my letter to sammy

Dear Sammy,

Your FB status says you’re at Kaiser Permanente Pediatrics but something in me says this is not true. Knowing you to love la dolce vita, you’re at---and I’m guessing now---Grand Sheraton or Hyatt Regency in downtown Sacramento. Of course that’s assuming you’re not in Beverly Hills enjoying the world’s most expensive and extravagant spa treatments like getting a facial made of gold; having a massage with diamonds in hot rocks; taking a bath in beer; dipping yourself in fountains of wine; washing your hair (whatever’s left of it) with fishy caviar; and having pedicures made of rare edibles like White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle!

If there’s one thing you do best, it’s pampering yourself in style! And you deserve it because you don’t only work hard, it’s your birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM!



I always take pride in saying that I have few friends---if that's being choosy, then shoot me!--- but these are the friends I want to grow old with. And you’re one of them. No, this is not because we belong to the same Church or you lavish me with things that others can only wish for: Oscar de la Renta? Check! Ferragamo? Check! Armani? Check! Hugo Boss? Check! Cartier? Hmmmm….;p

You’re one of the few people who can truly make me laugh. And it amuses me no end when you, knowing misspelling and wrong grammar make me want to go ballistic, attempt to kill me with your “spelling” skills. But that’s one quirk I like in you.

We go way back, you and I. Remember the thing that happened at the gangplank of Cokaliong? Or the time when I was treated for thyroid cancer at Cebu Doctors Hospital and you kept me company even from a distance because I was exuding radioactive stuff? I may not have articulated verbally my gratitude to you, but I really appreciate what you did. And it’s something I will treasure for the rest of my life.

I’m so proud and happy for you for rearing a beautiful family. I know you’re not a perfect father---who is?--- but I’m sure Gian and Jacob will never trade you for Donald Trump or Brad Pitt. I’m not sure though with Helena, especially the Pitt thing. Hahahaha! Joke.

Because you’re a dear friend, it is my prayer that God will continue to bless you in your journey towards becoming a better father, husband, and friend. And it is my wish that you get everything your heart desires because you deserve it.

We love you. Happy birthday, Sam.

My Letter to God

Dear God,

Today I celebrate my birthday at my ugliest. My face, head, neck, chest, back, and arms have blisters all over them. That You let this happen on the week of my birthday makes me think that trapped inside each tiny bubble in my body is a message.

So: Is this my comeuppance, my greatest vices being pride, vanity and arrogance?

But You’re not petty, I know; and so I look at my contracting chicken pox as something that happened not because I was bad, but because a naughty varicella virus found me and made me a Xerox machine.

Still, it got me thinking.

A well-meaning friend, after knowing I’m on self-imposed isolation, told me to do retrospection. Thing is, I’m no fan of Socrates who said that an unexamined life is not worth living. I’m not into looking back at events ---good or bad--- because it would only invite regrets, and I have enough regrets as it is. It’s enough for me that I’ve asked forgiveness for my sins and whispered my prayers of thanksgiving and that’s about it. But of course You know this already, right?

Then the same friend suggested I do introspection instead. OMG! Oopps, sorry, I’m not supposed to say "Oh-My-God" before my God. But this friend doesn’t know when to quit and now wants me to talk to myself to know why I am what I am. For crying out loud, is she nuts? She should have been the one You afflicted with chicken pox and not me! Joke.

But let’s indulge her even just this once. Four years from today I’ll be half a century old, and You know what, God? If there’s one thing I need to be clarified on, it’s this: Why is it that people form adverse opinions about me on the sole basis of what they hear from others? Not that I care, but sometimes it bothers me. Really! And oftentimes I blame You—hahaha—because what causes all this bad rep is Your giving me the gift of being able to speak my mind with such brutal honesty. My gift is my curse, yes, and thanks to You.

Will I change my ways now that I’m celebrating my birthday with horrid marks on my skin? Will I stop caring about excellence and let mediocrity become the norm so people will warm up to me and request me to become their FB buddy? Will I hang my brutal honesty out to dry in order to launch a campaign for Mr. Nice-and-Easy? No, God, sorry. Even if You make this ordeal last forever, I still don’t want to be a bore.

By the way, just a bit of digression. If there’s one person most affected by what You’ve put me through, it’s Bugsy. You see, he and his friends are expecting another treat to the fiesta carnival in Tandag just like what they had two years ago. As I write this he’s sulking, knowing that it’s not possible anymore because surely his Dad won’t go out with a hood over his face or put him and his friends at risk of being infected. There’s always next week, You say? Too late, the carnival leaves town day after the fiesta. You know more about kids than I do and so don’t blame me if Your inbox brims with text messages that contain menacing emote-icons from Bugsy and the poor kids in my neighborhood accusing You for being such a kill-joy!

God, I know that You know that I just want to have fun with You today through this letter. And Mike Posner in the background doing a cover of Adel’s “Rolling in the Deep” as I write this can attest to the lightness of the situation. But the same lightness of situation needs to be set aside for a while because I want to say a few heartfelt lines. You see, I’ve lived long enough to know this much to be true: that You are a God of deliverance; that You are a God who listens and provides; and that You are a God who loves beyond measure no matter what. For these and more, I could only bend my knees in prayer. Thank you very, very much!

Please stop feeling guilty for what You’ve done to me because I truly understand. I’m ugly today, yes, but who cares? I’m alive and it’s my birthday!

Love you much, God.


RMO


PS

If you promise to leave only one pockmark on my face, I won’t delete my FB friends who won’t post a comment on my wall.