Home Alone

 No, not the movie. I mean literally.

Typing this blog.

On Christmas Day 2025.

I've never had nowhere to be but with family in all the past 59  Christmases of my life.  And  I find myself reflecting on what Christmas meant for me over the long stretch of one's lifetime. 

As a typical Filipino kid it was magical. Seasonal decor, seasonal music, and religious traditions all coming to a crescendo of feasting and gift giving.  For a kid it was mostly the eating and the receiving, but nevertheless, Hallelujah! Our saviour was born! 

Later on, as we cross into puberty, the early dawn mass turned into a convenient opportunity to check out one's crush.  Maybe put some product on your hair, a favourite t-shirt or pendant, and perhaps if one was bold enough, start a conversation with a totally timely Christmas greeting.  The Christmas haul at this age has moved from toys to fashion.  The problem arises when your favourite Tita's idea of what would look great on you and what you think is going to impress the opposite sex are non-intersecting circles of a Venn diagram.

Christmas caroling was a tradition I also experienced.  My friends and I would, on a whim, decide to go house to house and sing Christmas carols until someone gives us a few coins so we can move on and entertain the next house.  We would stop once we had enough money to cover a round of snacks.

 As a young man with emerging means, I too wanted to give Christmas gifts, of course starting with family.  For me it was proof that I had "grown up" and a grown man was expected to give more than receive. Just giving to my family was a net zero as we just exchanged presents.  To man up I widened my circle of gift giving, by adding to my Christmas list the people who were special to me: friends, mentors, colleagues, some romantic possibilities and business partners. 

It was at this point that I felt a transactional aspect to Christmas. Some people made it to my list when I received a present from them.  It would be mean not to reciprocate.  Some people dropped of the list due to natural causes: former colleagues, former lovers, or someone moves to another country.  The Christmas list begun as a way to flex, it was morphing into a chore.

Becoming a parent brought a refreshing touch up to my sadly tarnished spirit of Christmas joy. It was the 90s and we had just moved to Australia.  We were a young professional couple with disposable income.  We could buy our only daughter anything short of an actual pony.  Not to compare with how over-the-top this century's competitive Christmas decorations have become, but for that one time we decorated our tree with all the trimmings we wish we had and then layered more on top of that. 

My friend Jojo brought his family to Australia a couple of years after us. We were the closest thing to family we had here. We became family and we celebrated every Noche Buena together since.  Our daughters grew up together like siblings nobody asked for. We're proud of them all.

Christmas shopping was a retail orgy we all participated in. At first it was all fun and exhilarating to work our way down that Christmas list. Oh look what I found! This would be perfect for ___.  And the price is under budget too.  As the number of shopping days before Christmas count down, the selection criteria for thoughtful gifts start to widen out, eventually coming down to I ran out of time and/or budget so this is  your present.  Merry Christmas.

That's when we begun to accumulate unwanted presents -which we henceforth euphemistically refer to as surplus.  Now what are we gonna do with all this surplus?  Pass it to someone else?  On your Christmas list? Re-gifting was a quiet little trend we all did. It wasn't perfect, there's a risk of committing a faux pas by accidentally re-gifting it back to the original donor next Christmas.

Life goes on.  Marriages end.  New partnerships and new families are created.  Our daughter is now an adult. My new partner and I  have two young children to raise.  Now, my Christmas eve traditions have to be shared with my children's Uruguayan family.  For several Christmases, we would do half in Smithfield, then bundle the kids and their presents in the car and drive to Carlingford for the other half.  There was probably over sixty people I shared Christmas eve with across both gatherings. 

There was even a couple of years when we had a costume theme for Noche Buena. It was fun until it was a struggle to figure out what costume to wear  and it was now an unwelcome extra chore.  So we just stopped.

Now having separated again, we simply took alternate turns with  the kids. The simultaneous celebrations continue but the kids do Smithfield one year and then Carlingford the next. I admit missing Smithfield.  This year they are with their mother.

