan when the needle starts to invade her spine.

Because most of her body is held down for the procedure except her feet, they would weakly wiggle in agony. It is a very emotional moment and it always crushes our heart. We weep.

But braver than brave is what we have to be. No matter the helplessness, no matter how heavy is the burden of seeing your daughter go through a painful procedure, we carry on the best we can and pray.

We stroke her hair hoping that through the pain she will feel we are there with her. We whisper “I love you” through her crying. We keep whatever strength we have left for it is through us she draws hers.

Yes we try to be braver than brave.

We try to see past the suffering of the moment, embracing what hurts while focusing on what gives hope.

In spite of my own tears, I gently kiss this child so distressed with an experience she cannot understand with hope that it will calm her fears.

We keep our faith knowing it is all that we have.

We try our best to live normal lives in spite of illness and reach out to those who hurt like us.

Yes, we try to be braver than brave.

Fastfood Blues

2009-10-19T07:46:00.000+08:00

This time I think I’ll rant.

Treatment time, or chemo time, is also fast food time for Carmella. The medicines coursing through her system alters her sense of taste she becomes very picky on what she will eat. Treatment time essentially becomes hurry time which means fast food.

But I have had enough of people who can’t seem to understand what the “fast” in “fast food” means.

I have always wondered why some remain undecided even after standing for ages on a queue in a fast food place. The offering is there, posted all over, in-your-face and can be viewed from the moon. Why then the delay when ordering? Did they know it was suppose to be “fast food" for everybody?

Surely they have long decided what to eat. It was no accident they were in that particular place on that particular time of that particular day. They must already know what they want. Why the delay at the counter then? Have they suddenly realized on the final minute they were at the wrong place? Have they somehow forgotten they wanted to eat?

What can be particularly irritating is when a family conference all of a sudden takes place right at the counter. You can always bet someone changed his mind on something. Can’t they have a food conference way before actually standing on queue, maybe some 5 kilometers before turning into the fastfood driveway? Do we upsize? Do you want that with fries?

It is equally distressing what happens on the other side of the counter. Why should those handling the money also serve the food? Haven't they been informed of issues like contamination and Swine Flu? And why do these service people, busy as they are, should still allow themselves be distracted by small talk among themselves? Do these people understand that work time is rush time in a fast food place, never a buddy time?

There is this Asian saying that goes: “You pay peanuts, you get monkeys.” So are we in for monkey service because this is just fast food?

It is now clear why my Obi Wan would rather avoid fast food. Monkey service isn't her cup of tea. Better make that her slice of tiramisu.

Where's my burger and fries???

Triumphs

2009-10-08T09:27:00.000+08:00

After a long while I clocked 72 kilometers on my bike’s cyclometer. It’s not the first time I did this stretch but it felt good that I was able to do it again.

It was one agonizing adventure where the up hills seem endless. The cramps, the neck and back pains and the bum burn brought by prolonged stay on the saddle I could still feel.

But I would ride that route again. Am I into self-flagellation? Absolutely not. It is essentially about this father discovering and then conquering his limits.

I am the slowest in the group, constantly at the last. Maybe it’s my age or even my equipment. But one thing I can boast about is I never walked my bike over any of those horrendous climbs. I pedaled and pedaled as hard as I can and I conquered.

The road ahead can get quite lonely for the man who is in the last. But in bike rides as it is in life, it is the last man who makes sure no one gets left behind. The rest of the convoy can meander on peacefully confident someone makes sure everybody gets home.

There is so much about fatherhood that would bring one to test his limits and a dreadful illness in the family is one of them.

Still there is no stopping over that steep hill. I continue to pedal with all my strength, constantly believing that I will conquer and making sure no one gets left behind, nothing taken for granted.

Everything is precious.

(Photo courtesy of Jovy Lazan)

When bad things happen to good people

2009-10-04T16:41:00.000+08:00

“So sorry for the late reply. It’s an exhausting and emotionally draining ordeal. But God is merciful. Though our home is a total loss, we are whole. It is well with our soul…. God has other plans and He is freeing us of any hold material things have over us.” 7:57AM, September 28, 2009

Ed, Chacha, Jeanine and Carlos lost everything and were literally left with only the shirt on their backs after Ketsana hit our country. Their house was in total ruin, everything they once hold dear now covered by thick mud.

Ed is a peaceful and generous man. He is the simple, humble, quiet type who, from this author’s experience, would patiently guide you through stuff and things and would linger to make sure you understood it. He will always share your excitement with you. Always unassuming, always helpful is Ed Garcia.

He is my dear friend, my prayer partner. He is God send.

This is perhaps why the Almighty blessed him with a special lady in Chacha, whose presence always creates an air of cheer. She is the happy aura, the ever contagious laugh. Together they have surely blessed so many others with their presence.

So why should something so bad happen to these good people?

I have no answers. I can only weep and pray and hope for a very dear friend and his family.

“….. and we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” Romans 5:2-4

(Photo courtesy of Roy R. Fabella)

Of hospital confinements and typhoons....

