He's right.
I'm loving the discomfort. It keeps my brain from asking too many questions.
If there's one thing I learned these past few years, it is that the answers will never come.
Just let go.
And keep running forward.
Showing posts with label Health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Health. Show all posts
January 17, 2023
September 27, 2022
Bye!
You are the first to go among my permanents and wisdoms.
You've been a great tooth. I'm sorry I wasn't able to care for you enough. I should have brushed and flossed deeper and harder for you.
We shared your pain these past days. I ran a 10-km race loaded with amoxicillin and mefenamic acid because of the pain you were going through.
But I never hated you even you cost me hours of sleep and gave me memories of unbearable pain. I just understand that our time together has come to an end.
Dr. M. Ibarra did a wonderful job of making our separation quick and easy. I might have nightmares of the sounds you made while you were being pulled off, but I will find peace that we've had an amazing time together.
Farewell, lower left wisdom tooth. Be free in tooth heaven.
October 02, 2021
Before it's too late
This is an old, ever-recurring thought I have in my head: life is fleeting.
My new hobby (or escape) and this pandemic brought this thought up there in my mind's top spot.
If my time to go comes, what happens to all my thoughts? My feelings? My ideas?
Gone.
I wonder...
How many thoughts, feelings, and ideas are lost every day?
Should I put mine somewhere?
Should I tell anyone?
...
...
....
...
I did. I did tell someone. Once. A long time ago.
It was a bad idea.
So...
I'll put it somewhere, then.
Maybe right here.
***
Last September 11, on my way to Tagaytay, I had my first bike semplang (crash). A cargo truck was parked at the side of the road somewhere on Aguinaldo Highway. Before I passed at the left side, I checked the rear for any oncoming vehicle. Seeing none, I made the pass and began accelerating.
I didn't notice that one of the nylon cords hanging at the side of the truck got tangled at the right tip of my handlebar. I was already picking up speed when the cord yanked my handlebar to the right, sending me flying forward straight to the concrete.
I broke my fall using both hands (thank goodness for the gloves), but the impact sprained my left wrist. I was fortunate that there was no vehicle behind me, and that my body went on autopilot to crawl immediately to the sidewalk. The cargo truck's crew members were also quick to secure my bike and check up on me.
I would have wanted to visit a lot of places in Tagaytay, but since I couldn't use my left hand fully, I ended my itinerary at the Tagaytay Rotonda, and slowly made my way back to Makati.
My virtual teammates were the first ones to know about what happened, and I thank them for their care and concern -- it really is heartwarming to receive "how are yous" and "get well soons". 🙏
Ride safe and stay safe, everyone!
I'm always thankful for the higher power that's been keeping me safe throughout my life. At age 46, I never had a major injury, and I pray it stays that way. Thank you, Lord. 🙏
***
The freakiness of that semplang made me acutely aware of my mortality, thus, this urge to reflect about what to do with the things happening in my head... and soul.
Maybe I should just learn to be at peace with the reality that some things, thoughts, and feelings are not meant to be known by anyone else.
Yes. I should.
Before it's too late and I make the same mistake I did long ago.
#
Time for self
The 2000 election was the most memorable time for me at work. That's the time when my passion for work overwhelmed my health.
Somewhere in C-6 Road, Taguig.
We were celebrating the successful round of election research in Boracay when my body gave up. After swimming out to the then-famous Floating Bar, I faded like a burned out candle and just collapsed at the floater.
I was then diagnosed with TB, and spent the next year in medication. Almost half of that time was spent recovering in the provinces, and I achieved the fittest I've ever been.
When I reported back to work, our then VP (now P) told me to always take time to take care of my health, regardless of how busy work is.
I've taken her advise to heart.
I take time now for my physical and mental health.
August 08, 2020
Late start... but time for beast-mode
After Healthway, I went to the nearest bike shop (Bike Town Cyclery) and had my Meri tuned up. Kuya Angelo, the bike mechanic, gave me tips on gear-shifting and maintenance. He also owns a Merida Big 7, he said.
(Side story: I saw Goyo Larrazabal while scouting for accessories at the second level of Bike Town. I wanted to ask him for a selfie but he was busy with some sort of event -- a DJ was working the music and there were lots of phones pointed at Goyo. I'll catch him some other time.)
Flashback to the past week...
My dumbells are five pounds heavier. I've been lifting them more frequently now, as with doing crunches, squats, push-ups, and lunges during lull moments between work-from-home and errands.
Something in me snapped when I heard that Metro Manila will revert to Modified Enhanced Community Quarantine from August 4 to 18.
This pandemic will be around for a while. I want to ride Meri, and I need my body to be strong for it.
I'm going beast-mode... for my health.
December 31, 2013
Thank you, 2013.
We were lucky. Most of Yolanda's wind was absorbed by our neighbor's 4-storey apartment building from the north, while another building shielded the south side.
My mother already had most of the roofing repaired, except for the small patch at the second floor bathroom. So... it was quite a shower experience: rain trickled through the kisame (speeding up my rinsing process), and with the solitary glass window shattered, I can see the world outside and (gasp!) vice-versa.
The house is structurally intact, half of the appliances still work, and most of all, no one got hurt. That's so much to be thankful for.
What a year this has been! I don't remember ever having gone through so much turbulence in my personal life -- both at work and with family.
But with every turmoil and trial come the most memorable times of my life.
2013 is a year I should not forget. In no particular order, I look back at my personal highlights.
***
Early this year, on March 27, our father joined the Creator. He was a pioneer in his family, the very first to venture out of the very small family, geographical, and cultural circle that his clan has known for so long. To some, he was that one fruit that fell a tad too far from the tree. But in his last moments, he did good on his promise to bring us back to the roots.
