Birthday Musings

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

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

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

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

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 They have been replaced by concessionaires selling their fat laden, sugar rich, generally oh-so-very-unhealthy menus to kids.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Favorite Panadero

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rewards

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

Frankly? No, it will not.

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

Yes, there is no money here.

Only rewards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photocred: ASRivera

Why Am I Always Tired?

“Why am I always tired!!!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so we remain tired.

Photo Cred: vonichi of cpb/armanSrivera

The Birthday Registry

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

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

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

Like birthday gifts.

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

Which is why I think weddings are easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Occupation

I hate being stumped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coffee Moments, Profound Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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