Jamis DurangoThere’s nothing feminine with the name Jamis Durango , yet my wife teasingly calls my newly acquired bike just that.

Admittedly, I sneak out of the bed before dawn breaks during weekends just for the sheer pleasure of riding it, but the analogy stops there. “At least, yun lang ang “sinasakyan kong iba,” will be my usual talkback, for which I would expect to receive a sneer, and depending on her mood and proximity, a jocular pinch, elbow or a kick (or a dreaded combination). But sometimes I have a feeling it’s more of a warning if you go by the marks that would be there for at least a couple of days.

Though it set me back by at least S$1k (excluding accessories and gadgets which will cost a few hundreds more and a lot of cooing and wooing to make her part with more conjugal dough), this is far from extravagant. Those into biking can attest that is just a humble entry level bike.

Anyway, she’s just as happy as I am . Certainly not because she thinks the bike is sexy, but I think she’s just glad seeing the sparkle in my eyes every time I’m on the saddle of her “corrival”. 😛


We would had been married on a Sunday instead of a Saturday if not for Constantine’s edict (siguradong mababatukan mo naman ako for citing this). Unfortunately, September 4, 1994 fell on a Sunday, and Sta. Ana church – being a busy church – simply refused to tie us together on that day so we settled on the 3rd instead.

We figured then that it would be commonsensical to get hitched on your birthday since it would be much easier to remember – and economical. But now I know it is more than that. You were born to be my bitter better half. Something that is fated. Something that is written in the stars.

Happy 13th wedding anniversary, mahal ko!


mother teresa

The person in the picture needs no introduction. And the reason why it it looks old and rugged is that, I have kept it in my wallet even before her beatification in 2003.

I revered her so much so that I even christened my daughter after her. For me, she’s the epitome of how true faith should be manifested: by practical compassion.

I was dumbstruck – to say the least – that even the “gutter saint” had not been spared from faith crisis. But I’m still a big fan of her…just the same.

My eldest son, Arthur, again showed his true worth by bagging the Akela award in scouting. An incipient leader who excels in his academics, I guess he naturally cinched it.

Akela is the highest honors, coveted by many, in cub scouting where one’s wisdom, authority and leadership is tested.

This is not the first time – and surely wouldn’t be the last – that this “urchin” made me feel real proud of being a father.

Burning incense and effigies reminded me that hungry ghost festival is just around the corner.

With all due respect to all the Chinese, not that I don’t really dig that the door to hell opens up allowing our dear and not so-dear departed to freely mingle with the living during this time, I’m just pretty pissed off with indiscriminate burnings in corridors, near lift (that’s elevator for you, americans!) landings. The soot and the smoke really get in my nerves.

It’s a source of celebration, nevertheless!

“Getai” and street opera bloom overnight in the island of Singapore to entertain the living and the dead together with sumptuous feasts organized by business associates and auspicious items such as bicycle, rice, pineapple, charcoal known as ‘black gold’ which are associated with wealth in Chinese are stacked on gold-tinted plates and elaborately wrapped in red ribbons are auctioned off with the highest bid to bring better luck.

In order to please the dead, the living make offering of food and burning paper effigies of homes, maids, and other daily items for the spirits to use in the afterlife or even a cruise to nowhere.

The Hungry Ghost Festival is still one the most unique and colourful festival in the cosmopolitan city.

*from singaporesights

Since I didn’t blog about Pinas independence day, I was thinking that it would be distastefully unpatriotic of me doing so for my patron country of 11 years. But then again, we ourselves cannot acquiesce whether it’s June 12 or July 4, which gives me a rather lame excuse to do so.

Singapore’s 42nd national day was last Thursday. Not that I’m dilly-dallying with the greetings. It’s just that I was just pretty occupied on that day binge drinking with a Singaporean friend. The guy is perfectly a snug fit to Pinoy culture. Our drinking culture, that is: drinking to really get drunk!

Yesterday I was in servile with the company whom I expect to toss me out like a worn out rag in less than a year.

Before I really get off-tangent…

We flew here one year, or so, after our marriage and practically raised the family in this “little red dot, one degree north of the equator”. The years  would be a dead give-away that we somehow come to like place. It’s a place we feel we can a give good headstart for our kids so uprooting back to pinas, or to any country for that matter, anytime soon is not on the radar screen.

I guess this is second home to us despite my not-so-many animosities to certain facets of life. Like you have to have a TV and radio (for cars) license, where the suicide per capita is one of the highest, where locals normally don’t brush their teeth after lunch making meetings in the afternoon a dreaded affair, where the length of the skirts is kept to the minimum leaving little to the imagination, where visible cleavage is redefined as the crack not of the bosom but of the posterior.

On the second thought, I’m taking back the last two.