We love you, Dad. We miss you. Happy New year!
***
Nelson Mandela (July 18, 1918-December 5, 2013), Cory Monteith (May 11, 1982-July13, 2013), and Paul Walker (September 12, 1973-November 30, 2013) passed away.
Walker's death has been particularly shocking to me. Sometime this year HBO featured Fast Five, and somehow I never grew tired watching it again and again. My wife could attest to this, but I had commented endlessly how well-written the script was.
***
I give thanks for Joan's smooth transition at work as her former boss retires from the judicial profession. Her new office/boss takes her closer to home, and I probably should be ready to take my work somewhere else anytime soon. ^^
***
I've seen Mayon Volcano, finally, and it is every bit as awe-inspiring as I imagined it would be back when I was just looking at the postcards.
I can also now cross-out Sagada in my Local Places to Visit list.
And hurray Singapore (Universal Studios!) and Malaysia (Legoland!)!
***
A Catholic pope resigned -- something uncommon in anyone 's lifetime. The Catholic world was then presented a Pope unlike anyone before him, and he wants scientific data! Oh he gets the researcher in me so excited!
***
After over 15 years with mother station, I have an idea of what my weaknesses are, and one of them is handling people. This is the reason why I worked to have the communications and publications section established. Most of time it's a one-man department, but what the heck.
Every now and then, however, due to the sheer size of a project, I get drafted to do field management.
This year saw one of the biggest, most expensive projects the station has ever handled. The project was so crucial there was no room to freely choose the place to go to -- we were assigned based on how well we know the place, the people, and the language. So I, naturally, got assigned to Region VI.
Perhaps due to age and *cough* rank, my old fears were things of the past. That project re-acquainted me to all the things I love about fieldwork -- meeting new people, traveling, getting stranded in strange places, riding motorbikes on remote provincial roads, and, with some luck, rocking under the starry sky to the songs of some of my favorite local bands.
It was a difficult project, both technically and emotionally. The survey instrument was so hard to implement, and the subject re-opened our eyes to the harsh reality of poverty. We've seen mothers who never had any kind of pre- or post-natal care, children who never had a single vaccination, students who walk miles to get to their classrooms, and families so poor the only toys their children play with are the bolos and knives their parents use in the farms.
But these families opened their doors to us in complete trust, offered what meager food they have in their pots, and answered in earnest as we interviewed them for an average of three hours. This sort of hospitality is something you won't find so easily in the cities.
The project broke all our hearts, but made us better persons and so much grateful for the blessings we have.
Oh, and that project made me realize how susceptible I am to aswangs. Tsk. ^^
***
This year Joan and I explored alternative Chinese medicine (acupuncture), and had good results. The root of all my medical woes can now be explained in three words: I'm too hot. ^^
***
Thank you, 2013! It's been quite a year.
Hello, 2014!
October 11, 2012
37
August and September went by so fast!
This election season is giving me very little room to breathe normally, much less write anything here.
So what's new at 37?
Let's see.
Over the past year, the most glaring change would be the exponential growth of my appetite, combined with a dwindling metabolism rate.
This lethal combination began during my visit in Davao last March. Apparently that two-week unli-rice spree left a lasting effect -- a chunk of blubber now has a death-grip of my gut, and it's not showing any sign of letting go.
Truth be told, I am not expecting this sort of bodily change. There is no evidence that my parents, and grandparents from both sides of the family, ever had issues with disproportionate mid-section.
And the effects are truly bothersome.
First, I had to overhaul my wardrobe. I used to just worry about getting the right trousers to address my non-existent butt. Now I also have to think about suppressing the bulky belly.
Second, I finally lost my battle against the office's curse -- the one that dooms everyone to gain weight the moment they become regular staffs.
I have been a regular staff for over ten years, and the last evidence that such curse can be defied. It was a good, long fight.
And finally, I get to post fewer and fewer photos on fezbuk. Curse ye, me big belly and double chin!
Anyway, the battle against the bulge is on!
Cheers to 37!
This election season is giving me very little room to breathe normally, much less write anything here.
So what's new at 37?
Let's see.
Over the past year, the most glaring change would be the exponential growth of my appetite, combined with a dwindling metabolism rate.
This lethal combination began during my visit in Davao last March. Apparently that two-week unli-rice spree left a lasting effect -- a chunk of blubber now has a death-grip of my gut, and it's not showing any sign of letting go.
Truth be told, I am not expecting this sort of bodily change. There is no evidence that my parents, and grandparents from both sides of the family, ever had issues with disproportionate mid-section.
And the effects are truly bothersome.
First, I had to overhaul my wardrobe. I used to just worry about getting the right trousers to address my non-existent butt. Now I also have to think about suppressing the bulky belly.
Second, I finally lost my battle against the office's curse -- the one that dooms everyone to gain weight the moment they become regular staffs.
I have been a regular staff for over ten years, and the last evidence that such curse can be defied. It was a good, long fight.
And finally, I get to post fewer and fewer photos on fezbuk. Curse ye, me big belly and double chin!
Anyway, the battle against the bulge is on!
Cheers to 37!
August 30, 2011
36, and some kwento
I guess it's the way my head is wired -- my birthdays will always be special no matter what.
It doesn't matter where I am, who I'm with (if at all I'm with anyone), and what I'm doing (if at all I'm doing anything haha).
Life itself finds a way to make it memorable.
Last August 23, my mother-in-law and I accompanied my wife at the United Doctors Medical Center (UDMC) for her scheduled combined hysteroscopy and laparoscopy (CHL) on the morning of 24th.
