BEST GIFTS

FOR MY birthday last week, my kids surprised me with handmade cards. They handed them to me early in the morning on the 21st, accompanied by a flurry of hugs, kisses, and giggles. As I mentioned in a previous post, there are always wonderful reasons to celebrate your birthday, just as there are countless reasons to maintain a positive outlook on life. Let me say it plainly: receiving greeting cards from your children is the absolute best gift a father could ever ask for.

My three kids are my ultimate source of inspiration. Seeing their faces in the morning completely replenishes my arsenal, giving me the strength to stay on, move on, and hang on through every challenge life throws my way. Of course, I still flare up sometimes, scold them, and find myself wishing I had more time to spend with them. But I won't dwell on that today. A child will always be a child—by turns naughty, demanding, and incredibly sweet—just as a father must always be a father, forever carrying a profound soft spot for his offspring.

As parents, we can get so consumed by our relentless daily routines that we become completely oblivious to the small things. To my kids, there is no better way to express their love than by translating it into heartfelt words and colorful, chaotic artwork.

Here are my children's recent masterpieces

This one is from N-yel, my eldest.

Yes, those two photos on the front are of Manny Pacquiao which he (likely with his Mom acting as a co-conspirator) clipped from an old newspaper. My wife and kids love to tease me that the world-renowned boxing champion and I look like two peas in a pod. This is especially true whenever I sport longer hair with a middle split and bangs framing my face, or when I let myself go unshaved for two or three weeks. But if you read closely, did my son actually scribble the word handsome in there? Regardless, I choose to interpret his entire message as: "Hey, my dad is the champ!"

This one is from Dudoy, my second child.

This boy has not outgrown his absolute obsession with dinosaurs. Not even a little bit. He still loves to collect dinosaur figurines, watch dinosaur movies, read dinosaur trivia, stomp around acting like a dinosaur, and think like one. So, what else would you expect him to use as my visual representation on a birthday card? A massive T-Rex with a gaping mouth ready to devour its prey was the obvious choice (though this time, he cropped my photo into the scene and drew a birthday cake as the T-Rex's target). Looking closely at his drawing, I realize my little dinosaur lover actually loves burgers more than anything else. But for "dinosauring" me on my special day, I told him I won't let him have even a single bite of my next burger. Just joking, of course.

And this one is from Eya, my youngest.

My little girl with the missing-tooth grin absolutely loves writing love notes and doodling on paper scraps or the margins of her notebooks. (Just the other day, I overheard her Mom telling her to stop sending sweet-nothings to her classmates, one of whom happens to be a boy!) For my card, she went all out, using vibrant colored paper and a scented pen for a change—and why not? It was her dad's special day, after all. The heavy erasures on the page were likely the result of her older brother trying to "edit" her work. The highly unusual, jagged cuts along the corners were definitely her doing, as she still tends to transform her artwork into a chaotic mess whenever she gets her hands on a pair of scissors.

JUST LIKE all the other random letters and impromptu notes I have received over the years, I will keep these cards safely tucked away in my personal drawer. I know all too well that the day is coming when they will no longer do this for me or their mother. One day, they will grow up and barely recognize the versions of themselves that wrote these pages.

The he-he-he's, the hand-drawn emoticons, the dinosaurs, and the scented notes covered in heavy erasures will soon become a thing of the past. They may not always remain as outwardly sweet as they are right now. Like so many of my fondest memories, these moments will eventually be anchored to a fleeting era that no longer exists. But I secretly hope they never entirely stop sending me handwritten cards.

My kids truly love to pour out their sweet-nothings and flaunt their creativity whenever they make cards—whether it's for their Mom on Mother's Day, for each other's birthdays, or during Christmas. Sometimes, they do it when there is no occasion at all.

Whenever the mood strikes my youngest, she draws simple stick figures surrounded by "I love you's" and "I miss you's", naturally embellished with misshapen hearts and smiley faces. Then, pointing eagerly at the figures so I can see, she will chatter away in her sweet little voice: "This one is you, Daddy; this one is Mommy; this is Love; this is our house..."