2009-09-28T23:29:00.000+08:00

I am writing this blog while sitting with Carmella through her chemotherapy. The treatment lasts for 4 days and our hospital room essentially becomes our temporary home.

Carmella is in what our oncologist terms as maintenance cycle. The doses are milder so lesser dizzy spells or vomiting for her. She is not bed ridden as most patients in for treatment who after the first dose gets so depleted. Carmella moves about, preferring to use the bathroom rather than a bed pan. She is quite mobile, limited only by her IV line.

I stay with her the whole time she is on treatment and it tends to get uncomfortable on the 2^nd day, getting quite claustrophobic. We have no internet access in our room so it adds to the helplessness. Essentially, when Carmella gets confined, I get confined, too.

But confinement can be a blessing. It is a time of pondering, of quiet reflection. Since I do not get distracted by housework, I get to notice how much my daughter has grown, how far we have gone with our journey and then document our experience hence this blog.

Here I have the chance to go over my life dreams and pray more. I get to read more of Seth Godin’s blog that I downloaded earlier for off-line reading. I also get the chance to practice my dialect by going over a Tagalog version of a book by a favorite empowerment mentor.

Due to the food errands for Carmella, I somehow become an accidental service critique of each fast food place I visit. The experience is always blog material.

Then if I get really lucky, my Obi Wan drops by and we have a feast. This cousin-mentor simply loves to eat. And then we discuss ideas which are much better than after dinner coffee and pastries. Way much better.

And now, just as I was about to end this entry, the heavens opened up and suddenly Typhoon Ondoy (Ketsana) is upon us. All roads leading to our hospital are now flooded, in some portion waist deep. We’re literally stranded, our hospital an island.

Tomorrow I may have to wade all the way to the bank before they ran out of cash. And most likely they will because pretty soon the electricity will be off.

Yes, confinements can be a blessing for this amateur blogger. Just look at how much I had come up with just sitting here.

Of dialects and my national language

2009-09-22T14:42:00.000+08:00

My father used to tell us this funny story on dialect. Though both he and my late mother came from the same province in the South and lived only some twenty minutes away from each other before they got married, they speak different versions of the same dialect.

My father who comes the city speaks Hiligaynon, while my mom who is from the suburbs speaks Kinaray-a, both of which are Illong-go. Most of the words remain common but some, specially the basics, remain quite different. Dog, for instance is “i-do” (pronounced ee-doh) in Papa’s vocabulary while some 20 minutes in my mom’s town it becomes “a-yam” (pronounced ah-yam).

It was no surprise then that the first month of their marriage was a bit confusing for both of them.

Being born and raised as a Manileño, I thought I have mastered the national language well enough. Though both parents hail from the Visayas, I grew up speaking Tagalog. I remember Filipino as one of my favorite subjects in high school.

But home schooling Carmella made me discover there is so much I do not know about the dialect I was born with. Much like my father during the early days of his wedded life, I still get confused.

What has made Tagalog, so with the other local dialects, fascinating are its words. Depending on where the stress is they take on different meanings.

Take word “BUHAY”; if the stress is on the first syllable, means life. If placed on the second syllable, however, it means alive. If you add the other local dialects, then it becomes even more interesting. Filipino is a language with interesting word play.

I may have a hundred or so in my vocabulary of Filipino words and in several dialects but there are still discoveries to be made. Indeed, there is so much to know.

I never knew, for instance, that “talampas” is the Tagalog word for plateau and that “lambak” is valley. “Daglat”, on the other hand is abbreviation so “dinaglat” is a verb meaning to abbreviate. A nephew thought “burol” is Tagalog for cliff but is in fact hill.

I just learned while teaching Carmella that the Tagalog for bay is “look” (pronounced lo-ok) so Manila Bay is “Look ng Maynila” in pure Tagalog translation.

Based on the sentence it was taken from, I am guessing that “pakli” means replied, “nausal” means said and “pigtal” is to remove or separate.

We are still in the middle of our text book but the two of us can’t wait for the next Tagalog tongue twister.

Ikaw ba ang may akda nito? Aba’y tigib sa mga katanungan, ano ga? (Were you the one who wrote this? It's full of questions, isn't it?)

View from the Back Seat....

2009-09-10T10:52:00.000+08:00

Recently, my wife has been doing most of the driving and I have been relegated to the back seat of our van.

It is a very interactive experience whenever she takes the wheel. There will always be debate on how she tends to forget she is on high beam, her choice of gears and her penchant for honking the horn at almost anything on the road. It is because of these debates that we decided our next car will be an automatic.

But I have to admit that Cecille is a good driver who is also the “brave and the quick”. With the frustrating traffic and the gross lack of road courtesy, one has to be a brave when driving in and around Manila. She is “the quick”, which I believe is the offshoot of her being “the brave”, in instances like beating the rest of the world to that gap in traffic to get onto to the faster flowing lane. Carmella is very convinced Dad is the boring driver.

However, more than being scared, my new place in the car has opened for me a better perspective. From where I am I began to see more of the world. What used to be a blur now becomes a complete story.

I think this experience is akin to the pause one needs to take in life.

