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A Very Late Eulogy

My father was named after the prestigious Oscar Awards. And my grandparents could have had never been more right because he was in every aspect, an Oscar. He was an overachiever, a superlative, a star.

His was a life of taking chances, defying expectations, making a dent in the right places - he sometimes did all these even before the sun rises. It sounds like a ridiculous exaggeration - but no. I wouldn’t even be close to exacting the man.   

But for the life of me, I will try.   

At age 9, he started helping my grandma by selling cigarettes and newspapers on the streets of Pasay. He was a grade 3 student in Raphael Palma sing-song shouting “Manila Tiiiiiimes, Bulle-tin, Manila Tiiiiiiimes”. He would tell us this story like it was yesterday, demonstrating the chant with a high pitch tone (piyok), a lopsided face and arms carrying an imaginary box (kaha) filled with cigarettes, Stork and that day’s news.   

He was the best storyteller.   

He had a powerful speaking voice too - clear and crisp - the kind that commands a room and does not need to repeat itself. He had an even better singing voice. Two traits I unfortunately didn’t acquire (thanks, Ma). My father can sing any song in tune, play the guitar (self-taught) and his s old oak Yamaha that still hangs in our house had once seen endless days of finger-twisting intros to Stairway to Heaven and Hotel California. He was a big collector of VHS and DVD live concerts and the reason why I knew about Queen, Paul McCartney, Simon & Garfunkel, Bread, Engelbert Humperdinck, The Eagles, Rod Stewart, The Bee Gees and of course, Tom Jones. His version of My Way was my first encounter of the song and with all due respect to Tom Jones, and for that matter the rest of the Filipinos, I think his way was best.   

None of his talents I got. But I’d like to think I got some of his work ethics. My dad never knew how to be lazy. He would always say, if you have two hands and two feet, you have everything you need to do what needs to get done. He was the middle child who was not afraid to take charge. He went away for a while to work in Saudi Arabia, rolled up his sleeves, grew his hair long, wore a furry trench coat. He looked even cooler in faded sepia photos, showing no traces of hardship as an OFW, away from family, away from the motherland. He said wherever we go, we should “do what the Romans do”. Learn and respect - “respetar, anak”, he would say - do that and you would be fine and respected too.   

Even in Spanish, he was right.   

My father didn’t graduate with a university diploma. It was unclear why he dropped out of Mechanical Engineering on his third year but that didn’t deter him from having a successful career. At one point he was captain of a fleet of ships in Cebu, travelled the country from Batanes to Davao, got funny salutes and was called ‘chief’ by men bigger and taller than him. He was an operating manager, a general manager and an owner of a bus company. At one point, he was giving speeches every Sunday to about 80 employees, without a microphone. It must have been very exhausting but he kept on going.  He was working from age 9 to 59 - him and my mom both. By working hard, they gave us the best life, best family vacations, best education - this while also putting many of my cousins, even distant relatives to school. They shared their fruits of labor and did so with very open hearts. And I would like to think life had been pretty generous to them too.   

When my dad had cancer, he was not expected to last a year. As with any other stage 4 CA, hope was a stretch. But we hoped anyway. My dad lost all his hair some of his physical state, but not his spirit or humor. Sure he had some bad days but he would still make jokes with the doctors and nurses, still make silly faces with me in Photobooth, and in the exception of his last night in the hospital, still making plans.   

He was a fighter – a real one. It wasn’t just about beating cancer. It was everything. It was the everyday difficulty that he made to look easy. He took those sharp breaths, braved those weak walks and smiled when he probably knew what was to come. He made us feel like death was ”fake news” and encouraged us to go on as before. He showed us how. He bought flowers for my mom, took us out on dates, didn’t cave to my sister when she wanted to quit her job in New York - and even bought me a suitcase so I can pursue my then offer to go abroad.  He relentlessly fought for a normal life - for all of us - when everything else inside his body refused it. He wasn't a man who died from cancer. He was a man who lived with it, remarkably, game face on, with a tune or two. 

He was our warrior.   

I would like to close this piece by sharing how my dad loved to wake up early. That too, he made to look so easy. He was up at 4, drinking coffee and listening to music at 5. While the rest of us slept, he started his day. He was already sweeping leaves in the yard, watering the plants, putting the house in order...we often think now, had we imbibed that habit of waking up early, we would have had more time with him, a few more hours of stories from the past, some more songs to know how to sing (off key), more shared laughs, more shared grief, more Oscar. 

 Truth is - time is never enough, but what he was is.  

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4 seasons completed ✔️

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Going on a trip alone ranks high in my ‘scary things to do but should do anyway’ list (right above ‘get a tattoo’ and 'dance like a pro in public’ LOL) And I’m glad I got to tick it off last weekend!! 🤗 Thank you the NL, for the sunshine, great company and the first-hand fun 😂🤗❤️#gosomewherenew #dosomethingthatscaresyou #justdoit

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Paris ❤️

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The streets of Belgium

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Antwerp, Belgium

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Cliff Walk ❤️

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Christmas Day atop Grindelwald, Switzerland ☺️

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Magic hour at Henderson Waves

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T minus 20

I’m a half-believer.

When good things happen to me, I am as happy as the next person but quietly I’m thinking it can’t be as good as I think.

Just you wait, there’s a bubble and it will break. It’s the nature of bubbles.

When things go my way, I try to savor every bit of it, screencap that conversation, reread those emails like a crazy person, take a happy photo, smile to my half-believing self and say, “enjoy it while it’s real”. When I got into Lego, my disbelief shot over the roof. And I remember happy crying at 10PM on an empty park bench. Was it real? Did they just tell me to come to Denmark? Did that really happen? What? I pinched myself a few times literally before checking my phone history repeatedly to see if there really was a +45 call. I read the affirmation email again and again like it’s the freaking love story of my life.

I smiled at my half-believing self longer than usual that night.

When people ask me about it, I try to sound calm and collected. Inside there’s a conscious reservation of excitement (belief) because how about my visa? my medical clearance? my flight schedule? What if they retract the offer? What if suddenly the world ends? I could be all packed and about to board, still I ask, will I make it?

Half-believing asks a lot of questions. Half-believing is annoying. (Believe me!)

In about 20 days, the bubble can burst any way it wants. Maybe it’s a dream. Or completely another thing. Or maybe it’s exactly the new reality I was told and I’d be halfway across the world rereading this post like a mad person.

Can’t wait / sleep / keep still.

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TreeTop Walk

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The Descent from Mt Batur

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The Hike to Mt Batur :)

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Case Study Video

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Latest project is out: Experience Canon Instazoom on mobile now :)

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You were right.

Bowties are cool.

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You have to believe in yourself in an almost crazy way. You have to be bold enough to make something from nothing over and over again. And you have to be delusional enough to think that your ideas are valuable…

Rebecca Rebouché