Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 40 (Life is not a contest)

Dear girls,

Sometime many weeks ago, your dad had an interesting day. Early in the afternoon, your grandmother whisked everyone away to one of her beach houses (yes, on a Monday). After dinner, i hitched with your Uncle Pom back up the hill and proceeded to run off to the Manor at Camp John Hay for my usual Monday night jam with the Fusion Band. Was late. But better late than not there at all.

Guy on the right is Daryl,
smiling idiot on the left is your dad

Good thing i caught up. People from the lifestyle section of the Inquirer (a big, big newspaper in these times). They chatted up the band (the real members of the band. Namely: Vocalist Pia Santayana Trinidad, Saxman Joanie Abubo, Bassist Egai Buning, Pianist Teddy Liberato, and fellow Sting-fanatic multi-talented singer-guitarist Ric Maniquis. There are other guys in the band. But the ones i mentioned were present that night. Your dad just jams along like a ten-year old being allowed to shoot hoops in an NBA court from time to time), and discovered many of us only played music on the side. And right after i did a rendition of "Let Me In" by Mike Francis, one of the ladies hollered: "quit your day jobs! Compliments hardly get sweeter than that. :)

Speaking of jamming along, another guy who jammed along is a kid named Daryl Ladioray, who played tenor saxophone.

Daryl's a nice simple kid who was referred to me by my good friend and erstwhile bandmate Caloy dela Fuente. He chatted up Caloy through the Sax Society of the Philippines Facebook page, asking about how to make his sound "sexy" or "sweet" or some such. Finding out Daryl was from Baguio City, Caloy promptly hooked us up.

After hearing the kid blow, i correctly guessed he was a marching band player. So after a couple of unqualified so-called "lessons," i taught him to bend notes and make his sax not just sing, but "speak." Unqualified, because quite frankly, my technical proficiency in playing the saxophone was the rough equivalent of some loser who just because he could whip up scrambled eggs, then proceeds to call himself a chef.

Daryl sounds much much better now. But i honestly doubt i had that much to do with it. Especially when he sounds so much better than i do at this point.

So over a couple of vodka tonics, Daryl said that there are times when he feels inadequate when he finds himself listening to sax players his age who are playing much better than him. So i asked him with a smile: "can you imagine how i feel when i listen to how much better you are now than i ever was?"

Then i told him that i personally have no one else but myself to blame for that. And that i do feel left behind, yes. But i was okay with it. After all, he has spent many of his waking hours playing his horn and playing with other people. He did not have to worry about having to distribute his time between being a dad, being a husband, manning a store, managing an advertising office, designing stuff, and Heaven knows how many other crazy things i dabbled in. But i chose to do all those. And if the price for having experienced and tried all those things was still sucking at playing saxophone after twenty one whole years from when i started, then so be it.

I just have to reconcile myself with the thought that if i still want to become as good as i hope to be, then i either have to give up so many other things in my life or still keep at it, but it will definitely take longer than most. (As if twenty one years at this point still wasn't long enough. Heh heh... But who's counting, right?)

Most (or least) importantly, i was not competing with anyone. And, i told Daryl, i did not think he was either. Life is a journey, not a race. It's much too short to waste looking behind or ahead of you all the time. 

Life is too beautiful and too much fun to live it as a contest. So don't.

As you tread along the pathway of life, walk... Look around you and enjoy the sights, the sounds, the smell of the breeze and all those other Hallmark card thingies... Skip a bit, if there are puddles along the way. Run sometimes. But only for brief periods, if and when you have to catch a better view of a sunset or a fading rainbow. Trot, if you find yourself joyful. Dance, if you hear music.

Live. Don't compete, because it should be all about how you choose live your life. And not how your life compares with others.'

And no, all the above is not my excuse for being a mediocre horn player (at best). Although i still am. But i'll get better yet. Maybe i'll even play at your weddings, if you'll let me, right? :)

Daryl, however, sounds great now.

'catch you later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 39 (A Day in the Life...)

Hello, girls.

