The last beer

The office Christmas party, held last December 21 at our boss' house, had the 80's as its theme. Considering it's the era I grew up with, conjuring the 80's look should have been a breeze.

But alas, my precious 80's outfits were carefully stowed and sealed in a chest in the ancestral home in the province. Had the announcement about the theme been made a tad earlier, I might have had the chance of strutting down the catwalk in my Menudo look.

Anyway, it was a great evening.

It was the first time I drank that much beer again since Penn passed away.

Before Penn's untimely demise, drinking sessions for us were spontaneous – never planned nor something we look forward to. They just happen at the slightest nudge here or a small hint there.

And just as unpredictable is the amount of beer to be consumed. Since our suking sari-sari store owner count us as well-paying customers, the credit line she gives could sometimes take the drinking sessions as far as our stamina will take us.

But Dec. 21 was something I looked forward to. It was something I planned amid the soul-crushing pressure of work faced by the Techies and the rest of mother station just before we all call it a year.

And so drink beer I did – I needed it, and I would have snapped if I didn't get it – at the same house, while playing on the same billiards table where Penn had his last game and his last can of beer. Cheers.

Sigh.

What a tough year this has been. Eventful and replete of blessings, which I am so thankful for, but tough nonetheless.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!

Deprived of the grand prize for the past two years, the Techies made up for its losing streak by looking really, really good. *ubo-ubo!* (l-r: lei, vlad, mic, mear, cherrie, mae, and lynn)

Fan

Prayers go out to people in Albay and all those who were affected by typhoon Reming...

There were only two occasions when I got starstruck.

First was when I was introduced to my favorite lady disk jockey some years ago during a charity event in UP Diliman.

I can't remember how our conversation went, but I recall how clammy my hands felt from sheer nervousness. It was an unexpected encounter, so I never had the time to prepare emotionally (Ewww baduy. Harhar!).

She is now a popular TV personality in the field of sports and fitness.

The second was when Joan and I watched Day Two of the 2006 World Pool Championship, held for the first time in the Philippines from November 4 to 12.

I'm not a sports fan. It's a title best reserved for those who devoted their spare time following the careers of their chosen personalities and knowing the intricacies of the game.

If I happen to have a few trophies here and there, it is because I had the honor of having a brilliant pool player and sportsman as a housemate for over five years.

Cheers to you, Penn.

And if I happen to know some stories behind the big names in the world of billiards, I owe it to our boss who kept his staff informed of both the history and the latest news every time we find the rare occasion to play in the office.

To see these big names up close and in live action was another experience entirely, especially when you get ringside seats (thanks to our boss' complimentary tickets).

Here, I realized there are so many things the TV camera cannot capture: the sound of Efren Bata Reyes' cue stick slamming the steel floor when he makes a bad positioning; the funny faces of Steve Davis when he acknowledges the crowd behind his seat; the steady, stoic expression of Radoslaw Babica despite the hecklers from the Filipino audiences; and, (sigh) the hecklers from the Filipino audiences.

Pinoys have a long way to go when it comes to audience etiquette and phone manners. The world will remember how Django Bustamante got messed up because somebody from the crowd answered his phone while he's in mid-swing, and how a fan took a flash photo of him during his shot.

Watching the game live was great -- we saw how real and human the pool legends are while they lounge, chat with fans, or walk around the hall looking like ordinary folks. Only when they wield their cue sticks and step to the tournament table do they change into something else -- Masters!

But in the end, Joan and I agree that we still prefer to watch most of the hours-long matches on TV, with a bag of nachos, spicy salsa, and ice-cold coke at hand, listening to the witty sports commentators.

Congratulations to the champ, Ronato Alcano!

And cheers to Manny Pacquiao, too.

Legacy

Last night the night lamp in our living room burned unusually bright. It was so bright we didn't have to use the two other lamps to light up the rest of the apartment's first level.

This morning we found the lamp's bulb busted -- its glass burned black and broken.

Burned out...

"At least it went out in a blaze of glory," I told my wife, "now THAT's a great way to go."

The lowly bulb became the apartment's brightest star, even for just one night, leaving a legacy that earned it a few seconds of conversation over breakfast.

The same phenomenon happens in watch batteries. Their dying moments are usually heralded by the crazy speed of the watch's second hand.

It happens to people, too.

That yearning to stand out and shine, and to perform with unusual enthusiasm and efficiency, in an attempt to leave behind a legacy...

Before they go.

I believe that's the ideal scenario. It may be hard for most of us, and oftentimes it is exactly what's keeping us where we are despite years of planning to move on.

