Accidentally Jessica

Sorry, this is the best that my phone camera can do.

Nanay handed me a handwritten note on a yellow stick pad.  It said: Li Garden Sharksfin Seafood Restaurant, Macapagal Ave., near PNB.

She asked if I could drive her there the following day for her 5pm European pilgrimage briefing; the tour sponsored by my bachelor brother and resident Mr. Generous, Kuya Gary.  Though she said it as a request, it was more like an edict.  As the family’s designated “go to” guy I was expected to find the time to do as, well, requested.

So after our afternoon Wall Climbing class, my wife and I picked up Nanay at Robinsons Place Lipa.  The drive was uneventful and we arrived at Li Garden a good 30 minutes ahead of schedule.

The last time I brought Nanay to this kind of briefing was on a rainy night in November of last year for her trip to the Holy Land (told you my brother is generous). Back then the meeting was held at a Korean restaurant somewhere in Ermita.  The rain was heavy that my wife and I decided to wait out the briefing inside the venue.  Luckily, not all those who were supposed to arrive did, leaving a few vacant plates – note, free dinner – available to us.

As a consequence of arriving early at Li Garden, we wouldn’t know if the same thing would happen in at least two hours.  Honestly, I am intrigued if the restaurant would serve sharksfin as its business name boldly suggests.  I suppose World Wildlife Fund, DENR, PETA and other groups concerned with animal conservation should look into this.

Anyway, as soon as Nanay had other early birds for company we decided to leave her there for a quick hop to the Mall of Asia a few minutes away.

Every time we are in Manila we make it a point to eat at restaurants not available in Lipa, this time at Sbarro’s, my wife’s favorite.

After a satisfying slice of deep dish pizza, zitti and eggplant parmigiana washed down by iced tea and lemonade we decided to take a leisurely stroll back to the parking lot.

On the way I heard a powerful voice singing.  I thought it was just an audition for one of those billion talent shows.  It sounded a lot like Jessica Sanchez.  But no one could sound like Jessica Sanchez except for Jessica Sanchez, herself.

As we walked closer to the stage, a widescreen was showing someone who looked like Jessica Sanchez singing.  I thought “Oh well, just a recording of one of Jessica’s performances.”

But it was not.  Under the widescreen was the real Jessica singing “Stuttering” live.  It was surreal.  It was an unexpected blessing.  My wife later confided that she was on the verge of tears because of the accidental encounter.

Jessica sang another song, The Prayer.  She was brilliant.  And supremely talented.  She also looked every bit a Filipina in short shorts and what looked like 10-foot wedges.  Yes, I think she’s a Filipina regardless of what Charice Pempengco’s American manager claims.  I mean if you compare Jessica and Charice, who do you think acts and behaves like a Filipina?

Nanay’s meeting ended around 9.

On the way home, everyone was silent inside the car.  Nanay was sleeping and my wife was still probably reminiscing about the chance encounter with Jessica.  I sure was.

I was doing 90 along the STAR Tollway when I was about to overtake a six-wheeler doing about 60.  This is a routine pass, I go left, the truck stays to the right, and we should just be complete strangers whizzing by each other without actually seeing one another.

But as I was about to pass the slow truck inexplicably veered towards my lane.  I simultaneously hammered the horn and stepped on the brakes so hard that we went from 90 to 0 in one long angry ode to the truck driver’s parentage, specifically his maternal lineage. 

The horn jolted the driver to his senses and he steered the truck back to the proper lane.

Funny that as this was happening, the only thing going inside my head was that the sound effects in movies of cars breaking and wheels screeching sounded eerily similar to the real thing.  So did the videos of car accidents caught on tape.

Then we were engulfed by the smoke and burnt smell of brake pads that were worked up to its limits.  My Nanay, awakened by the sudden stop, calmly and cluelessly asked, “Bakit ka tumigil?”

As I started the car again I can see the truck pulled over to the side, the driver alit and holding his hand high in a gesture of apology.  He looked like someone suddenly awakened from sleep.  I drove on.  It was pointless to confront him.

What a night.  One moment I was humming Stuttering in my head, the next I was muttering inanities.  Oh darn, accidentally Jessica.

Of a giftless birthday and cheap happiness

Yesterday, September 22, was my birthday.  Except for a late lunch date with my wife followed by a quick stop at the grocery, I did not spend any money on this day.  I did not buy anything for myself.  And my wife also did not get me anything.  It was just like any ordinary day.

But I felt like a million because people who care for me did not get me gifts that were paid for in currency.  Rather they spent time and effort for me on my birthday.  That’s the best gift I can receive because it meant that they value me.  They did not leave me with a souvenir that would get bundled with other material things, instead they left me with moments that I can lift anytime from my memory bank should I need a quick pick-me-upper.

That’s priceless.

I appreciate the satisfaction of having the capacity to spend, and I strive hard to achieve that capacity every day.  But I thank God that I grew up not finding happiness in money and what it can buy.  My family’s lack of it as I was growing up had a lot to do with this attitude because I was forced to find alternative sources of happiness.  I found it in my imagination, in the drawings that I scrawled everywhere, in the times I spent freely on my own wandering without regard for time and hunger, in the kids and older people I spent time with, and in little things that God made such as spiders and mushrooms.

But not every day can be my birthday.