First off, i obviously write this blog in forward order, which means that should you guys log on and start reading from the very first post you guys end up finding and keep going, then you will be reading everything in reverse chronology. Make sense?

Anyway... In my last post, i mentioned being awfully lonely up here, where i still am as i write this. So i have decided to give you ladies a little tour of my evenings when i'm up here. Except for Monday nights, when i grab a horn or two and head for the Manor at Camp John Hay to remind myself (and anyone else unfortunate enough to be at the Piano Bar) why i dont have a professional music career despite how much i claim to love making music.

So here we go...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So i start my day at the store between 9-930 in the morning, and let's assume i leave the store at around 8 to 815 in the evening, drive on home, and park the car in the garage ten to fifteen minutes later.

I open the front door and find this...

This is the foyer (or "fau-yay," as the French supposedly pronounce it).

I plop my backpack down on the couch.. This here couch set:

I turn to the other side here...

I grab a couple or so horns from that center table over there, and the maids proceed to inform me that the left-over lunch that i've brought home has been prepared on the table to be re-labeled as dinner at the dining room in the lower level. In this here table where only i sit at:

Sorry, forgot to take a photo with the food on it.

After a quick dinner, i go back upstairs and proceed to mess up the couch and it usually looks like this:

This set-up usually commences right after dinner anytime between 830-9pm. This period involves me catching up with some work and some music practice. Then i take a shower and finally decide i'll call it a day sometime between 12 midnight to perhaps 1-130am.

Then i head inside to find this:

And i either find something to read online, or bring myself a book to read 'til my eyelids feel like 50 pounds each, and that's usually at around 2am.

Zzzzzzzzzz...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One merciful detail i didnt mention is that i usually have your mother's chatty mug on my iPad via Facetime. So that helps make things a lot lot less empty.

But the house still feels like an echoing hall.

So there. That's an evening in Daddy's life up here.

Until the next post.

Bye, girls. See you in a couple of days.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Maddie: Chapter 38 (Sorry i'm not there right now...)

Dear Maddie,

Hello there, Baby Girl.

It's a late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, and i'm up in our other house. The cold, lonely and empty one (most of the time, but not all the time since you guys come over sometimes).

And I'm alone. And you, Marge and mommy are down there in our "other" other house. The warm, happy one where you're gently growing up and learning how to crawl, stand and maybe walk, where your mother and your sister are fighting about homework, where dogs bark incessantly just because. And i wish i was there right now.

I apologize for not being there while you work on doing a lot of your firsts (first step, first words, and so on). I apologize for mostly being little more than this disembodied smiling face on an iPad screen most of the time. I apologize for not changing your diapers like i wish i could. I apologize for not humming you lullabies to sleep for many nights.

I apologize because i know i might miss a lot of good times with you.

When your sister was your age, and all the way until she had to start school, your mother and i dragged her infant ass around and across the northern highways back and forth while i juggled keeping Maverick running, and finding my place up here. But when she started school, she had to stay put. So when you were born, for better or worse, i could no longer drag you, Marge and your mother up and down with me like i used to. There were lots of good times there, too.

But our life is what it is. It's got its good and bad stuff. In equal parts, just like everyone else's lives do, too.

But physically there or not, i want you to know that i'm always thinking about you. You, your mom and your sister. And i want you to know that if me being up here enables me to send you guys to better schools, afford to let you learn more stuff, take you to nice places and feed you guys better food, and just plain make your life more comfortable, then being alone up here writing this is totally worth it.

That's how much i love you.

And besides, this is hardly permanent. I'll be home for another week at least in just three more days. That's three more days of missing you guys. I'll make it up to you when i get home.

See you then, Baby Girl.

'Til then, i'll be okay with this...

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 37 (Belated Happy Birthday to Me a.k.a. "Life Begins at 40 my Ass....")

Dearest Marge and Maddie,

What, me worry? :)

Daddy has officially been forty years old for sixteen days now.