I will hold onto these stick figures for as long as I can.

A BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION

A GOOD music in the morning to pep me up, a hearty breakfast with steaming black coffee, hugs and kisses from my wife and kids, the smiles of neighbors you meet in the street. I try hard to establish that attitude of joy in my life, because I want a day that is filled with happiness, not sorrow. Especially when it is my birthday.

And that will be tomorrow September 21.

I was born exactly a month before the Plaza Miranda bombing in Quiapo, Manila, and exactly a year before President Marcos declared Martial Law in the country. But the later event is more significant. The presidential declaration is considered as the most crucial episode in our history that ushered in the long reign of Marcos dictatorship. Since then, September 21 has become a very memorable date in the country, and just like those birthdates that fall on holidays or any historical date, it has an easy recall.

But do I really need to celebrate for all the world to know? Is it supposed to be a purely personal celebration?

For the first time in many years, right before I write this blog, I remember my former boss (God bless her soul) and her antipathy on birthday celebrations.

She wasn’t keen on celebrating birthdays. If she had her way, she didn’t want us in our department to greet her with lavish gifts or throw a party for her, much more to celebrate on her birthday. A birthday to her is purely personal thing, a time for her to introspect and evaluate her life, so why throw a party just to have fun and tell the whole world that it is her birthday. Once, when we invited her to attend one sumptuous party for an officemate who was celebrating her birthday, she naturally declined the invitation.

My former boss was one of my mentors when I first worked in Rex Publishing, but her stance on birthday celebrations didn’t suit me well. I had theories why she hated it: she might have an unhappy memory about birthdays, she had no family of her own as she was unmarried, or she didn’t want obsequious people to use her natal day to strut their skills on her. Or she just tried to rationalize things in her or the company’s favor, that when we do a party we are practically cutting our working time in the office.

That started then my own introspection and reflection during my birthday. I began to reflect on purely personal terms the significance of my natal day.

To me a birthday is a cause of celebration. There's always a certain expectation and significance for it. Just like anything good that happens to you, a good report card from your kids, a great day at work. I believe that life is about rejoicing. Every good thing is significant and always a cause of celebration and you want to share that with your family and friends. We are all for a party, anytime.

So when one celebrates his or her birthday, it’s one way of saying, Hey, I live for another year in this planet and let’s hope for more years to come. Who cares if a birthday would just add another year to your age? You grow old year by year, even if you don’t celebrate your birthday anyway.

I rather think of another year passing, what I have accomplished so far and what I haven't. I tend to focus on the first. And this gives me some reason to make merry. There must be good reasons to celebrate.

I don’t usually have particular plans for my birthday; except that, I must be sure that I will have a nourishing dinner or lunch with my wife and kids. Last year I treated them with an early dinner at KFC in Caloocan, just that one, and then we went home.

Because it is non-working holiday tomorrow (this year it falls on a Ramadan, now a national holidays upon the official declaration by Malacañang), I might have a real party this time. It means I have more time with my kids; and I expect some important guests, particularly my brother and two sisters, and some of my in-laws from Malate to come over.

I’m not twenty-one anymore but I can still pretend I am. I can always think of my birthday as a milestone, another marking up of my chronological age, but not my outlook in life. Grow old, and grow wiser than ever before, seems to me a good dictum.

A RENEWED PASSION

SOMEONE once said that human nature is at its weakest inside a bookstore. I found the absolute truth in those words one Wednesday morning while browsing a shop that exclusively sells secondhand books: Booksale at WalterMart near the Muñoz Market in Quezon City.

It was 11:30 AM by my watch, leaving me exactly thirty minutes to spare before I had to head to work. Yet, that half-hour stretched on until past noon. I knew I was going to be late, but I simply couldn't decide which book—or books—I should buy. To make matters worse, I had only ₱400 left in my wallet to get me through the rest of the week. With such limited time and an even tighter budget, I had to whittle down a massive pile of potential candidates to just one or two final choices. Dammit, the shelves were overflowing with incredible finds that morning; on regular days, I would be lucky to spot two or three worth taking home.

