Letters to Marge (Chapter 26): Watching you sleeping...

Dear Margaret...

I watched you sleeping... And i imagine you must be dreaming of cupcakes in the clouds, flying fish, and dogs that talk and makes jokes with you.

The yellow bricks on the road before you must be lined with little flowers that bat their eyelashes at you when you walk by. At the very least, because your own eyes are no less beautiful.

How big is the world for you to yet know, so many more colors than the forty eight crayons you doodle with, so much more music beyond the little rhymes we sing together with your mother. So much more life ahead...

Wake up tomorrow to a beautiful sun that may not last forever, but will shine for you and make blue skies and turquoise oceans that wrap the earth while you walk on it.

Do not forget to smile and look for the good in people before thinking ill of them. At least for now, while the innocence has not left you.

Walk through the day knowing that you are loved like the moon is loved by the stars that shine around her. The very stars that watch over you tonight like i do.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 25): Another Pointless Weekend 020511

Dear Marge,

So last weekend was totally unexciting and uneventful.

And i loved it.

Between a brief morning meeting for me, a morning dental appointment for your mom, Saturday found us lazing away at the house ALL DAY. And yes, i loved it.

Sunday wasn’t any better. After a restful Saturday night, we went to hear mass, then proceeded to take your grandfather out to lunch in Chinatown. This was followed by an afternoon at a mall in what used to be the Rockwell Power Plant in Makati. The mall is called (in a rather tongue-in-cheek naming) the Powerplant.

Yep, you guessed it... i loved it.

As life goes on, you may find yourself always on the run. Running after deadlines, running from people who you have deadlines for, or simply trying to get more out of each day as though it were your last. Sometimes with barely enough time to sit down for lunch.  Well, these are not necessarily bad since being wanted and sought after is a pretty neat way to live, too. But that shouldn’t be the status quo, so to speak. And to have a weekend like the one you, me and your mother just had is something special.

We ran into more than a handful of people in that small mall in a big city: we ran into a cousin and her husband, another cousin’s husband and their son, an old college friend, an Indian supplier, two old ad clients, and at least three celebrities that your mother and i know, who we’re sure don’t know us.

You had mango ice cream, your mother bought you a gray jacket at Zara that i’m sure you will not wear because it isn't pink, and i bought another Transformer toy on sale for P400 which is so hard to play with that i swear they hired the guy who designed the f*cking Rubik’s cube to do those damn robots.

And freshly roasted pork jerky.

'hear that? i loved it.

The last weekend was filled with absolutely unimportant things to do. Exactly what weekends are for, my dear. Don’t forget to have some of those from time to time. Even in the supposed prime of your life.

There was one thing important in all that: giving you more reasons to run around, laugh, and just be happy for no real reason other than being alive.

I love you.

Dad

Letters To Marge (Chapter 24): A Tale of Two Cities and a Mobile Home

This was taken on New Year's Eve
of 2011 (So that's December 31, 2010),
just to be clear.

Dearest Margaret,

You are a child of two cities, Manila and Baguio City.  Three, if you include San Diego, where we had you retrieved from a freezer tank, thawed like bacon, then shoved into your mom. But more on that some other time.

At this point, the three of us have been on the road a lot. Yup, A LOT. We drive up and down so daddy (yours truly) can keep his little ad house running in Manila, while doing his share of work for the family business in Baguio City. Lots of people i know maintain more than one business, but i’m probably the only guy i know who’s regularly involved in two companies that are literally 5 hours apart. i know what i put you and mom through. And i am both grateful and apologetic at the same time. To both you and your mom, but mostly your mom since you didn't know jack about what the heck was going on.

So your mother has two houses to take care of, one with a nice garden and lots of flowers, a big kitchen, two living rooms, and an old piano she has no idea how to play. The other house is smack in cosmopolitan Manila, a bit tiny, but is our very first home, and your mom really poured her heart into making it a nice place to live. Lucky her, huh?

So which one is home?

Well... at some point, when one is on the road so often, and one can literally choose from a whole bunch of addresses and know that one will still get his mail (is there still mail by the time you read this?), it becomes almost bothersome to have to label just one place “home.” But for me, it no longer matters where the roof i’m under is in. As long as you and your mom are with me, then i know i’m home.

In a world that gets smaller every day, we often don’t have the time to settle our asses in just one couch long enough to call it home. So always keep tabs on the people you love and love you back even more (oh my, guess who those are?), wherever there are people who love you, who will take you in and accept you for everything... yup, you guessed it... you’re home, kid.

Come home to us anytime, baby.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 23): Breakfast, and a stupid phone camera that got misty...

Dear Marge,

I would like to tell you a little story about breakfast...

* * * * * * * *

I woke up knowing i just farted from the cold. Not sure if i smelled it, or i just felt i did, or i simply assumed i just farted because the cold weather has been making me fart a lot lately.

After reading the above, please look up “fart.”

Done? Great. Let’s keep going...

You and your mom were already awake, and i quickly offered to do what i’ve been doing for your mom for the past ten years. No, silly. Not THAT (whatever it is you’re thinking). I meant breakfast. As in pancakes and bacon. As expected, you pleaded to join me down to the kitchen. The photo above shows you trying your hand at stirring the batter.