A wee bit late perhaps for a birthday post like i usually do in these here parts. But hey, better late now than even much later down, right? Obviously, there is much to share on an occasion like one's fortieth birthday. (Incidentally, your mom also turned forty recently. Twenty six days ago, to be exact.)

Ever hear that life supposedly "starts at 40"? Well, i'm here to tell you that that is absolute crap. Truth is, life begins when one starts breathing. And life just keeps going on as you do. It honestly does not feel any different between being forty years old, and the couple of years or so before that. "Life begins at 40" is said by people who finally realize they are officially no longer young, and have got to get up and going and trying out the things they've always wanted before they kick their proverbial bucket. Probably because they haven't dared to live their lives a lot sooner like they should have.

So i'm now forty years old.

I tell that to myself from time to time for the past couple of weeks. Sometimes, i find myself sad. But mostly, i actually find myself feeling like my heart could burst with the happy sounds, textures and colors, and all the gratitude at how not-so-screwed-up my life has so far been. Sometimes, i take stock of life so far, and i find myself fighting back a joyful teardrop or two.

I have two beautiful children (so far), and a loving, strong and eternally beautiful wife whom i could provide properly for. We have a new house that has let me sow my architectural oats and is almost done, i have my own happily struggling (yet happily afloat) little office where i can become writer, artist, teacher and so much more. I now have a firm place in a strong family business, a handful of real friends who have stuck with me through so much, and some even as long as thirty years and going strong. And to top it all off, i finally get to play saxophone (and sometimes sing) at various places nowadays.

Forty with a sax is cool.
No, wait... sax is cool. period. :)

So if they keep telling me that "life begins at 40," then what the heck does one call the funny, crazy, exciting, adventurous, and sometimes dramatic story that i have lived so far? Sure sounds like life to me. And a wonderful one at that.

Thank you, girls, for being among what have made my life wonderful so far.

So before i wrap this post up, let me end it with a bit of advice from a happy forty year-old: one does not get to be a happy forty year-old by being too afraid to try new things out, too weak to hold on to things that truly matter, too lazy to work for what one wants, and too bitter about what one doesn't have to be grateful for what one DOES have. Don't wait. Just live. Now.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Belated happy birthday to me. Indeed. :)

Letters to Marge & Maddie: Chapter 36, Part 1 (Every time daddy leaves...)

Dear Little Ladies...

Tonight, daddy journeys off again up the hills to your grandmother's hometown, Baguio City. Sort of daddy's hometown, too. But not totally since your uncles and i did not really study there, and mostly just enjoyed lengthy vacations and school breaks up there. But regularly enough to have allowed us to call the crisp cool city our home as much as Manila was.

 This is/was my bus.

* * * * * * * *

Fast forward. It has been a week since i got up here, and a mere day before i ride back down.

Time surely flies.

* * * * * * * *

Oops... Fast forward yet again.

I ride down tonight. It has been eight days since i got up here.

Retooling my brain to going back down home is easy. It's the coming up here that's hard sometimes.

Not because i dont like it up here. But just because i like down there a lot more.

Not much in this entry. But it would be best if i post it already for posterity.

I must continue this in the next for i have much to say about it.

Much to share with you about the joys and challenges of being here and there.

But i will see you girls later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge and Maddie (Chapter 35): Welcome to God's 1lb. Pizza Personality Kitchen

Greetings, girls!

So this entry is a bit weird for me for various reasons.

First, i haven't blogged for at least three months, and the one before that was even more months before that last one. Secondly, i have effectively changed the title of this series to include Maddie (hey, Maddie!). I had half a mind to start a totally new series for only Maddie which can go side by side with Marge's, but i figured... and figured some more... and here we are.

So here goes...

There are two of you now. Sometime back, when there was only one of Marge, i wrote about making sure that one stay true to who one is, and that life is not about being the "best you can be," but being the best YOU that you can be. So now that your world is getting bigger (especially you, Marge), you will meet new people, learn new things, and along the way, learn more about yourselves and each other. And oh how wonderful a journey that will be!

So now let's talk about pizza...