I stood there balancing my heavy haul: Main Street by Sinclair Lewis (₱65), John Lennon by Alan Clayton (₱180), East of Eden by John Steinbeck (₱180), Mitla Pass by Leon Uris (₱45), Mexico by James A. Michener (₱65), and Presumed Innocent by Scott Turow (₱85). If I held onto the pricier titles, I could only afford one or two; if I opted for the cheaper ones, I could take home at least three. The clock was ticking mercilessly.

To think, just a day prior, I had also thoroughly raided a secondhand book stall in the lobby of TriNoma, another mall along EDSA. After nearly an hour of rummaging, I had proudly walked away with five excellent titles: Get Shorty by Elmore Leonard, The Cider House Rules by John Irving, Roger’s Version by John Updike, alongside Dingoes at Dinnertime (from the Magic Tree House series) and the Happy Feet junior novelization. The last two were treasures for my two boys, who have happily inherited my fondness for reading pocketbooks.

Over the past few months, I have fallen into a steady rhythm of purchasing an average of one secondhand book a week. Given my financial constraints—after all, I am a father of three, balancing a part-time job while trying to finish a law degree—expensive new releases on display at National Book Store are a luxury I cannot justify. Even when I do have a little extra cash to spare, I have severe second thoughts about shelling out ₱300 or ₱400 for a single brand-new book. I would much rather stretch that exact same amount to buy four or five secondhand gems from Booksale. Why shouldn't I? I don't explicitly need modern bestsellers when there are myriads of brilliant older books out there—so many, in fact, that I won't be able to read even a fraction of them in my lifetime.

Admittedly, I haven't even touched the twenty or so other books I've bought since June. But I don't mind looking at my unread pile. There is a distinct comfort in knowing that the moment I finish my current read, I can immediately scan my own shelves and pick my next adventure from a ready selection.

This reading fever has been steadily climbing since the middle of last year, sparked when a friend invited me to open a Shelfari account. It felt wonderful downloading titles from my memory box—everything from childhood storybooks and whirlwind romances to bestsellers and timeless classic novels. I compiled them all into a virtual library, complete with familiar cover art and publication details.

But looking at that digital shelf also made me think about all the books I hadn't read. It was then that I realized how much ground I had lost since I stopped actively reading and collecting years ago. I had a tragic falling out with the hobby, courtesy of a colony of termites that completely devoured the first collection of pocketbooks I had painstakingly built in our old rented space near Muñoz Market.

Now, in a desperate bid to catch up, I read everywhere. I read while squeezed into vehicles during my grueling, one-and-a-half-hour commute from our home in Marilao, Bulacan to the office in Quezon City. During office hours, I stealthily steal a few extra minutes beyond my official coffee breaks to squeeze in a few more pages. And I have firmly established a habit of reading late into the night before going to sleep. By those metrics, I am firmly on track!

The only unfortunate side effect is that my allocated study time for law school has plummeted to an absolute minimum. I have been spending far more time getting lost in fiction than analyzing my codals and heavy textbooks on Taxation and Civil Procedure. Consequently, I find myself frantically cramming for those subjects most of the time.

I don't think this is a belated passion for reading. I haven't truly stopped reading pocketbooks since high school, but I have never consumed them at the breakneck speed I am maintaining now. I am finally rebuilding my home library—a proud second attempt to establish a literary sanctuary after that heartbreaking incident with the termites.

Back at Booksale,  I finally made my peace and settled on the two more expensive titles: John Lennon and East of Eden. They are rare finds for a secondhand shop like this, and the copies were in pristine condition, looking as though their original owners had never even cracked the spines. The damage came out to ₱360—plus an hour's worth of deducted salary due to my inevitable tardiness at the office that afternoon.

You could certainly call that a textbook sign of weak human nature. But as I walked out, it was incredibly nice to think that the moment I got home, I would have fresh text waiting for me. It is the perfect inspiration to hurry up and finish my current read, The Sandman: Book of Dreams, and I have officially vowed to conquer one more book by the end of the week.

My latest Shelfari account on books read