There is so much I have taken for granted and in the process, have also forgotten my gifts. Like the blur of the passing scenery, it took a move to the back for me to notice the events that I missed.

I would have not started this blog if not for a cousin who decided to share her “pause” with me. Well, it was kind of an expensive break, really. It took place in one fancy Italian restaurant in a very upscale part of town. The treat was overwhelming but the talk that followed over coffee was life changing. This Jedi finally met his Obi Wan.

I think I will stay back here for a while longer. The view is truly terrific!

“That’s an awesome looking building, love. It must be new. I never noticed it before”.

“No dear, it’s been there ages”.

There you go…..

Home Schooled

2009-09-06T01:30:00.000+08:00

I was quite apprehensive. This is Carmella's future being placed on on my very unqualified hands. All the while I was sitting at the home schooling orientation seminar, the nagging question in my head was if I can really do it.
It was right in the middle of the school term when Carmella was diagnosed with her illness. By the time she recovered, it was already too late to go back to regular school. Since she will also need further treatment, Cecille and I agreed we will home school her instead and I will be her mentor.
I always believed mentors were endowed with special gifts since birth. Gifts like patience and perseverance both of which, sadly, I do not have.
Still, I have to prepare my daughter for the world. I have to believe I can work on my patience and also persevere. I can see the fight up ahead but have decided I will win.
We are now on our second year in home schooling. Her reading has improved, she loves science class and is quite good at math. We have our own unique methods and we try as much as we can to incorporate fun into our learning. I am not the perfect mentor but a work in progress.
I have to admit it was a struggle, and it continues to be. I can sometimes be mean and overbearing. She, on the other hand, can be a handful when in tantrums. But together, we learn so much from the whole exercise. It is a journey of discovery for both of us and the rewards are far more than I imagined. The hugs are now tighter and more frequent than ever.
A home schooling mom once told me that she was quite firm with her kids back when she was still mentoring them. She was then always afraid that her ways more than what she taught them is what they will bring up with them in later life.
If one asks her children today, most of whom have gone off to college, of what they remember most during their homeschooling years, it will always be the love their mom had devoted in teaching them. Not those long, tear-filled hours of going over the same subject until they grasp the concept they recall but a mother's patient perseverance. Love is hardly forgotten.

Apart from the books we read, the math problems we solved, I hope that later in life, it is in the little things that we did together that will make the most difference in Carmella as a person. I hope it is in my being a father and a friend that she will remember most.

Oooops!

2009-09-03T10:22:00.000+08:00

I started a blog last night.

Though I thought I have covered all the bases, read and re read my piece maybe over a dozen times, chose the appropriate theme, I still ended up forgetting the reason why this blog was started on the first place: for people to read. And so the setting I need to do, which is to allow comments for my work, I overlooked.

This reminds me of an old story of a wife who in the middle of their night-out suddenly remembered that in her haste has forgotten to turn the iron off. Stricken with panic, she demanded they cut the dinner short and head home right away. In a rather cool demeanor, the husband assured the wife not to worry for he also failed to close the tub faucet.

Ancient (since newer flat irons shut themselves off automatically) and corny this story may be, it highlight's one important but quickly forgotten truth: in our hurry, we often miss out on what is essential.

And often, we do.

I did. Well, nearly.....

Not so long ago, marriage was not a part of the picture I was trying to paint. There was so much going on in the world and I wouldn't miss it. I was in deep reverie when my mother finally asked the defining question: "Who will take care of you, son, when I am gone? Without a wife, who will?" Scary...!

And so at 40, considered old to many, I finally settled down. Three years later, God gave me Carmella. And even with this journey we are currently going through with her, I will always consider my self blessed. I already have what is essential.

Yes, in my hurry, I nearly missed the love of family. And so I will be forever thankful to Mama for her scare tactics.

Why the Title?

2009-09-02T20:00:00.001+08:00

So much has been said about stay-in dads and I guess most figured our mascot to be the sloth. Special creatures, really, and nothing more special than my personal favorite Sid, that fumbling but enduring friend of both Diego and Manny the Mammoth.
Why the blog title when it may cause so many to pass judgment on this poor author?
I guess because there is so much to being a dad at home like simplicity, no rush and dash, no keeping ups, no pretenses. It is easier to define a purpose, easier to be one's self. The world may be fenced out by a 30-square-meter dwelling but in here I have the universe because this is HOME.
I am a dad at home for a very special reason: my daughter.
Two years ago she was diagnosed as having Acute Myelogenous Leukemia or AML. Since then, I made her my main agenda. My wife and I discussed the issues of having a child with a life threatening disease and have decided I will be the one to forgo plans and take care of Carmella. I have become a Stay at Home Dad, a 24-7 father and yes, full-time in every sense.
I made it my vocation to be there at every doctor's appointment, at every laboratory tests prior to chemotherapy, at every treatment, at each Bone Marrow Aspiration and lumbar puncture, to personally administer her home medicines, to be her cook, her personal carer, her home school teacher, her friend.
I will be my daughter's witness and she will be my victory.
Yes, there is so much to being a Stay at Home Dad and this blog hopes to capture and share the view from this spot.