Here's praying that we all leave behind a legacy...

Before we go.

We may not be successful, but at least we tried.

Sacrifice

I have known too many people, some of them close friends, who died because they cannot break a habit that destroyed them in the first place.

I have listened to their tales of so-called sacrifices, the things they have to give up so they could keep on living as normally and healthy as possible. At times, I hear only stories of hardship, making their lives seem like one big punishment.

But when does the concept of sacrifice end and change of lifestyle begin?

If it is the doctor’s order to stop smoking, throwing or giving away your stash of cigarettes is not a sacrifice, just as passing off the cake for dessert because of your diabetes is not a superhuman feat.

It is just a change of lifestyle, and one just have to live with it. Haven’t they smoked enough packets of cigarettes, or eaten enough sweets, or drank barrels of liquor during their "age of invulnerability" to last them a lifetime?

But unfortunately, some think otherwise, and thus giving in to old habits is just normal. “Tao lang, kumbaga.”

And so they take a puff, eat a slice, take a sip. And every time, they render thousands of pesos worth of medication useless.

I have listened to too many of these tales.

And now I have to listen to that of my father’s.

Breach

I tip my hat to those who can build a rock-solid division between personal and work problems, and keep it that way.

Mine just broke.

Today I managed destroy four pencils, raise my voice to a colleague (I'm sooooo sorry po), and, worse of all, demote an article by a multi-awarded journalist to a mere side-story in our media release – what the heck was I thinking?

I better go home before I do more damage to my work, others, and myself.

I can’t wait to go home.

Sigh.

I give up...

Dad.

I just learned that no amount of anger can change the fact that you are my father.

No matter how hard I try to keep my distance, I’ll come running to heed your call.

I may have a thousand and one alibis to stay away, but I’m surprised at how easily I can drop everything to rush by your side...

If you just cry for help.

Ah.

I hope you get well, Dad.

I just hope, too, that you see what my brother and sister are going through to help you...

and that you know what you’re doing...

Ideal

Deuteronomy 24:5. “When a man is newly wed, he need not go out on a military expedition, nor shall any public duty be imposed on him. He shall be exempt for one year for the sake of his family, to bring joy to the wife he has married.” – New American Bible, Catholic translation.

I received this verse through my cellphone last August 15, back when it didn’t mean much to me – I was confident my wife knew the nature of my work more than anyone else.

Just the same, I kept it, maybe as a reminder of what is ideal.

The other day however, on my 31st birthday, while being surrounded by officemates singing birthday songs in videoke, something clicked and struck me like a horrible revelation.

I’m celebrating my birthday over two hundred kilometers away from my wife.

Only then did I understand, during the times I’ve been spending most of the time this month on field, why I get so much comments like “Buti naman hindi ka inaaway ng wife mo” or “Napaka-understanding naman ng wife mo.”

I know. I know.

Darn it.

I know.

Things are still changing, and I’m still learning how to view work and life differently. The old ways simply won’t do.

Right now, I'm just happy and thankful to be home with my wife.

Six days to go

I just came back from a three-day stay-in workshop. Every night during that workshop, we, the facilitators, stay up late working and preparing for next day’s activities.

It was on the second night when I asked my married officemate, “How many days before your wedding did you go on leave?”

Maybe just a few days, was his somewhat uncertain reply.

“Okay. I’ll be on leave starting Friday afternoon up to July 7. That’ll be about ten working days.”

Ten working days.

That’s a hell lot of days for a lean, mean NGO like the one I work with.

I know this fact when I was filing my leave application last June 19. So I backed up my application with a more detailed, more formal request…

For: The Operations Committee

This is to formally request permission to go on leave for ten and a half (10 1/2) days, starting the afternoon of June 23 up to July 7, for the following reasons:

1) I will be getting married on June 28;

2) My only sister, a nurse in Liverpool, has come home, and I will be meeting my niece for the first time;

3) This is the first time after many years that my family will be once again complete.


It's somewhat dramatic, but what the heck. ^^

The call...

Remember this?

It’s over.

My officemate for over six or seven years (darn, I can’t even remember), my housemate for over two years... a big bro, tatay, and lolo to most of his friends...

He passed away this afternoon...



I received the call in the middle of a project meeting.

It was my boss.

Normally he wouldn’t do that – to call us knowing we are in a meeting.

He asked me to pass the phone to our project director, who was speaking at that time. In a hushed voice, she told me that she has been ignoring her phone ringing repeatedly in her pocket.