We are all pizzas. Yes, that isn't my imaginary Italian lineage talking. I repeat, we are all pizzas. Specifically, one-pound pizzas. Each and every one of us weigh in at exactly one imaginary pound.

This is why...

Imagine, if you will, God being this great big pizza maker guy in the sky... See it? Okay, so he's in his heavenly pizza kitchen with the heavenly pizza oven and the heavenly pizza delivery motorcycles which probably look like storks... See it some more? Even cooler.

So just like any pizza guy, God kneads the dough, spreads the sauce, digs through and sprinkles various toppings from mushrooms to cheese to beef to pepperoni and Heaven only knows what else. But here's the catch: it doesn't matter what kind of toppings He puts, as long as the ending has to be exactly one fair pound. So He'll ensure the weight and probably finger a few toppings out to do so.

So no two pizzas are going to be exactly the same.

And it doesn't matter what toppings the other one has more of, God will surely have taken something else away to even the weight out.

So know what you were topped with and find a place where your "toppings" will be best appreciated. Imagine if you were a Meat-Lover's Pizza with bacon, pepperoni, beef bits and all... So stay the heck away from them vegetarians, kid! They would consider you poison. Instead, find yourself people who love bacon and all other kinds of animal fat.

But you wouldn't know what you're topped with unless you study yourself very *very* carefully. Then surround yourself with people and places were your "toppings" will be more appreciated and even loved. Because not everybody loves everything nor everyone, and you can never please everybody.

And here's more... We all weigh the same. So if the contest came to someone challenging you because they think they may have more cheese, ask them if they as much onions as you. Sooner or later, there will be something where you will come out on top. Just don't stop looking.

So in the same way, you can have more of one thing, and then less of another on the next. So always see people as the exact same fair pound that you are. Let this will make you fearless, and hopefully also more patient with others.

That make any sense? Uhm... Somehow, this whole theory sounds better when i tell it in person. Remind me to do that one day. And we can have some pizza while i do.

Love you guys,

Dad.

Paranoia

Dear Universe,

It's been a while since i've written here, hasn't it?

So yes, Maddie's out. Marge now has a sister, and is showing so much love and affection that even her mother and i were more than pleasantly surprised.

Thank you, Lord. Another day, another blessing.

So many new things. Good things mostly. And this is where my paranoia tells me that there's always a relatively equal balance of both good and bad things happening more or less at the same time. The universe (yes, you) is not an unkind place, but it is not Paradise. Everything has a price somehow. At least that's what i've grown to believe in my almost forty years in this life of mine.

My slight addiction to slightly more colorful narratives makes days like these somewhat odd to me somehow. It's like when things seem so f*cking perfect, i find myself waiting for the stench of payback in the air.

And then i sometimes realize that perhaps i've paid forward.

That somehow God has already taken away much from me. And that my having dealt the funky way that i have with whatever i've lost or was never given is another thing i have to be thankful for. And with that thought, i sometimes tell myself that perhaps i should just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Jesus took THIS wheel, and the ride has been good and blessed.

Thanks. Seriously.

For Marge, for Maddie, for the wife, for the new house, for the fact that Maverick is finally seriously not bleeding, for my friends, for the family who has employed me without really gaining that much from it, for having two eyes to see, ears to hear, and a complete set of functioning appendages, for not having to worry about how the f*ck i'm going to pay for this hospital stay, the Blackberry kept intact with Scotch tape, and the freshly popped noodles the girls and i had for dinner, and even the warming light on top of Maddie right this very second.

Thanks.

J

Letters to Marge (Chapter 34): Stale Slice of a Fresh Sunday (082612)

Dearest Marge,

Whenever I finish writing you one of these, i feel great. I feel like i've left a little piece of my soul for your future consumption. Feels really great, but man... sometimes it's tough to kick off. Even if i've already lined up so many things to write about.

Oh well, enough with the excuses. Here goes another one...

This is actually quite delayed. These should have been posted exactly three Sundays ago. The very Sunday outlined herein in a photographic day-journal of sorts. Here goes...