The pre-operation procedure itself was already agonizing, particularly the enema. It would probably have been a bit tolerable had it not been for the IV drip that made movement so difficult -- but I guess it's the only way to keep the patient hydrated during the entire procedure.
When they wheeled her in the operating room at 8:30 AM of August 24, I was already briefed with the possibilities, and the scenarios where the doctor may summon me for my consent.
Three hours into the operation, the phone rang and I was summoned to the operating room. I was made to wear the complete surgical garb, and was welcomed by our doctor and five other members of her team at the operating table.
Joan was not visible under the green sheets. The doctor called my attention to a 30-inch screen showing a very clear live video of what the laparoscopic machine is seeing inside my wife.
Everything looked bloody, and I initially had no idea what I was looking at.
The doctor walked me through the procedure she has done so far, identifying the organs as she expertly poked them with the mechanical probes. She was able to address the cyst, and has done considerable work freeing the uterus and the bowels from adhesions.
She pointed to a group of organs that looked as if untouched. She identified the shiny, elastic flesh as the right fallopian tube, and the whitish lump next to it as the right ovary. I was glad to hear they are in good health.
With a few moves with the probes and adjustments in the camera, she then showed me the left fallopian tube.
All I said was "Oh my God..."
I couldn't take my eyes off the grotesque, bloody, discolored lump of flesh, swollen to over ten times its original size -- and it was getting so hard for me to hold back the tears.
The doctor described the status, and we agreed that it had to be removed.
Another two hours passed before I was summoned back to the OR. The doctor has already changed back to street clothes, and showed me the fallopian tube that was removed. It's as big as my pinky, only it looked like a misshaped longanisa.
An hour later, Joan was brought to the recovery room, shivering and crying. She was complaining about the cold, despite efforts of the nurses and doctors to turn off the aircon and warm her with an incandescent bulb.
Never had I felt so crushed. At that moment, I knew finally without a doubt what my weakest spot is.
Cheers to the nurses and doctors for keeping their cool even if my glares are getting a tad too murderous while I kept urging them to do something to ease her pains. In the end, they have to calmly ask me to wait at the room.
It was already past 7:00 PM when she was brought to the room.
Her first visitors, her relatives who live next to our house, came the next day.
On the morning of 26th, we received a text message that spurred Joan to have the catheter and IV drip removed: her boss and officemates are dropping by to visit by lunchtime.
Joan willed herself to wellness because of that -- she will never allow her officemates (and boss nyahaha) see her in such a weakened state. She succeeded in controlling her fevers and erratic bowel movements by the time her colleagues arrived.
Two more friends dropped by that evening.
We left the hospital in the afternoon of August 27.
Yesterday, on my birthday, we watched Cars 2 at Glorietta.
We walked a bit slower than usual, and had to be careful with what we eat, but it was my happiest birthday yet. ^^
Thank you, Lord, for this gift.
UDMC is an old institution better known for its cutting-edge technology in the field of laparoscopic surgery. We only have thumbs up for the excellent jobs of its doctors and nurses.
However, a downside of being in a hospital that is affiliated with a medical school (Southeast Asian College) is that you get subjected to the medical and nursing students -- and the not-so-impressive skills of some.
Three nursing students in particular stood out in terms of utter lack of bedside manners. Several times everyday for two days, we experienced what I dubbed as "The Terrible Trio".
They do not greet us when they enter the room. They do not introduce themselves and state their business until you ask them (creepy, really). They just slap the sphygmomanometer strap in Joan's arm and poke the thermometer under her arm pit without asking for her permission. They do not inform you of their readings (temperature and blood pressure) if you do not ask them. At some point, only one of them had a wristwatch.
And at all times, all of them wore makeup.
I pray to heavens that somehow these trio, all graduating on year 2012, develop some bedside manners soon.
Since I never post my birthday in any social networking site, it is easy to monitor the greetings I get.
The first greeting came a day early, but already it has a "belated" in it. ^^ A friend from Indonesia thought she missed my birthday. Hee hee thanks Lola!
The second came from Joan, as we woke up on the 29th.
The third came from a long-lost friend via email. Thank you, I. ^^
The fourth was a text message from my brother, and the fifth a phone call/song from my mother while we were driving to Glorietta.
On August 30, a former officemate posted a birthday app on my fezbook wall.
Shortly after that, my sister in UK greeted me through PM in fezbook.
Cheers to 36!
My prayers that everyone in the path of Hurricane Irene be safe.
It doesn't matter where I am, who I'm with (if at all I'm with anyone), and what I'm doing (if at all I'm doing anything haha).
Life itself finds a way to make it memorable.
***
Last August 23, my mother-in-law and I accompanied my wife at the United Doctors Medical Center (UDMC) for her scheduled combined hysteroscopy and laparoscopy (CHL) on the morning of 24th.
The pre-operation procedure itself was already agonizing, particularly the enema. It would probably have been a bit tolerable had it not been for the IV drip that made movement so difficult -- but I guess it's the only way to keep the patient hydrated during the entire procedure.
When they wheeled her in the operating room at 8:30 AM of August 24, I was already briefed with the possibilities, and the scenarios where the doctor may summon me for my consent.
Three hours into the operation, the phone rang and I was summoned to the operating room. I was made to wear the complete surgical garb, and was welcomed by our doctor and five other members of her team at the operating table.
Joan was not visible under the green sheets. The doctor called my attention to a 30-inch screen showing a very clear live video of what the laparoscopic machine is seeing inside my wife.
Everything looked bloody, and I initially had no idea what I was looking at.
The doctor walked me through the procedure she has done so far, identifying the organs as she expertly poked them with the mechanical probes. She was able to address the cyst, and has done considerable work freeing the uterus and the bowels from adhesions.
