Parable of the Pig and the Cow

The pig was unpopular while the cow was beloved. This puzzled the pig.

PIG: "People speak warmly of your gentle nature and your sorrowful eyes. They think you're generous because each day you give them milk and cream, but what about me? I give them everything I have. I give bacon, ham, etc. I give my all."

The cow replied:

COW: "It's not really what you give when you're dead. It's about what you give while your still alive."

- author unknown

Tokashiki Island Experience

Tokashiki Island: My Slice of Paradise in Okinawa

When I first hopped on the ferry from Naha, I didn’t know Tokashiki Island was about to steal my heart. The ride itself was a treat—turquoise waves, salty breezes, and the kind of blue sky that makes you forget about your phone.

Stepping off the boat felt like entering a postcard. Quiet roads, lush hills, and the warm smiles of the locals instantly made me feel at home. My first stop? Aharen Beach—pure white sand and water so clear I could spot fish from the shore. Snorkeling here was unreal. I swam alongside colorful corals, schools of tiny fish, and even a sea turtle or two.

In the afternoon, I hiked to one of the island’s viewpoints. From up there, I saw an endless horizon of blues blending into each other—sea, sky, and everything in between. It was the kind of view that makes you pause and just breathe.

As the sun began to set, the beach transformed. The sky turned gold and pink, waves whispered against the shore, and by nightfall, the stars came out in full force. No neon signs, no traffic—just me, the sand, and the universe.

Tokashiki Island isn’t just a destination; it’s an escape. I went for a day, but I came back with a lifetime memory.

A Visit to Manila Ocean Park

As a treat to my daughter's 6th birthday, I brought her and the whole family to the Manila Ocean Park. It was an amazing experience for kids and adults as well.







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First Time Father

It was 2:30 a.m.
I was deep in sleep when a gentle nudge on my left side stirred me — followed by the quiet, urgent sound of my wife calling for help. Her face carried the shadow of worry, eyes wide, uncertain. I glanced at the bed and noticed the sheet was wet. At first, I thought it was just a spill. But no — to my astonishment, the water was coming from her. She was in the final stretch of her pregnancy, and this... this was no ordinary night.

Like a prince roused for his beloved, I leapt into action. I supported her carefully, trying not to show the tremble in my hands. She told me she wasn’t in pain — only discomfort from the fluid steadily flowing. I held her close, clipped her safely into my arms, whispered reassurances that everything would be alright. I led her gently to the bathroom. Then, foolishly thinking we could still sleep this off, we returned to bed.

But sleep had other plans.
Minutes later, another shout — this time with urgency in her voice. She had spoken with her OB-Gyne. “We need to go to the hospital. Now.”

We scrambled to pack. I showered in record time. Then we rushed into the night, hailing a taxi as the city slumbered. Inside the cab, we made light of things — joked nervously that maybe this was it. That maybe our baby didn’t want to wait the remaining three weeks on the OB’s calendar. That maybe today would be the day we’d become parents.

At the hospital, she was questioned quickly, and then — just like that — they wheeled her toward the delivery room.
Wait... what? Already?

That day, we were gifted a son. A fragile miracle. A boy with lungs too weak for this world, but with a spirit that fought for sixteen days inside the NICU. And then... he let go.

---

That was seven years ago today.
This is his seventh death anniversary.

And every year, the pain replays like a scene I can't edit. I was young. Unprepared. Maybe even foolish. I missed the chance to hold the title of “first-time father” in full.

My son — wherever you are in the vast universe, in a place I can’t reach but feel so near —
I LOVE YOU.

Always.

#everyone #firsttimefather