After your mother turned me into her zombie-fied errand boy practically at the crack of dawn the very Sunday morning right after she shooed me out of the house late on a Saturday night in her quest for burritos, i finally found the presence of mind to document this early morning torture. Right here, while waiting at the drive-thru window for the breakfast i no longer remember was what.

Let's talk about early morning. A morning so early that even the street lights are still on.

 
This is an amusing time of day. Especially on Sundays. Because sooooper early mornings usually bring the unlikely convergence of two opposite kinds of people: on one corner, you have the party people who realize they have to stop partying because the sun is up and wants to kick their sad asses back home. And they usually either have a hang-over, or have just woken up and are still trying to figure out where the heck they already are.  On the other corner, you have the very "together" people who wake up early to do their chores like gardening, or go jogging or something. you know... the "good stuff."
It is only on very early mornings such as these that these odd creatures can converge. Middle fo the road people like your mom and i do not belong here. not in this early a morning. So just HOW early was it?

THIS early, dangit...
But i must hastily add, that your mother is currently preggers, so everything may be annoying but forgivable.

This bag holds the unholy contents of oddly-assembled matter that is disguised as food. I at least remember it containing an order of pancakes for you. I was too sleepy to make them for you that day.

This is much later. At a time for normal people. At a time when pregnant women have had their synthetic breakfasts, you have had your synthetic pancakes and i have had more sleep.
This is you enjoying some sea breeze by Manila Bay where we went to take your grandfather out to lunch.

The smiling man is your grandfather. The kid doing a Marilyn Monroe impression is you.

This is the view that day inside the restaurant known as "The Aristocrat."
This oddity is always full, they have been serving the same Chicken Barbeque for what i know to be all my life so far, and everything still still pretty much tastes the same.
And this is what i consider the cool part of Sundays. We get to go visit down town Manila, and i get to reminisce about old days, old food, visit old places, and sometimes imagine what Manila could have been and what it once was.

This is the view driving your grandfather back to middle Manila. To the left of the photograph is the historic Manila Bay. Go google it or something, kid. Buildings to the right are old buildings that used to hold some of the biggest and most important companies in Philippine business. Now they're mostly out in Makati or Bonifacio Global City.
But make no mistake, the very shoreline to the left is part of what made Manila the jewel of a city that it once was.
 
***********

 

 Fast forward to the future. Or more accurately, the afternoon of that day.
We proceeded to drive all the way down South to see what was new down there. And boy, WAS there anything new!
It was actually quite amazing and it really did feel like nothing from the South that i knew from as recently as maybe eight or so years back.

First stop, ICE CREAM!!!
Hot pregnant lady behind you is your mother.

This is you hamming it up while aforementioned hot pregnant woman is off somewhere exercising consumer rights.

Bo's Coffee place. You went out to crap, i think...

This is Eli's Barbeque at Tagaytay where we ended the day. This place is owned by one of Daddy's best friends. Great food, great view of Taal Lake (too bad we came at night). We'll head back there soon!
(photo credit from www.askmewhats.com) I was already too tired to photograph the place and our food.
 

So there you have it, girl. One more journalized Sunday.
Cheers and catch you later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 33): A Slice of Saturday (or is it still Friday night?)

me looking at the Army Navy
serving counter in a very
"Night Hawk-ish" moment.

Dear Marge,

Nope, no lectures today. Just a little drop by.

Your mother is currently pregnant with your sibling. Please note the ambiguously gendered noun. Oh my, doesnt the word "sibling" sound a wee bit cold? But no, we still dont know if the bean of jelly in your momma's belly is a boy or girl.

Anyways, i have been dispatched at a little past midnight to the nearest spot that sells taco, because your mother caught Robert de Niro's "Machete" on HBO.

So there. Oh, order's done. Gotta run.

'catch you later.