She pointed to a group of organs that looked as if untouched. She identified the shiny, elastic flesh as the right fallopian tube, and the whitish lump next to it as the right ovary. I was glad to hear they are in good health.
With a few moves with the probes and adjustments in the camera, she then showed me the left fallopian tube.
All I said was "Oh my God..."
I couldn't take my eyes off the grotesque, bloody, discolored lump of flesh, swollen to over ten times its original size -- and it was getting so hard for me to hold back the tears.
The doctor described the status, and we agreed that it had to be removed.
Another two hours passed before I was summoned back to the OR. The doctor has already changed back to street clothes, and showed me the fallopian tube that was removed. It's as big as my pinky, only it looked like a misshaped longanisa.
An hour later, Joan was brought to the recovery room, shivering and crying. She was complaining about the cold, despite efforts of the nurses and doctors to turn off the aircon and warm her with an incandescent bulb.
Never had I felt so crushed. At that moment, I knew finally without a doubt what my weakest spot is.
Cheers to the nurses and doctors for keeping their cool even if my glares are getting a tad too murderous while I kept urging them to do something to ease her pains. In the end, they have to calmly ask me to wait at the room.
It was already past 7:00 PM when she was brought to the room.
Her first visitors, her relatives who live next to our house, came the next day.
On the morning of 26th, we received a text message that spurred Joan to have the catheter and IV drip removed: her boss and officemates are dropping by to visit by lunchtime.
Joan willed herself to wellness because of that -- she will never allow her officemates (and boss nyahaha) see her in such a weakened state. She succeeded in controlling her fevers and erratic bowel movements by the time her colleagues arrived.
Two more friends dropped by that evening.
We left the hospital in the afternoon of August 27.
Yesterday, on my birthday, we watched Cars 2 at Glorietta.
We walked a bit slower than usual, and had to be careful with what we eat, but it was my happiest birthday yet. ^^
Thank you, Lord, for this gift.
***
UDMC is an old institution better known for its cutting-edge technology in the field of laparoscopic surgery. We only have thumbs up for the excellent jobs of its doctors and nurses.
However, a downside of being in a hospital that is affiliated with a medical school (Southeast Asian College) is that you get subjected to the medical and nursing students -- and the not-so-impressive skills of some.
Three nursing students in particular stood out in terms of utter lack of bedside manners. Several times everyday for two days, we experienced what I dubbed as "The Terrible Trio".
They do not greet us when they enter the room. They do not introduce themselves and state their business until you ask them (creepy, really). They just slap the sphygmomanometer strap in Joan's arm and poke the thermometer under her arm pit without asking for her permission. They do not inform you of their readings (temperature and blood pressure) if you do not ask them. At some point, only one of them had a wristwatch.
And at all times, all of them wore makeup.
I pray to heavens that somehow these trio, all graduating on year 2012, develop some bedside manners soon.
***
Since I never post my birthday in any social networking site, it is easy to monitor the greetings I get.
The first greeting came a day early, but already it has a "belated" in it. ^^ A friend from Indonesia thought she missed my birthday. Hee hee thanks Lola!
The second came from Joan, as we woke up on the 29th.
The third came from a long-lost friend via email. Thank you, I. ^^
The fourth was a text message from my brother, and the fifth a phone call/song from my mother while we were driving to Glorietta.
On August 30, a former officemate posted a birthday app on my fezbook wall.
Shortly after that, my sister in UK greeted me through PM in fezbook.
Cheers to 36!
***
My prayers that everyone in the path of Hurricane Irene be safe.
May 07, 2011
Happy Mami Day!
 Mamidir with her anakis, circa 1990's. |
The first one is pretty simple. When I was in fifth grade, I drew a robot and from it made a half-foot, fully pose-able model out of old slippers.
My mom was so impressed that she thought of contacting the local media to have my so-called "talent" featured.
But I was too shy and passed on the chance at fame.
The second story was about the time a nurse told my mom, "I-sibin mo ang bata mo, Mam," to bring my fever down in case it gets too high.
For some reason my mom forgot to clarify what the word meant as she patiently tended to me as she had done everyday since I got hospitalized for H-fever -- feeding me, watching my condition, searching for blood donors, etc.
So when my fever suddenly spiked to 42 degrees C and I began making weird things with my eyes and body, my mother did everything except that mysterious "sibin" thing.
As the nurses rushed in with ice and wet towels, the head nurse asked my mother if she administered "sibin" on me.
Recalling finally what was amiss, my mom asked (in Akeanon), "Nurse, ano buot hambaeon ko sibin hay? (What does sibin mean?)"
"Amo ni ang sibin" (This is sibin.), says the nurse (in Ilonggo) as she proceeded with giving me a brisk sponge bath with ice-cold water.
"Aah, trapuhan," says my mom.
"Indi, Mam. Sibin," insisted the nurse. "Amo ni ya ang trapuhan..." (This is trapuhan...) and she took the mop and started mopping the floor.
End of story.
I guess these are two of the fondest memories she has of me.
The toy robot is neatly preserved in my old room, a reminder of how much my mother has been so proud of my accomplishments, however small they may be. She could have pushed me to fame at a young age (nyahaha), but she respected and supported what I wanted -- as she always does.
I spent seven days and my 13th birthday in that hospital (Emmanuel Hospital at Roxas City, Capiz). My blood was examined every three hours the entire time (that's about fifty skin pricks distributed in ten fingers), and the pain was surreal.
But my mother, my family, and all the good souls that kept me company in that hospital room made the experience a whole lot bearable, almost fun.
I never felt the misery or hardship of being sick. While the pain was a constant buzz, I remember the pretty nurses, one of my happiest birthday celebrations, and my mother being there constantly.
