Driving Blind

It started off as a Playstation fund (to purchase the original playstation). A post-adolescent’s piggybank of 5 peso (and later 10 peso) coins to save up for a gadget fix. I got that playstation eventually. But more than just getting a fix, I came away with something more. I learned the value of the piggybank.

Over the years, the fund morphed into many iterations. It became a PC fund; a wedding fund; back to a PC fund; part of a going-abroad fund; and now, its current incarnation, the Mikey Fund.

If anyone out there is looking for a good reason to start a piggybank (I’m looking at you, Moks), I have 22,335 reasons for you - PhP22,335 that is.

We, Wrigley, Mikoy and myself, counted our 5 and 10 peso coin hoard last Sunday. Or rather, mommy and daddy counted, while Mikoy gleefully rolled around in them, all the while trying to stuff his mouth with the shinies. After an exhaustive 2-hour count, we marvelled at the total: 22,335 pesos. Actually 22,336 pesos, a one peso coin somehow managed to get mixed up in the pile.

The coins filled a six-liter Wilkins bottle to the brim - holding exactly 18,000 pesos - and a pasta jar - the remaining 4,000. The 335, went back to Mikeybear.

This latest batch of savings took us three years to accumulate. That seems like a long time, but hey, do the math. At this pace, in three more years, the total may come close to 44,000. Good enough to buy us a nice big Home Theater system, or a nice kitchen for Mommy.

By the time Mikoy turns 15, the total amount will be just a tad over 133,000. If we are not able to migrate to a different country by then, 133,000 should be enough to cover part of mikoy’s college tuition in UP, or at least half of it considering the inflation rate. That’s not counting all the stuff you can do with it such as revolving monthly dollar time deposits and whatnot, for it to earn interest.

Need more convincing? Mikeybear, our venerable yellow banker, took just over a year to fill. When full up to his eyeballs, Mikeybear can hold P10,000. That’s 10,000 per year. In 40 years, if you only manage to fill a coin bank his size once a year, that’s 400,000 more for your retirement. Of course you’d do well to put that money in an interest bearing account every now and then.

Like every habit, skimming 5 and 10 peso coins from your budget takes a lot of getting used to. My advice is to use clear plastic or glass jars so you can see your progress. its a great motivator seeing all those coins pile up. Once Mikey is old enough, Daddy’s gonna start him on his own piggy bank too.

Now if our 22,335 reasons aren’t enough for you, well…

I used to live my life the way I used to drive my car.

I have always been a safe driver. Check that, I was a safe, but fast driver. An Oxymoron I know. How fast? San Pedro Laguna to Teacher’s Village QC (with Tito John) in 38 minutes. While barrelling down Katipunan, this conversation ensued:

120 kph
Tito John: We won’t break our recond the way you’re driving.
130 kph
Daddy: Scared yet?
Tito John: No
135 kph
Daddy: How about now?
Tito John: Not yet.
140 kph
Daddy: Still not scared?
Tito John: Uh-uh.
146-7-8 kph. Approaching bridge.
Daddy: How about now?
Tito John: Ok now I’m scared.

Another time, while driving on EDSA with Ninong Aga and Tito Rex, we found ourselves between two buses. It was raining quite hard, and the buses were trying to squeeze us out of our lane. Quick reminder: Metro buses usually jostle you for position so they’d be able to be the first bus to the next stop. This allows them to get more passengers, and hence, more fare.

Now, being quite hotheaded, I didn’t budge. Once the light turned green, we raced forward with the buses on both sides keeping pace. We reached 120 kph on EDSA, in the rain, sandwiched between two buses. Tito Rex, big guy that he is, probably had enough. He tapped me on the shoulder and said “Gboy! Bisa ku pang mag-asawa neh!?!” (Gboy, I still wan’t to be able to marry!). So I raced ahead and left the lane, slowing down to around 100kph.

My life was much the same way. I rushed through one event to the next. Joined every extra-curricular activity in school. I made lightning fast decisions 99% of the time. Not that I was in a hurry though. What I feared was that If I slowed down, I’d miss out on so many things. I had plans and back-up plans. I even had back-up plans to my back-up plans, so that I’ll be sure to get what I want or go where I want to go.

I did what I wanted to do, I went where I wanted to go. Sometimes, this attitude got me into heaps of trouble. Not that I did anything illegal or anything like that. The things I did were mostly on the level. Mostly. Nobody could make me slow down, not my parents nor my closest friends.

And then, on December 15, 2005, you came around. I should have seen the signs. You were delayed for about a week. The night before you were born, the doctors gave mommy medicine to help you come out. Instead, you ended up clinging to mommy’s tummy all the more. It seems you didn’t want to come out.

When you did come out, everything changed.

I can no longer make myself drive faster than 80 kph, whether in the car or on the bike. I find myself staying home more and more. I catch myself just sitting down, and watching you play, watching you grow. No frantic planning in my head; no elaborate plans being cooked up to get more rackets; no self-motivating speeches to make me come up with more ideas or to make me work harder.

For the first time in my life, I’m slowing down. Surprisingly, I don’t feel half as bad about it as I usually do. A year ago, I’d be kicking myself half-way to kingdom come already for being so slow. I guess it’s time to re-state my lead sentence. I now live my life the way I drive my car. There’s a nervous buzzing in my head telling me that eventually, I’d have to quicken the pace up again. but for now, it feels…well…pleasant.

I admit, I have a lot of pet peeves. Actually, lets just collectively call them peeves; they all annoy me much the same way.

One of the things that annoy me most are idiotic people. What annoys me more than idiots are idiots on wheels. Not only do we have them here in the coutry, they comprise the majority. Anyone who’s driven in EDSA know what I mean.