Love,

Dad

random shots snapped while
avoiding a road accident.
(don't try this at home, kid)

P.S. your mother ordered a soft vegetarian taco, a tortilla soup (without the tortilla. Yeah...), and i got myself a bit of onion rings.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 32): Everything is (Almost) Worth Trying

Dear Marge,

I wrote the theme for this post before i wrote the Tears for Fears post. And it was initially titled "Life is Too Short." But given what i wrote in the previous post, it seemed a wee bit contradictory. But the point i'd like to make is still the same.

And it's as simple as this: when an opportunity comes your way to do something new, keep an open mind and always lean first towards trying for it before ultimately turning it down (if you have to).

Been there, there, there...
ooh, i have to go THERE...
and THERE... Done that, that,
that... no, not THAT, did that,
that, that... oh no, never THAT...
but THAT? hmm...

Check this old man out. Over the course of my colorful life, i have been or dipped into the following things (in the order that they just pop into my head): i've written articles and tech reviews for magazines (yes, real ones that got printed on real paper), joined painting contests in school, got forced into a swimming competition as a child, studied martial arts, went to the gym, played saxophone with a couple of bands, sang vocals in a band, sang in a church choir, was an altar boy, a published poet, an honor student (in kindergarten! So what? Still! Heh heh...), a high school drop-out, helped tend your grandmother's store, acted as cashier, went to the gym and got offered to join a body building competition waaay back (yeah! Believe it, girl!). i've emceed weddings and other events, i joined a TV game show once, auditioned for a job as a DJ (which i didnt get), was an amateur photographer (nowadays, everyone is!), served food and drinks (at your mother's little food place waaaaaaay back), attended to customers as a computer technician, worked as a landscape architect for two weeks (on site, too), worked as an interior designer for almost two years total, directed radio and print commercials, provided voice talent for radio and the occasional event, posed as a print ad talent, been my own company's messenger, your grandfather's weekend driver, tried to play basketball (had ONE good game in my entire life! yes, believe it!), i even once regularly toyed with the lights of a disco in a five-star hotel, i did minor carpentry and repairs at home (waaaaaay back), performed minor repairs and even part replacements on my first car (again, waaaaaaaaay back), acted as unofficial substitute guidance counsellor back in college, and so many more that will fill a very long list.

So through all that up there, i look back from time to time, find myself smiling, sometimes wincing, sometimes even angry. But ultimately, i will find myself smiling again at the color, music and noise in the memories of what has been my life so far.

And here's the clincher, in many of those above things, i totally sucked.

In a few, i didn't embarrass myself (which may actually mean that i may have embarrassed myself on some other things, but we can talk about those some other time), in a handful of those, i haven't given up trying to not suck. But there's a job that i didn't list up there where i may have sucked, i may done well sometimes, but most of all, i will never give up trying to always get better at. That "job" is being your dad, and being your mother's husband.

Again, I have never been perfect at any of those up there. But in every case, i either had fun or learned something new and/or useful. And guess what? I have no intention of ending that list. It will keep getting longer while i live, breathe, or manage to sneak away from your mother so i can try something she might find either embarrassing or suicidal.

But no, i'm not suicidal. Neither should you be.

But as you go on through life, try different things. Learn something new (sometimes not necessarily useful). Fill your life with color, music and noise.
  

Love,

Dad (is Crazy!*)

*your mom added the last two words herself.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 31): Meet Messrs. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith, and the Time Machine called Music

Charming gentlemen who make
great music.

Dearest Margaret,

Hello there, little girl. Hmm... you would probably argue that by now you are a "big" girl because you are, after all, due to become a big sister very soon. Fine... Fine... But know you this,  even if you get more little brothers or sisters after this next guy, even when one day you fall in love, get married, and have kids of your own (yes, in THAT order dammit!!!), you will always be my "little girl."

Now read on...




my Maverick glow stick
of new wave devotion

Last night, your mom and i went to the Araneta Coliseum out in Cubao to catch a concert of two wonderful musicians and the rest of their band. These guys were Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith, better known to 40-somethings and almost-40-somethings like me as "Tears for Fears." While there, i saw an acquaintance and client watching the show with her husband, and there was also my old boss and mentor, Kenneth Quintal. Remind me to tell you about him one of these days.



stupid phone camera...