The "sibin" incident has become one of my mom's surefire hit if she needs to make a point about language differences and get a few laughs out of it.
In the end, I guess she did make me a little famous in her own way. ^^
Happy Mother's Day, Mamidir. Labs guid!
October 25, 2010
The SWS-TAF friendship games
The Asia Foundation (TAF) has been mother station's longest institutional partner, going way back in 1980's when TAF gave SWS its first grant.In my career in social research, my most memorable and fulfilling projects had been with them.
After so many years working with TAF, it was good to see them -- for the first time -- in their sports attire, talk about something else aside from projects, and engage them in a friendly competition last Saturday at the Timberland Nature and Sports Club in San Mateo, Rizal.
TAF did well in the 3-on-3 basketball, free-throw and 3-point shootout, volleyball, and three-to-five-legged race, while SWS excelled in cheering competition, billiards, "going to market", tug-of-war, wall climbing, and pool relay.
By evening, we all shared that love for wine, beer, and videoke (and Glee! Haha!).
Cheers, TAF!
(Photo credits to Mae L.)
***
I know I can swim since elementary days, and I have taken 4 units of swimming as PE. But it was only last Saturday when I was finally comfortable calling myself a swimmer.
I can swim fast. And if I practice and polish my techniques some more, I can go really fast and far.
But I'll leave it at just "fast" for now. It's nice to know I'm good at something.
And I was reminded how important it is to stay fit and healthy.
February 27, 2010
Gamble
As the saying goes, be careful with what you wish for.
For the longest time I’ve been wishing for a little extra body weight. It was granted last December, when I effortlessly gained 5 pounds in less than a month – thanks to the steady supply of delicious brownies we get every Christmas time, and fresh seafoods at home.
It’s been two months since the brownies stopped. But despite the regular jog and workout, the weight gain continues, and I am 10 pounds (edit 3-1-2010: not kilos!) heavier now than I was before the Christmas season.
It may look small, but that figure is big enough to concern an ectomorph in his mid-thirties like myself.
The worst part is, all that added weight went to just one spot (groan!).
It’s good that my “chi” reserve (as Euge and I would call it) could probably sustain me for a few days without food. While El Nino poses a real threat to our food supply here, it’s my wardrobe that’s really beginning to suffer.
I have to get rid of the blubber surrounding my “chi” before the next office R-and-R, scheduled after the May 2010 national elections.
I was faced with a similar challenge over three years ago, when I have to look presentable in my wedding barong.
In the months leading to that big day, I assembled a program of punishment that will guarantee a reasonably fit Leo walking down the aisle.
But I wasn’t contented just sticking to my methods of madness. I had to have something more to motivate myself: a wager.
And so one was made: if I develop a six-pack abs, one of my officemates will have to do something (sorry, can’t reveal this one yet… still under embargo) in front of everyone. If I lose, I will have to kiss my wife a certain number of times on wedding day (don’t we just love statistics?).
Fair enough.
I lost. I managed to sprout maybe two and a half packs, but at least there was no unwanted bulge in my barong on that big day. That nasty pimple, however, completely caught me off-guard.
Oh well.
I think the kisses that went on that day were more than what the bet asked more.
In our last dinner date with Joan’s friends, one of her officemates shared how she dealt with her three-year old son’s “utosero” moment.
Scenario: Kid wakes up craving for french fries at 9:00 p.m, wakes up mother, mother leaves bed, goes to kitchen and cooks while kid waits comfortably in bed, mother serves french fries, kid changes mind and asked for fried chicken instead, mother cooks and serves it, kid changes mind again… and boom! Mother, in a performance that could put Judy Ann Santos to shame, cries and delivers a heart-wrenching speech, “Buti pa doon sa office, nakakaupo ako. Dito, hindi na ako nakakapagpahinga dahil utos kayo ng utos…!” Kid cries and hugs mother, “Mommy, tama na. Sorry na, mommy. Sige na, mommy, matulog na tayo…”
Wow.
At the end of the story, all I can think of was, “What if it didn’t work?”
The husband, who was seated next to us and was smiling the entire time Joan’s officemate was telling the story, provided the closing.
Closing scenario: As mother goes back to bed, father says, “The winner is… Mommy!”
Anthony Bourdain has the best description of how it is like to cross a street in Manila: “It’s all about timing and commitment.”
I could not agree more.
Pedestrians crossing an average street in Manila must time their move and stick to it to very end, leaving the rest to faith that oncoming motorists will respect that commitment and life itself, and let the pedestrians through.
Of course, things can go wrong and the little gamble could end up in injury or death. This incident is minimized by a simple pact between pedestrian and motorist – declaration of commitment. A raised hand or a flash of the headlight, coupled with mutual respect for each others’ welfare, and life goes on amid the chaos.
The concepts of declaration and the respect for it first made sense to me in high school. As far as I can remember, I tried to live them as well.
In that age of volatile emotions and developing characters, those concepts were crucial to order and camaraderie – especially as one goes through high school while attending to matters of the heart.
“Ang kay Juan ay kay Juan” was a simple way of putting it, assuming that Juan made the proper declaration, and that such declaration does not violate any prior declaration. It’s quite restrictive of freedom, but served well in minimizing both physical and emotional injuries haha!
Our high school batch has been slowly gathering up in fezbook.
Just the other day, I got reconnected with one who’s been out of hailing frequency (at least in mine) since our HS graduation. Hi Jov! ^^
Yet another FB wonder.
For the longest time I’ve been wishing for a little extra body weight. It was granted last December, when I effortlessly gained 5 pounds in less than a month – thanks to the steady supply of delicious brownies we get every Christmas time, and fresh seafoods at home.
