Gratitude

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

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

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

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!

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.

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.