And as i write this, i keep clearing my scratchy throat since i lost my voice screaming and cheering while they played and sang music that threw me back to that time when knowing a bunch of British pop songs that few people know about was cool, and having vinyl records imported from Hong Kong was even cooler. And the fewer people who knew those British songs, the better. No, i didn't own a lot of imported vinyl records, my dear cousin Jan did. I owned only that odd record or two he gave to me out of friendship. One of these days, ask me about him, too. His story is interesting as well.

It was a lonely time, because your grandmother had to leave for something back then, your grandfather never really came to terms with that until much, much later, and your uncles had no idea what the heck was going on.

But it was also a simpler time. It was a time when i began meeting the people and building the friendships that kept me strong when i needed them, the people who would be my islands and shores in my long swim in the sometimes turbulent seas of my young life. It was a time when my weekends and summers were spent alone with an old notebook wherein i doodled odd-looking cars, imagined new video games, my own superheroes, and wrote poetry. It was a time when i looked around my then quiet life and told myself that i knew there was going to be much more than that.

And every so often in the background, i would pop in a cassette tape where i recorded Curt Smith crooning out "Welcome to your life, there's no turning back..." randomly followed by Roland Orzabal declaring "...my features form with a change in the weatherrrrr..." along with so many other lines that at that time seemed to me like slightly sensible British metaphysical rubbish. But they weren't, not by a long, long mile. These were songs that meant something deeper, and wanted to say something bigger. These were great songs. This was great music. This was a great band.

So yes, last night your mother and i saw a great band, Tears for Fears. I was young again, and the future was an infinite ocean waiting for me to dive in and find my own treasure. And while i was skirting the shores, Tears for Fears was one of the bands playing in the air.

I hope that as you grow older, you will learn to love music like i do. Songs will be capsules to times in your life where you have to look back to from time to time. The times when friendships began simply because you both liked the same book or the same TV show (in your case, probably the same website), or perhaps the same music. Let music make you look back to remind you that at one time, you either had more than what you have now, or perhaps you had less. But for better or worse, times definitely can and will change. If they have changed for the better, then that's great. If they have changed for the worse, then take comfort in the surety that things can change again for the better.

As you get older, you will join people like me who complain about how life is too short. But it really isn't. It's long enough to look back and be happy for what you've had, and definitely long enough to look forward to all the good and better things that can still lie ahead. And it's long enough to enjoy good music from bands like Tears for Fears.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 30): So I'm Back...

Dear Margaret,

Yeah, so i'm back. Back here, from... i don't know. Been to too many places, actually. And no, we haven't really been apart in the "apart" sense of the word. But i'm back here at this little blog.

So here's the challenging part of coming back to blog for the nth time, after letting it gather cyber-dust for the nth time, waving off cyber cobwebs for the nth time. Hard to remember where you left off mentally. And no, it isnt as simple as reading back and taking it from there. Especially not since i dont have any delusions about what caliber of writer i am/am not.

But back i am, and there you are reading this (along with the 5 or something other people who actually bother with this pathetic blog).

So much to talk about... comics, movies, food, relatives, friends... and life in general, i guess.

Will i actually bother to write this time? I sure hope so. Thoughts cross my busy and twisted brain a lot. Some are too private for facebook and too long for twitter. And yes, probably too long for facebook as well. Anyways... so off we go once again, and give this little Broken Record another spin.

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It's another boring and lonely weekend up in the hills by myself again. Thank Heavens for Facetime on the iPad, and you for giving me your weekend rock star best.

I love you.

Dad

Maja and Cling Wrap (re-posted for fun)

(This was originally posted waaaaaay back in 2008 (or was it 2009?). i forgot to save the date. but that isn't important. pulled it down since it presented me as some lecherously dirty old man, but just republished this for the humor in it. )
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Last I checked, the store still had a couple of those giant-sized rolls of cling wrap that we use to cover up furniture that's either been sold, or prepared for delivery…

I will need that cling wrap…

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"...he must make sure that Her Petite-Perfectness was sitting in my chair when the whole thing happened..."