It’s been two months since the brownies stopped. But despite the regular jog and workout, the weight gain continues, and I am 10 pounds (edit 3-1-2010: not kilos!) heavier now than I was before the Christmas season.
It may look small, but that figure is big enough to concern an ectomorph in his mid-thirties like myself.
The worst part is, all that added weight went to just one spot (groan!).
It’s good that my “chi” reserve (as Euge and I would call it) could probably sustain me for a few days without food. While El Nino poses a real threat to our food supply here, it’s my wardrobe that’s really beginning to suffer.
I have to get rid of the blubber surrounding my “chi” before the next office R-and-R, scheduled after the May 2010 national elections.
***
I was faced with a similar challenge over three years ago, when I have to look presentable in my wedding barong.
In the months leading to that big day, I assembled a program of punishment that will guarantee a reasonably fit Leo walking down the aisle.
But I wasn’t contented just sticking to my methods of madness. I had to have something more to motivate myself: a wager.
And so one was made: if I develop a six-pack abs, one of my officemates will have to do something (sorry, can’t reveal this one yet… still under embargo) in front of everyone. If I lose, I will have to kiss my wife a certain number of times on wedding day (don’t we just love statistics?).
Fair enough.
I lost. I managed to sprout maybe two and a half packs, but at least there was no unwanted bulge in my barong on that big day. That nasty pimple, however, completely caught me off-guard.
Oh well.
I think the kisses that went on that day were more than what the bet asked more.
***
In our last dinner date with Joan’s friends, one of her officemates shared how she dealt with her three-year old son’s “utosero” moment.
Scenario: Kid wakes up craving for french fries at 9:00 p.m, wakes up mother, mother leaves bed, goes to kitchen and cooks while kid waits comfortably in bed, mother serves french fries, kid changes mind and asked for fried chicken instead, mother cooks and serves it, kid changes mind again… and boom! Mother, in a performance that could put Judy Ann Santos to shame, cries and delivers a heart-wrenching speech, “Buti pa doon sa office, nakakaupo ako. Dito, hindi na ako nakakapagpahinga dahil utos kayo ng utos…!” Kid cries and hugs mother, “Mommy, tama na. Sorry na, mommy. Sige na, mommy, matulog na tayo…”
Wow.
At the end of the story, all I can think of was, “What if it didn’t work?”
The husband, who was seated next to us and was smiling the entire time Joan’s officemate was telling the story, provided the closing.
Closing scenario: As mother goes back to bed, father says, “The winner is… Mommy!”
***
Anthony Bourdain has the best description of how it is like to cross a street in Manila: “It’s all about timing and commitment.”
I could not agree more.
Pedestrians crossing an average street in Manila must time their move and stick to it to very end, leaving the rest to faith that oncoming motorists will respect that commitment and life itself, and let the pedestrians through.
Of course, things can go wrong and the little gamble could end up in injury or death. This incident is minimized by a simple pact between pedestrian and motorist – declaration of commitment. A raised hand or a flash of the headlight, coupled with mutual respect for each others’ welfare, and life goes on amid the chaos.
***
The concepts of declaration and the respect for it first made sense to me in high school. As far as I can remember, I tried to live them as well.
In that age of volatile emotions and developing characters, those concepts were crucial to order and camaraderie – especially as one goes through high school while attending to matters of the heart.
“Ang kay Juan ay kay Juan” was a simple way of putting it, assuming that Juan made the proper declaration, and that such declaration does not violate any prior declaration. It’s quite restrictive of freedom, but served well in minimizing both physical and emotional injuries haha!
***
Our high school batch has been slowly gathering up in fezbook.
Just the other day, I got reconnected with one who’s been out of hailing frequency (at least in mine) since our HS graduation. Hi Jov! ^^
Yet another FB wonder.
March 01, 2009
Closer to reality
"Killer".
Many may have learned this game in grade school -- during recess, lunch break, in the schoolbus, or in any crowd that has run out of anything else to do.
The game's rules are quite simple: the roles of a killer (the one who gets all the fun), a police (the one who stops the fun by catching the killer), a doctor (the one who keeps the fun going by reviving the murdered players, unless he himself gets killed), a judge (the one who, if still alive after the killer has been caught, gets to have fun punishing the killer), and as many civilians (just meat for the killer, and for the doctor's reviving pleasure) as needed will be raffled to players. The act of killing or reviving would be by a pre-agreed gesture, usually by winking or kindat.
There are many variations of this rule, but from grade school up to just a few days ago, I have always played the version where the killer could never kill the police.
Last Friday, my officemates and I played this game at Pork Barrel, and I was introduced to a rather different set of rules: a) the police can be killed; and b) the police can make the "arrest" only if s/he catches the killer in the act of killing others.
The new rules made a world of difference. No longer can the police boldly stare at anyone, wait for that fateful killer wink, then make the arrest -- s/he is as easy a target as anyone else.
Also, the killer can now wipe out everyone -- a perfect kill, as I would call it.
I admit that cops are not invulnerable the way the game has treated them for as long as I can remember. At least, that night, I played an old game that suddenly took a wide step towards reality.
A part of me, though, would also see that night as a case of misplaced empowerment.
Anyway, our little Friday group is still in a quest to fine-tune this game.
The late night news flashed a report about a man getting mugged by a group of minors. The TV crew even caught on camera the group of youngster casually jogging away from the man they've just robbed and beaten to a bloody pulp.
The disturbing part was how the barangay official officials admitted that such incidents have been the modus operandi of youngsters in their area, and that these kids, being minors, usually go scott-free.
A certain law has empowered kids like them. Unfortunately, the same law may make it hard for the poor, beaten man to find justice.
