SUMMER CINQUAINS

i crossed 

the valley bridge;

found and lost her again,

and left the summers of my heart

behind.

that was

a bright full day;

saw her, gone forever,

and threw my own sweet monsoon dreams

away.

the next bridge...

some other place,

other space, how and where?

i'll just cross the next one when i--

get there.

The resort in Gonzaga town, Cagayan, is aptly called STR, or Sirok ti Rangtay (Under the Bridge). To reach the riverbank, you have to pass beneath the structure, where you will find a scenic picnic area and newly built, hotel-style rooms for overnight visitors. 

LIFE IS A GINEBRA GAME-WINNING PLAY

“DAD, can we watch this Ginebra game again in Araneta next week?” my teenage son, Nathaniel, asked me one night.

I was working on my laptop, drafting an article for a local literary magazine. He knew I disliked being disturbed while writing in my room, but hey—this was about basketball. And I love basketball.

Nathaniel is just as crazy about the sport as any boy his age. He loves playing pickup games with the neighborhood kids on an uncovered court in our subdivision, doing his absolute best to emulate his idols, Rajon Rondo and Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. He is also an avid follower of Philippine basketball, tracking the Philippine Basketball Association (PBA) and even the collegiate leagues.

His love for the game deepened when his aunt bought him his first real basketball. That same year, I brought him to the PBA rookie draft at Robinsons Place in Ermita, Manila, where he got to meet some of his favorite players in person. He enjoyed the experience so much that the following year, he went to the draft all by himself—I was tied up with a busy work schedule—to watch favorite collegiate playmakers like Calvin Abueva and Chris Tiu get drafted into the professional league.

WRITING LETTERS IN A JOURNAL

IT IS true—and a shame—that most people do not write letters anymore. Instead, they prefer to express their feelings through text messages, social media forums, blogs, or Facebook posts. As a result, our daily interactions have become faceless, impersonal, and temporary. Very few people, if any at all, still pause to appreciate the lasting power of the written word.

Years ago, whenever parents had the chance to talk to their children, they were sometimes disappointed because they didn’t know how to communicate exactly what they wanted to say. So, they resorted to letters. Some of these handwritten letters were so beautifully composed and deeply inspiring that their recipients cherished and kept them in personal files for decades. Love letters, letters between friends, or notes from a parent to a child always carry sweet reminders of emotions that time has long swept away.

PINSAL FALLS

THIS BLOG post about my trip to Pinsal Falls has been a long time coming. My first and only visit to the tallest, and arguably most beautiful, waterfall in the Ilocos region dates back to December 2011. For years, a handful of snapshots from that trip sat on my Facebook Timeline, quietly gathering likes and comments. However, after recent trips to Cambugahay Falls in Lazi, Siquijor early this month, and Balite Falls in Amadeo, Cavite in April last year, I found myself instinctively comparing them all.

The verdict comes easily: Pinsal Falls reigns supreme. It stands apart not just for its sheer scale, but for its rugged, rocky landscape, the thrilling challenges it presents, its unique geological features, and its remarkable accessibility (lying just a 30-minute drive from the town proper). With summer just around the corner, if you are looking for the perfect getaway for your family or barkada, Pinsal Falls is an exceptional choice. Having experienced it firsthand, I can promise that a summer excursion here offers a perfect blend of climbing, picnicking, swimming, and exploration.

CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK NUT

To-be read books, all second-hand 

MY LOVE affair with books did not start until I was 13. As a freshman at a private school in the poblacion of Sta. Maria, Ilocos Sur, I stepped into a real library for the very first time. Coming from a rural barrio, I could count the number of books I had read on my fingers. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by an impressive collection of titles neatly stacked across rows of shelves and glass cabinets. I knew right then and there what I wanted to do for the rest of my life: read.

Before long, I was in the library devouring fantastic stories, children’s fiction, anthologies, encyclopedias, adventures, and history books. I read to the point of forgetting to study for exams or submit school projects. I became a compulsive reader, spending every spare moment nestled among the stacks. There were simply too many books and too little time.

That period sparked my most dearly cherished ambition: to live in a grand house with a private library of my own. I even harbored a secret wish to be locked away in a prison surrounded by books—much like the young lawyer in Anton Chekhov’s short story, The Bet. In that tale, a man spends 15 years in solitary confinement over a crazy wager, passing the time by reading everything from complex romance novels and sensational stories to dense volumes on language, philosophy, history, and religion. Schoolwork was never a chore for me until college, purely because I genuinely loved the act of reading and studying.  

A “NEW NORMAL” HOLIDAY

Christmas Tree 2010

FOR THE second year in a row, I did not display any Christmas ornaments in my house. My kids didn't ask me why. Only once did my nine-year-old daughter, Roseya, mention putting up our old Christmas tree in its usual corner of the living room. It wasn’t a question about why I hadn’t done it; it felt more like a gentle reminder—perhaps even a loving command—for me to obey.

It happened just a week before December, and Roseya clearly thought I had simply forgotten what our family has always loved doing at this time of the year. She missed our holiday traditions: decorating the tree while playing Christmas CDs, with our all-time favorites being Paskong Pinoy and Jose Mari Chan’s iconic holiday album. It used to be a wonderful time of togetherness. She deeply missed looking forward to placing the little star or an angel at the very top of a tree decked out in all its festive finery.

MY PEN PAL

"PEN PAL" might be a strange term for the younger generations who have spent their lives tethered to instant messaging, chat rooms, and social networking sites. To them, the concept seems to belong to a bygone era. After all, why do you need a pen when you can reach old, new, or potential friends with just a click of a mouse?

As the name implies, pen pals are two people—usually from different places and originally complete strangers—who regularly exchange friendly, mostly handwritten letters, alongside physical photographs often bearing corny dedications on the back. These relationships usually reach a major turning point when one person finally travels across the distance to meet the other in person. Sometimes, they fall for each other if physical attraction happens to overpower the emotional intimacy they previously shared on scented stationery. More often, like many friendships in life, the correspondence burns brightly for a short time before fading as life gets busy and responsibilities pile up.

Today, there is an internet version of this phenomenon. It still carries the original premise of remote friends in different parts of the world writing to one another, though it now happens via email or private messages. The "pen" has simply become electronically written communication. There are even dedicated pen pal websites designed for single men and women to connect online and eventually arrange dates. Call me old-fashioned, but despite the absolute dominance of Facebook and Twitter in our social lives, I still prefer the deeply personal touch of traditional letter writing. I truly believe that a person’s real personality shines through most clearly in their own unique penmanship.