See, I was told by my brother that the oh-so-perfect-even-without-a-cleavage Maja Salvador is scheduled to do a motorcade in Northern Luzon this June, including Baguio City. This is part of her duties as endorser of “Sisters Feminine Pads.” My bro said that there was some possibility (or he can supposedly “ask” on my behalf), for [my] Maja to make a stop at our store.

Naturally, I couldn’t contain myself.

But there was always the possibility that I wasn’t going to be uptown when that happened. So I came up with a solution for me to somehow experience the “Maja-ness,” should I be in Manila/Maverick when the grand event happened.

Should the glorious arrival of the “somebody-please-pick-up-my-jaw-from-floor-and-reattach-it-just-because-i-imagined-seeing-her” Maja Salvador truly come to pass, I have asked my brother to invite Her Gorgeousness for a brief chat at our fifth floor office. But he must make sure that Her Petite-Perfectness was sitting in my chair when the whole thing happened (for at least five minutes).

Then the very second that Her Tiny-Goddess-ness stands up from my chair, we will have office staff quickly wrap up the chair with clingy wrap to lock in the “Maja-ness.”

Upon my return to the Baguio office, I shall ask for time alone, then proceed to slowly and ceremoniously unwrap my chair, and break down in tears of joy.

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Please do not be afraid. As of the moment, this whole thing is merely imagined.

‘Catch you later.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 29): Who are you?

Dearest Marge,

Who are you?

I took you to ballet class one sleepy saturday. And after shooing you into the studio, i proceeded to try and watch you and the entire class from behind through the breaks in the window blinds.

Call me an idiot for a dad, but for a couple of seconds, i couldn't tell which one was you. See, each and every one of you were in your cute pink ballerina uniforms and doing your damnedest best to follow your teacher. Except one kid standing in the front row who couldn't keep still and incessantly chatted with the other girl beside her. Yup, that was you, kid. A long time ago, i remember being told about another kid couldn't sit still. That kid still can't. Not even while waiting for his little girl go through ballet class.

At three and a half years old, it's still too soon to tell if you will grow up into which of the following: a general, a trooper, or what i've come to refer to as S.W.A.T.

No, we have no plans of drafting you into the military! Let me explain what i mean...

I believe that people are born hardwired as certain kinds of people.

As of this writing, there are over six billion people on the planet. That's six billion unique people with unique thoughts, unique sets of talents, unique habits, unique this and that and so on. So yes, despite the cutesy pink ballet uniforms, you are absolutely unique. When you grow up, you can choose to play on the strengths of your uniqueness, or you can choose to keep putting on uniforms, whether to become a nameless trooper in an army following orders or eventually becoming a general and giving them.

Or you may be a S.W.A.T. (my own lame version of this acronym is: Special Wants And Talents)

SWATs in the army are usually only called when their unique abilities and personalities are really needed. They do not necessarily conform to the regular regimen of the "everyday troopers." They are still soldiers and are part of the whole concept of defense and law enforcement, but on their operations, they make their own rules.

Your dad is a S.W.A.T.

It does not make me better or worse than generals (like your Uncle Pom), or troopers (like your Uncle Wilson). But it does make me "me."

Sometimes, i admire one of them for their command of people. Sometimes, i envy the other one for their simple outlook in life. But i have tried and found myself utterly uncomfortable in their skins. So i have settled into my own and have not looked back much. I still find myself wishing i was this or that, but i have found my life to be much more peaceful inside upon settling on the person i have decided to define myself to be.

The sooner you define yourself and stick to it, the sooner you will be at peace with your space in the infinite spectra of personality. It allows you to still stretch yourself and reach out, but at least your heart and mind will be anchored somewhere. So while you learn new things, meet new people, and see new places as you go on through life, all these things will enrich your life, without changing who you are.
'catch you later.

Love,
Dad