We don't allow misplaced power. We either bestow it, or willingly place ourselves in its embrace. Those who rightfully have it also have a responsibility, like what good ol' Uncle Ben always say.
Next time I will really carry antihistamines with me, so I could enjoy as much crabs and shrimps as I used to.
Cheers!
Many may have learned this game in grade school -- during recess, lunch break, in the schoolbus, or in any crowd that has run out of anything else to do.
The game's rules are quite simple: the roles of a killer (the one who gets all the fun), a police (the one who stops the fun by catching the killer), a doctor (the one who keeps the fun going by reviving the murdered players, unless he himself gets killed), a judge (the one who, if still alive after the killer has been caught, gets to have fun punishing the killer), and as many civilians (just meat for the killer, and for the doctor's reviving pleasure) as needed will be raffled to players. The act of killing or reviving would be by a pre-agreed gesture, usually by winking or kindat.
There are many variations of this rule, but from grade school up to just a few days ago, I have always played the version where the killer could never kill the police.
Last Friday, my officemates and I played this game at Pork Barrel, and I was introduced to a rather different set of rules: a) the police can be killed; and b) the police can make the "arrest" only if s/he catches the killer in the act of killing others.
The new rules made a world of difference. No longer can the police boldly stare at anyone, wait for that fateful killer wink, then make the arrest -- s/he is as easy a target as anyone else.
Also, the killer can now wipe out everyone -- a perfect kill, as I would call it.
I admit that cops are not invulnerable the way the game has treated them for as long as I can remember. At least, that night, I played an old game that suddenly took a wide step towards reality.
A part of me, though, would also see that night as a case of misplaced empowerment.
Anyway, our little Friday group is still in a quest to fine-tune this game.
***
The late night news flashed a report about a man getting mugged by a group of minors. The TV crew even caught on camera the group of youngster casually jogging away from the man they've just robbed and beaten to a bloody pulp.
The disturbing part was how the barangay official officials admitted that such incidents have been the modus operandi of youngsters in their area, and that these kids, being minors, usually go scott-free.
A certain law has empowered kids like them. Unfortunately, the same law may make it hard for the poor, beaten man to find justice.
***
We don't allow misplaced power. We either bestow it, or willingly place ourselves in its embrace. Those who rightfully have it also have a responsibility, like what good ol' Uncle Ben always say.
***
I had too much Coke tonight.Next time I will really carry antihistamines with me, so I could enjoy as much crabs and shrimps as I used to.
Cheers!
November 29, 2008
Burden
The funny thing about growing up the youngest and the most sickly offspring is that, after having been subjected to so much care and attention from so many people, there'll be a time when you promise to never ever be a burden to anyone anymore.
There may be those who find this kind of attention addicting, but not me.
I made that promise when I was in high school, after surviving the most fatal illness I incurred so far. It started with something very simple, "I promise to keep myself healthy," but it worked: I became less of a burden to anyone.
Age complicates a lot of things, and keeping this promise has involved more than just not having anyone give you a sponge bath.
Though many times I have faltered, the promise still and will always stand.
I just want to try to always leave something better behind, for anyone.
My officemates made the decision a lot easier. Judging by the frustrated looks in their faces after watching Twilight, I knew I have to watch the movie first before reading the books.
I’m more into increasing margin of satisfaction.
After completing this year's business survey, I was eager to see for myself just how bad corruption is for two of the relatively more problematic government agencies: the Philippine National Police (PNP) and the Land Transportation Office (LTO).
My experience in getting a vehicle clearance from the Traffic Management Group (TMG) was just an indication why the public gave poor sincerity ratings to PNP.
Two out of the three fees that you will be asked to pay will not have an official receipt. One of those two you have to give because the macro-etching staff will insist that they are not getting paid by PNP at all, while the other is an optional fee to cut transaction process from three days to two hours.
And this office is a mini-blackhole – if you pay something, make sure that it’s in the exact amount, or you’ll never see your “sukli” finding their way back to you.
Dealing with LTO, on the other hand, was a refreshing surprise, thanks to their little office where I had the transfer of ownership for our old AUV processed.
The LTO Camp Aguinaldo Extension office, in my opinion, is a beautiful work in progress towards cultivating a culture of counter-corruption in government. There was not a single shady character going the compound around asking people what they want or what they need to do – they talk only when you ask them.
In every bulletin board, you’d find posters saying, “We do not tolerate fixers”. Very re-assuring. It intrigues me, however, why the Inspectors stationed at the office entrance have to put on dark sunglasses every time they evaluate your documents.
I have no complains about corruption in this little office.
But I do hate how the relatively older staffs would whip out their mobile phones and take their sweet time composing SMS while the queue gets longer.
There may be those who find this kind of attention addicting, but not me.
I made that promise when I was in high school, after surviving the most fatal illness I incurred so far. It started with something very simple, "I promise to keep myself healthy," but it worked: I became less of a burden to anyone.
Age complicates a lot of things, and keeping this promise has involved more than just not having anyone give you a sponge bath.
Though many times I have faltered, the promise still and will always stand.
I just want to try to always leave something better behind, for anyone.
***
My officemates made the decision a lot easier. Judging by the frustrated looks in their faces after watching Twilight, I knew I have to watch the movie first before reading the books.
I’m more into increasing margin of satisfaction.
***
After completing this year's business survey, I was eager to see for myself just how bad corruption is for two of the relatively more problematic government agencies: the Philippine National Police (PNP) and the Land Transportation Office (LTO).
My experience in getting a vehicle clearance from the Traffic Management Group (TMG) was just an indication why the public gave poor sincerity ratings to PNP.