But his request was firm, and I have no choice but to interrupt our director, and hand her my phone.

The gasp and panicked voice made almost everyone turn from the meeting table. Judging from her expression, whatever our boss was telling her, it was bad.

Really bad.

When she walked back to the table, she first apologized and broke the news to everyone.

Our Senior Programmer passed away.

Condolences were extended, and the meeting have to go on.

It was hard... To not to shed a tear in front of the meeting. I wanted to break something. Anything.

But I can't.

Under the table, my hand were shaking, and I cannot understand half of what was being discussed.

Darn you!

Darn you! We were playing billiards just last week, you stubborn ox, and not even our bosses could make you put down that freakin’ bottle of beer.

Damn damn damn damn!

Shit.





Sigh...

Peace, King Tot.

Wherever you are, I’m sure you are in a better place.

I’ll dedicate my first bottle of beer to you.

Cheers!

And I'm not done writing about you just yet. More to follow.

Weird...

... dream.

This usually happens to me when I sleep in an unfamiliar place, or specifically, “namamahay.” So here’s a quickie entry, while the dream is still fresh...

I was in a big house with five businessmen. I went out with two of them to roam a busy marketplace, much like the ones in Divisoria or Baclaran, in search of a legendary shoemaker. We found him busy at work in a small shop full of not shoes but wood.

A fifty-something man with graying hair and sparse moustache, he reminded me of one of my betel-chewing uncles in Batangas.

He was working on a piece of furniture, and was driving ten-inch nails, with surgical precision, with a single smash of his hammer.

Maybe that makes him an even better shoemaker, I wondered.

And so we invited him to the big house. He sat down beneath on a stool beneath a cage with a yellow bird, and started to work on the shoes. Lots of shoes! All leather, expensive-looking shoes.

Then the scary part began.

At first it was a scratching sound that came from underneath the wooden floors, then a clear noise of something moist slithering through smooth surface. The old man stopped, and peered down a two-inch diameter drain fixed on the wooden floor.

The “thing” leaped out of the drainage – a gooey mass of dark green – swallowed the entire upper body of the old man, and pulled him back down in the drainage. How it managed to squeeze a fully-grown man through that drain was... scary.

Not one of the five businessmen noticed what happened as they went on with their own affairs – which is doing absolutely nothing. Some were standing, some were seated, but all were staring into nothing.

I went down the basement to search for the old man, and found an abandoned subway station. The dusty benches are full of cobwebs, and the rusty railroad tracks were broken and twisted. I called out for the old man, and I heard echoes coming from the pitch-black tunnels.

Suddenly, a group of high school kids came down through the basement and gathered in one of the dusty benches. One of them played the guitar, and in no time the whole place was filled with songs, loud voices, and laughter.

I went up back to the house, and saw a familiar person – my fiancee.

The moist, slithering sound filled the house, and grew louder and louder.

I shouted for everyone to go upstairs.

As the businessmen snapped out of their zombie-like state and rushed up the stairs, the “thing” burst through the floor and erupted into hundreds smaller versions of itself, eating and gnawing everything they come into contact with.

I called out to my fiancee to follow me upstairs, but she and another lady ran in the opposite direction to another room. They were able to slide the glass door shut just as one of the “things” made a jump for them.

Somehow, in that dream, I felt a bit sad because my fiancee chose a different escape route. But as I woke up, I knew she made the right decision.

We are different in so many ways, but somehow here we are, surviving and growing together still, and soon to live as one.

Some dream, huh? ^^

Cleanup

Hey, the Philippine flag is at the Mt. Everest summit. Isn't that something?

Cheers to the RP mountaineers for that wondrous feat. This country could use every bit of feel-good news it can get.

But while it is not an issue whoever reached the summit first, wouldn’t it be nice if a fact-finding group actually go out to get the real accounts and details from the “mystery climber” himself? – just so the record could be set straight. The Guinness does that, so why can’t we?

Here’s another accomplishment.

It took just one visit from my fiancee to get the Kampo cleanup started. Haha! Talk about getting a kick start. She is, after all, the one who discovered the place, and she deserves the best it has to offer.

We managed to clean the restroom, kitchen, and one of the two rooms for the whole Sunday afternoon. I now have a longer list of stuffs to buy from the hardware shop.

We have miles to go to get Kampo in tip-top shape again, but we're getting there.

After staying there for over two years, I'm rediscovering how nice Kampo is. Very soon we'll let go of that place, and it would surely break my heart (a bit) when that time comes.