Archive for the ‘Letters’ Category

Love and Poop

If an individual’s love for another was measured by how many times that individual purposely touched the other’s poop to clean his/her tush, then son, I love you the most!


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Heaven Sent

Son, you are heaven sent, but sometimes you can really test your mommy’s and my patience.

  • You make a mess of the living room.
  • You mess up your books almost immediately after we’ve organized them.
  • You dial random numbers (once, you dialled 911!) on our phones.
  • You walk without slippers.
  • You pressed the reset button on my PC while I was writing this entry!
  • You tear up pages of your books and try to put little pieces in your mouth.

The list goes on and on and on…

And then you flash that adorable smile and your mommy and I immediately forget what you just did. You also always seem to know when your mommy and I are frustrated with your naughtiness. When you realize this, you just walk towards us and say “mommy” or “deedee” or just about any gibberish you can think of and it somehow ends up melting our hearts and we forgive you instantly.

You are heaven sent, Mikey, even though sometimes you are such a little devil! We love you very much.

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When I tried my hand in bathing you since I came home late last month, I was surprised by how much you screamed and cried like a little pig being led to the slaughterhouse! I was wondering if you’ve, of late, come to dislike taking a bath that much, but your mommy told me that you didn’t complain (nay, protest!) that much when she was the one bathing you.

It took me a few tries later, and a demonstration from your mommy before I learned that bathing had to be an extension of playtime in order for you to accept it willingly. The trick was simply to fill a pail with bubbles that you can rub on your tummy or wipe on the bathroom wall. Now, I don’t even have to drag you to the bathroom, I just say “Take a bath?” and you go to the bathroom on your own. So thank God for bubbles. Taking a bath has never been this much fun!

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525,600 Minutes

525,600 minutes. How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

So goes the song Seasons of Love from the Broadway show Rent. How will people remember someone once he’s passed away? In daylights? In sunsets? In midnights? In cups of coffee? In the bridges he’s burned or the way that he died? No. It’s measured in love. In seasons of love.

I believe that this is the secret to living a full life and, at the risk of sounding too cliche, that no amount of material things or professional achievements can take the place of healthy, loving, and genuinely caring relationships with family and friends.

2007 holds a lot of significance for me, son. It was the year when I left you and your mommy to go to school in Australia. It was also in this year when I met my good friends in Canberra who’ve managed to appease my homesickness and won a special place in my heart. More important though is that 2007 was the year I realized that the feeling of emptiness that I used to carry in my heart is the result of my looking at the wrong places for fulfillment. I’ve come to realize that it’s only when I’m surrounded by the people I love when I truly feel happy and it’s only when I know I’m making them happy when I feel a genuine sense of fulfillment.

The things that make me feel whole are really simple things that, when combined, make up a significant amount of my life:

  • Waking up beside you and your mom.
  • You calling me ‘deedee’.
  • Your mom giving me random hugs and kisses.
  • Watching you play basketball in the living room (in 2007, you refer to it as ‘beebeebol’).
  • Holding your mom’s hand.
  • Talking about anything and everything with your mom until the wee hours of the night.
  • Room 351, Unilodge@ANU (This was where I used to hangout with my friends when I was studying at ANU)
  • Going for a walk
  • Laughing

And the list goes on and on.

I hope you will realize this early on, son. That it’s healthy and genuine relationships that make life wonderful and that work is just a means to supporting a full life with family and friends (although it’s still important to strive for quality with your work). Here are the lyrics to the song I referred to above.

525,600 minutes
525,600 minutes so dear
525,600 minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles
In laughter, in strife

In 525,600 minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love

Seasons of love.
Seasons of love.

525,600 minutes
525,600 journeys to plan
525,600 minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?

In truth that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

It’s time now to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let’s celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measure in love.

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Overwhelmed again

I’m sorry for being a sloppy daddy these past few days, son. Having been away from you for the past six months, I feel like a new father again: I’m trying to re-learn the things that you’re trying to say to me all over again, trying to re-learn your sleeping patterns, and trying to re-learn your eating habits. Parenthood is truly a very challenging job. I feel just as overwhelmed as I was a year ago.

I’ll tell you one thing though, the little things that you do every now and then that makes me laugh or warms my heart more than make up for everything else. I love listening to your laughter when I tickle your tummy with my mouth. I enjoy watching the fascination in your face when you discover something new. I loved your reaction earlier this morning when a tiny lizard jumped out of nowhere (you giggled every time I said ‘lizard!’ and the lizard jumped).

I have a feeling my second semester in Australia will not be any easier to go through than the first.

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