Two out of the three fees that you will be asked to pay will not have an official receipt. One of those two you have to give because the macro-etching staff will insist that they are not getting paid by PNP at all, while the other is an optional fee to cut transaction process from three days to two hours.
And this office is a mini-blackhole – if you pay something, make sure that it’s in the exact amount, or you’ll never see your “sukli” finding their way back to you.
Dealing with LTO, on the other hand, was a refreshing surprise, thanks to their little office where I had the transfer of ownership for our old AUV processed.
The LTO Camp Aguinaldo Extension office, in my opinion, is a beautiful work in progress towards cultivating a culture of counter-corruption in government. There was not a single shady character going the compound around asking people what they want or what they need to do – they talk only when you ask them.
In every bulletin board, you’d find posters saying, “We do not tolerate fixers”. Very re-assuring. It intrigues me, however, why the Inspectors stationed at the office entrance have to put on dark sunglasses every time they evaluate your documents.
I have no complains about corruption in this little office.
But I do hate how the relatively older staffs would whip out their mobile phones and take their sweet time composing SMS while the queue gets longer.
May 28, 2007
Of tai chi and pirates
The unpleasant thing about Mondays is that it's the deadline for most of the unfinished work last week. And to make it worse, your body hasn't really snapped out of its weekend-mode.
I'm particularly sluggish today. Yesterday, Joan took me on a tour and trial workout in her fitness club. For five hours we tried out the machines and attended two of the club's group exercises: tai chi (the "silent body killer") and Body Balance (the "not-so-silent body killer").
Note to self #1: Never take tai chi and Body Balance together in one afternoon, or even on the same day.
Note to self #2: I have no problem whatsoever achieving the wuji or empty pose of tai chi. Nose aligned vertically to the navel, knees slightly bent, shoulder relaxed, hands hanging on front of the thighs, tailbone tucked, and butt pushed slightly forward.
A lanky frame that spends most of the time seated in front of the computer + a not so well-endowed butt = wuji.
Tai chi instructor: "Maganda ang pose mo, pare..." *Runs his hand down my lower back*
Ooops, spider sense is tingling.
Anyway...
Two hours of basic Tai Chi put most of the pressure to thighs and legs, while the so-called Body Balance is a mix of Tai Chi, yoga, and pilates, strung together in a one-hour full body workout.
Now my abdominal muscles are so sore it hurts to just cough or laugh. Walang magpapatawa today! Arrr!
But it was a refreshing weekend, plus it's a good way to bond with your spouse. It reminded me of our martial arts sparring days, back when our motto was "I will hit you because I want you to learn" or something like that. ("Here, Mahal *pushes you to into a leg split*)
Arrr! That stretching did good to me seafarin' legs!
I'd hate to be the captain of the Flying Dutchman.
One day at shore and ten years at sea?
Darn.
I'm particularly sluggish today. Yesterday, Joan took me on a tour and trial workout in her fitness club. For five hours we tried out the machines and attended two of the club's group exercises: tai chi (the "silent body killer") and Body Balance (the "not-so-silent body killer").
Note to self #1: Never take tai chi and Body Balance together in one afternoon, or even on the same day.
Note to self #2: I have no problem whatsoever achieving the wuji or empty pose of tai chi. Nose aligned vertically to the navel, knees slightly bent, shoulder relaxed, hands hanging on front of the thighs, tailbone tucked, and butt pushed slightly forward.
A lanky frame that spends most of the time seated in front of the computer + a not so well-endowed butt = wuji.
Tai chi instructor: "Maganda ang pose mo, pare..." *Runs his hand down my lower back*
Ooops, spider sense is tingling.
Anyway...
Two hours of basic Tai Chi put most of the pressure to thighs and legs, while the so-called Body Balance is a mix of Tai Chi, yoga, and pilates, strung together in a one-hour full body workout.
Now my abdominal muscles are so sore it hurts to just cough or laugh. Walang magpapatawa today! Arrr!
But it was a refreshing weekend, plus it's a good way to bond with your spouse. It reminded me of our martial arts sparring days, back when our motto was "I will hit you because I want you to learn" or something like that. ("Here, Mahal *pushes you to into a leg split*)
Arrr! That stretching did good to me seafarin' legs!
I'd hate to be the captain of the Flying Dutchman.
One day at shore and ten years at sea?
Darn.
July 12, 2004
filial fighting
last night, for the first time, i worked out in a gym. the instructors are pleasant and they have the looks to show their expertise (next to them, i feel like some pathetic ectoplasm). while the gym's space is somewhat lacking, the equipment and facility are fairly adequate. the people are generally nice to look at because most have clearly been spending some time working out. the instructor started me with chest and triceps workout. he told me that if i want faster toning and definition, i should do more reps and sets than my usual home routine.
and so now i can hardly lift my arms (and still a mass of flabs. haha! dream on!).
but i like it, and i'll go back for more.
back in the good old college days, we would spend 2-3 hours, three times a week, punching, kicking, throwing, and grappling in a so-called martial arts training. it was a small organization, with active members averaging only to ten. for over two years, we've sparred and trained with almost the same group of people, with occasional inter-chapter trainings. having spent that much time together, every punch, kick, throw -- among other sorts of painful exercises -- has developed a certain bond among the us.
filial fighting.
how hard you hit your sparring partner, how high you throw them in the air, is how much you love them. we were taught not to pull punches if we want our partners to improve and be pushed beyond their limits. we would end each training session tending to each other's bruises.
i got punched real hard just days ago, my chest still ache a bit... but i know it's for my own good, and i know that it is out of love.
it sucks, though, tending to your bruises on your own. Ü
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August 28, 8PM. "Knock, knock. "Who's there? "Leo. "Leo who? "I wanna Leeeeeeooooo down in a bed of roses......