Take this motorcyclist that I had the unfortunate opportunity to share the road with this morning (I have recently focused my frustrations on motorcyclists since I am now one of them on occasion, and some give us bikers a really bad rap). I won’t be harping on his lack of driving skills since from the tone of this post, you know he’s obviously a bad driver; so on to the story. He was riding an orange Honda Wave 125 with matching orange helmet, doing 85Kph while trying to pass me and the jeepney right in from of me. Having mistimed his pass, and obviouly overestimating the kick of his ride, he braked in the middle of the maneuver and pulled back into my lane, right in from of me. He made it just in time, his helmet nearly hitting the side mirror of the oncoming car.

I know what you’re thinking. He must really be short or the car’s sidemirror was really high. Neither. He’s one of those idiots that I like to call elbowheads. Because they have small brains that are respectively found in their elbows. My proof? The helmet. You know? That shiny, hard plastic thing that is supposed to protect your head from injury? They wear them on their…yup, you got it right, ten points for you. Well, at least they’re smart enough to protect their elbows, since their brains are obviouly located there.

It just simply defies logic. You bought a helmet to wear it on your head, you know, for protection and stuff? Why on God’s green earth would you then wear it on your elbow? While you’re at it, why not buy two helmets, one for each elbow, or four so you can put them on your knees as well? Some idiots (closely related to elbowheads) hang their head gear on rear-views, or their handlebars. Others, and this one takes the cake, put it on top of their heads like hats (sometimes in reverse ala baseball cap even) or like a turban. Either they have massive brains that stick out of their skulls, or they can’t seem to comprehend that you have to cover your head with it, not balance it gingerly on top.

Then there are your superman wannabees. Those who fly their crotch rockets at blisteringly fast speeds, zigzagging accross the uneven pavement with jackets wide open, flapping oh so proudly in the wind. I’d hate to imagine what would happen if superman’s cape got caught on a jeepney’s mirror or a hook on a delivery van. And it WILL get caught eventually. At least he has a jacket on, some may say. Wearing a jacket open on a motorcycle is just a tad better than riding shirtless. Not only is it reckless, its also baduy. It’s like lying down under the sun with only your nose protected by sunblock, it just doesn’t work and you’ll end up really hurtin.

It’s especially frustrating since these people do have the sense to buy protective gear, yet not enough of it to put them on properly. And don’t even get me started on people who don’t wear proper gear at all.

I’m not being all high and mighty. Yes, I admit that for some rides (and these are VERY, VERY RARE OCCASIONS), I don’t wear any gear outside of denims (making me an idiot during those times). Sometimes, short rides can be excused, like the one from my house to the house accross the block where no vehicles faster than a tricycle traverse. But for driving on national roads? Damn. Actually, for rides that would take you farther than a few blocks, gear should always be worn.

And then of course there’s the policeman who oh so smugly stops and berates motorcyclists who don’t wear proper protection. A cursory glance at his bike will show he doesn’t even have a jacket much less a helmet to protect himself from injury. But then with the kinds of policemen we have here, that’s not such a bad thing. But that’s another peeve altogether.

Dear Mikey,

Yesterday, Daddy spent all afternoon and all evening with his friends. Yes, getting smashed with a case (or two) of red horse beer.

Although I can make the excuse that we never left the house, that is still only an excuse. Often things that necessitate an excuse are wrong, period.

While dressing for work this morning, I suddenly realized that I spent another day with other people, and not with you and mommy. That is one more day that I can never get back.

Though I greatly regret it, I know it will not be the last.

I can promise you one thing, though. That I will strive to spend more time with you from now on. That I will miss out on being with you and mommy only when it cannot be avoided. I spend majority of my time at work already, it is only right I spend as much time as I can with you.

However, there will be times when I must absolutely be away. Work, opportunities overseas, out of town projects may take me far away from you sometime in the future, but please realize that it must be done. Time away from your loved ones do not neccessarily mean irresponsibility. Time away from you does not mean I care more for where I will go and what I will do than I do for you. And time away from you will not make me love you less, but rather the opposite is true.

Son, there are times when you must spend time away from your family, BECAUSE you love them. Because what you do is for them, for their future, for their present.

My promise, son, is to learn which one is which. When your time comes, you must learn this too.

Love,

Dad

Dear Mikey,

Let me begin by saying this Weblog is for you.

One of the very first things that you must learn my son, is that life is short. No one knows when their time will be over; I learned this the hard way. While playing tennis one sunny afternoon, my dad, your grandfather suffered a heart attack and an aneurism. He passed away doing what he loved most. He was 52.

Right now I am still young. But who knows? If, heaven forbid, I am gone by the time you are old enough to read this I am truly sorry. I would love to be there to see you graduate, marry, and have kids; things your grandfater unfortunately missed.

But while I can, I will share my life’s lessons with you here, both small and great. I will tell you stories of our life as a young family, about the people who will figure greatly in your upbringing, and about how much your mom and I love you. Some of those lessons you may disagree with, and some you will greatly appreciate. Some of the stories you will find amusing, and some poigniant; and some will just plain embarrass you. The point here, my son, is that I will try to leave here a part of me that will endure hopefully far longer than I will. If you miss me, I will be here. If you need advice, I will be here. If you need solace, I will be here.

Some of the things you will read here may be familiar to you, for as you grow I will apply these lessons in bringing you up as an upstanding, God-fearing man. We cannot know the future, but we can watch for signs, and listen for what may come out of that next corner. This journal is your starter’s kit to life, a collection of lessons that you may find useful on your journey, as written by your dad.

I promise you that I will do all within my power to be there for you; that I will do all that I can to help you be the best person you can be. Even now, I can see that you will be something special. However, as I mentioned before, no one really knows what the future holds. And like this journal’s title says, we are all essentially driving blind into the future.

Know that whatever happens, your father loves you.

Yours truly,

Dad