Now these photos show you eating, while i finished up the stack, then followed by photos of us bringing it to mom.

numnumnum...

There. That was this morning. It’s a Saturday.

‘catch you later.

Love,

Dad



you giving mommy a hug after

serving her breakfast. The camera

on the phone fogged up. resulting

in this stupid blurry photo.





you offered me a bite.



parting shot



Letters to Marge (Chapter 22): All About You

Greetings, Kiddo...


This is Happy the Poodle

As you may probably guess, you already talk by now. Not talk in the “Dad, there’s something i need to tell you about what happened at the prom...” talk (Lord, I hope NOT!!), but talk in the “blankie... me me me... watch Dora...” kind of talk (which is really quite adorable, while you’re still under three years old. Any further up, then we’re in trouble, kid.).

But i write this now to tell you about funky little tidbits at this point in your life that will fade with time (unless i can do something about it... something new and groundbreaking... like... err... uh... blog!?!?! Bwahahahahaha...). Anyways...

Here goes:

1. You used to describe something hot by saying “ca-ca.” Most likely stemming from the tagalog word “kakapaso,” i think. But you’ve grown past this one. Just like you’ve grown past pointing your index finger up instead of your thumb to express your approval.

It’s October, 2010, and you can now say “hot,” “very hot,” and even “warm.” Cool, huh?

2. Your mother tricks you into drinking any beverage she wants you to by prefixing everything with the word “Choco.” (e.g. white fresh milk is called “white choco milk,” and plain water (which is

good for you) is referred to as “choco water,” “Choco-medicine,” etc.).

The bad news is that it works. You’re being had, kiddo! So one day, if she says that she never lied to you, you can log back in here and show her this. Bwahahahahahahahahaha...!

3. You are now very good at naming things you see. Quite smart for your age, actually. But you always call pictures of little dogs “Happy.” Most likely naming them after our dog “Happy,” who is the smallest member of the bunch.

4. You love joining me in making popcorn, where i let you help me slice off a chunk of butter and throw it into the pot. The same way i let you help me beat the eggs when we make pancakes.

5. You love pink. Seriously. So if one day you grow to become some black-clad emo-goth who thinks the Care Bears must die, then remember that once in your life, you genuinely loved pink.

6. You love Dora. The photo at left is your favourite pair of shoes. Dora-edition Crocs. We are waiting until this pair gives you bunions, so you’ll finally give them up.

7. You also used to have this funny roll call where you point, then say: “YOU mommy”... point again, then say: “YOU daddy”...then finally point to yourself and say: “YOU Maaaaaarge...” By now though, you’ve learned the word “ME” and use it often. A little too often...

8. And as of October 3 of this year, your mother has effectively eliminated your dependence on your comfort blanket (a.k.a. “lampin,” “bwankie.”). Let’s see how long that lasts. Heh heh...

I’ll keep ‘em coming, kid. You just keep doing what you do.

‘catch you later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 21): Father's Day

Dear Marge,

Yesterday was supposedly Father’s Day. Happy Father’s Day to me. Yipee. You’re only a month over 2 years old, and still can’t greet me. But every time you reach for me and plead “carry...”, it feels even better than Father’s Day every time.

But hey, i’m not a father without you, of course. So if i get that cool “father’s club” greeting, it will be because of you. And best of all, you make being a father really fun, and totally great.

So i don’t care what kind of lame-ass marketing they threw around yesterday. Father’s Day was YOUR day, Marge-baby, because THIS father is YOUR father. You make being a dad cool.

By the way, you love positioning yourself at the edge of a bed, then telling me “jump!” which means that you’re asking me to catch you, and i do. Your mother hates it when we do that. She thinks you’ll hurt yourself with that stunt someday. (Just thought i’d say that...)

So, was Father’s Day exceptionally happy? Hell, no. Every day is happy, when you’re around.

‘catch you later, kid.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 21, prologue): Busy busy busy... zipping to and fro...

Hey there, Marge...

Been a hectic few days, kid.
You, me and your mom drove back to Manila last 14th, then dad went to work in Maverick for a day on the 15th, then early on the 16th, the three of us flew to Hong Kong to work on what will become a bad back ache from the shopping and carrying you, along with foot blisters from all the walking.

Above injuries are almost exclusively belonging to this author. (More on the trip in the next blog entry, hopefully.) But yes, I happily blame YOU. Operative word: "HAPPILY."

We flew back to Manila yesterday (June 19th), then quickly drove up to Baguio to get ourselves ready for your uncle’s elaborate Super-duper Chino-Oriental engagement party, referred to in Chinese as the “ting-hoon.” (More on that in another post. Again, hopefully.)

And now we’re back and settled in Baguio for the remainder of the week, then dad has to drag you guys back to Manila for him to run a little house called Maverick. Hopefully sooner than later since dad is quite homesick, Maverick-wise.

But pardon me for rambling as i usually do... on to another post... the supposedly REAL post...

Travel Blog Entry Preview (but not the next post. am i confusing you? don't worry, i'm confusing myself): photo at right shows you waiting for your first Hong Kong meal.

‘catch you later.

Love,

Dad