It does not make a difference however.  Not a day passes without me getting or experiencing a priceless gift.  So inspite of the problems and challenges that come my way I can say that I am lucky to be happy every day.

Let me share a quick list of what makes me smile and grateful to be alive.  Most of it is free, and if there is any form of expenditure, it’s definitely cheap.

1.        Waking up in the morning.

2.       Sinking my teeth on a perfect sunny side up seasoned with rock salt – yolk golden and oozing, melting on the tongue. Sarap ng breakfast.

3.       Wearing a shirt neatly pressed by my wife who refuses to let me out of the house looking haggard.  This is one chore she does not pass on to househelp.

4.       The sweet smell emanating from my beehives as I inspect them one by one.

5.       A tablespoon of honey I harvested myself.

6.       A random bird that visits our garden; a hummingbird once, a red breasted quail next, and an assortment of colorful ones whose names I don’t even know.

7.       Edible mushrooms after a heavy rain.

8.       Fresh fruits rambutan, durian, suha, satsuma, kalamansi, fresh vegetables and herbs malunggay, kamote tops, sili leaves, papaya, basil, mint – all from the garden.  Still waiting for the mangosteen though.

9.       Fresh tuna sashimi I prepare from a cut I bought from the market. I usually buy one fourth kilo at about 75 pesos.  This would be good for 3 servings.  Sarap.

10.   A kid placing a candy wrapper in his or her pocket: There is hope for the environment.

11.   A driver stopping at an intersection and waving me to join the traffic: Not everyone is in a hurry.

12.   Finding red notifications on FB.

13.   Reading status posted by people I care for.  If the status is about success, milestones or positive events I am happy for them because they are getting what they desire.  If it’s about heartaches, issues and problems, I am happy for them because they are growing.

14.   My 77 year old mother screaming and cheering as she watches basketball on TV: She’s enjoying herself.

15.   Hearing my nanay humming a song I don’t know: She’s happy and contented.

16.   My dog Patch jumping up and down as he welcomes me home.

17.   The tippity-tap sound that Patch’s little feet make as he goes up or down the stairs.

18.   Patch joining me on the sofa as I watch TV.

19.   Waking up in the middle of a cold night to find Patch cozily wedged between me and my wife, under our blanket.

20.   My wedding ring.

21.   My wife’s smile.

22.   Her voice as she speaks.

23.   The touch of her skin on mine.

24.   Her hands clasped with mine as we walk, sit, or lay on the bed.

25.   Hearing my wife snore in the middle of the night; I know she’s having a fitful rest.

Pride, respect and Sotto

Let's be clear.  I do not own this pic.  It's from GMATV.

Senator Tito Sotto should be the final argument why a public official should not be voted into office because of mere popularity.  Lito Lapid would have been the best argument but since it seems that the only time that he opens his mouth is when he lets out a yawn, he cannot claim party to a debate, let alone a discussion.

So Mr. Sotto comes into the RH Bill debate, fresh from treating the recently concluded Chief Justice Corona’s Impeachment Trial as a showcase for his emceeing skills culled from his decades-long experience at Eat Bulaga, and he is making his darndest best to appear and sound erudite.  The appearance part he got down pat.  He is an actor after all.  But the erudition part he failed miserably.  He is an actor after all.

Don’t get me wrong.  There are many intelligent people in show business.  But you know they are intelligent because they stay away from politics.

No one is running away from him from debates as he would like people to believe.  But it is not as if the mere mention of his name would elicit quivers from anyone who could construct an intelligible sentence.  In fact, several non-politicians are calling him out to an issue-based one, which the Senator promptly dismissed and ignored, reasoning out that it would demean the Senate as an institution if he engages in a word tussle with people that were not even elected to any public office.  But it is he who demeans the Senate because he was unfortunately elected into it.

Tito Sotto does not get it.  His passion against the RH Bill is unquestioned, at times he even comes across as sincere, even noble.  But that is beside the point because indeed he does raise some good points.

It is him.  He is the point.  Or the pointless.

Tito Sotto is a different breed, a class all his own.  He opens his mouth and out comes words that are not his.  And when he is called out, he behaves as if he is beyond censure.  Oh the sense of entitlement of this senator.  He even thinks that the word products of other people are his for the taking, or the blurting out.

I write.  And I write.  And I write.  But never have I attempted to pass off somebody’s work as mine.  It’s called pride of one’s intellect and respect for another’s.  Apparently, Sotto owns neither.

And now the latest episode: Sotto does not plagiarize another’s work – Robert Kennedy’s this time – but he translates it into the vernacular. And he laughs and derides people who again, naturally and thankfully, called him out, asserting that there is no plagiarism because he used another language to mean what Kennedy originally said in English.

Sotto is clueless.  Shameless.  Shameful.

And then he would cry that he is being cyber-bullied.  He is not.  He has shown enough obliviousness to prove that he is immune from any and all verbal attacks – be it from cyberspace or from the senate floor.

On the contrary, he is the big bully.  The “big man” who cannot be faulted for lacking originality because according to him, last he checked, plagiarism is not a crime in the Philippines.  Well, it maybe not.  But the way he shows disregard and disrespect for another’s intellectual output is criminal.  And the fact that he is a senator of the land showing the citizens of the Philippines, kids included, that being a copycat is totally acceptable is utterly despicable.  It is not only criminal.  It is heinous.