But what do I usually do on actual Christmas day?  Back in the Philippines, we would probably be visiting relatives and god-parents.  In the 1990s, we used to go to Tita Gina's house for a very Aussie Christmas lunch with Mrs. Thomson.  Last year I went to Kuya Eddie's house where other Pinoy families are welcome to celebrate as we used to in the old country.  I could have gone there today.

Instead I am home alone. 

I don't know if I'd make a habit of it, but I chose it. 

Merry Christmas!

 

Bucket lists and letting go

 These days when people mention bucket list it's more like a list of experiences that with enough time and money may be ticked off one by one.  I was in university when I came up with my bucket list. In a conversation with Marie Grace she said to me that there are only two guaranteed  ways to be remembered even after we are dead. One is to have a child, the other was to write a book. Those would be good on my bucket list. So over the conversation I arrived at my bucket list in no particular order:

• have [and raise] a child
• write a book
• learn to fly a plane
• learn to scuba dive
• learn to ride a horse
• travel the world
• climb a mountain
• learn a new language
• learn to dance
• learn to sail

Over the decades I have ticked off all but two*.  I noticed that it was skills and accomplishments that are on the list. I logged over 30 hours flying a Beechcraft Skipper, 12 of them solo. I was satisfied that I had accomplished what I set out to do. Also, maintaining a pilots license current wouldn't be cheap and I had more to do yet.  So I traded my David Clark flex boom headset with gel-filled earseals for a Shoei racing helmet (I needed one to go on the track with my WRX).  My flying days are behind me and I was okay with that.

Today I parted with my Cressi BCD, Mares regulator and occy and  Oceanic Dive computer. My diving days are behind me.  I must have done over 50 dives, filled up two logbooks, never bothered to buy the third. I am satisfied that I have met this achievement.  Besides, I could always hire gear when I go again. Having my personal gear was nice but not essential. It was time to let them go to a new adventurer for fresh adventures. Now I feel so much lighter.

The thing is, earlier in my life as I was scything my way through the bucket list, the thought occurred to me.  Why not just keep adding to the list?  It was a young man who came up with the list while goo-goo eyed over some co-ed. He thought 10 was a good number (digits, toes, commandments, etc.)  and seemed achievable in a lifetime. In the end I decided against topping up the list as it felt like cheating,  and potentially the hard ones will get skipped over in favour of easier ones.  

However, if we accomplish all, we can certainly come up with a new list. 

There's some stuff I've hung on to like my parka and snow pants, because I don't ever want to hire those. Snowboarding wasn't even on the list, but that didn't stop me trying it anyway.  There's a heap of stuff I could have added to the list, but never got the chance.  Doing hot laps at Oran Park and Eastern Creek would have snuck in, being in a feature film with a speaking role, being a chef, etc. 

That young man was limited. He'd be blown away with what we've accomplished thus far, as well as laugh at what we've fucked up. It would be nicer if I could tell him we've done it all as well as the bonus achievements**.

*It's down to becoming an author and a horse rider. 

 **Might have to explain that to someone from 1984.

America I See You

 A gloved fist knocks on the door. 

"Federal agents, open the door."

Someone opens the door and sees a group of men in black combat fatigues with the letters ICE emblazoned front and back. 

"We're just here to check on your documentation and all who reside on the premises".

We firmly assure you there are no Jews I mean  undocumented migrants hiding in the cellar.

So do we all believe what's happening today?  We are going through the biggest upheaval in geopolitics since an actual global war. And that was settled with nukes!

After six years of world war fought brutally over land, air, and sea that saw millions die,  America stood over the humbled Japanese and said "Who's next?  Who else wants to challenge America?"  

Apparently, there were a few takers like Cuba, Vietnam, and Libya just to name a few. 

For the next seventy years though, big strong America has your back -as long as you let them in to do business.

If you didn't?  Well, you must be communist and don't believe in capitalism.  Maybe we need to be talking to someone else. Hey CIA, get us a more pro-American, I mean pro-business president for this shithole country.  

That was fine.  At least America got to observe and approvingly declare that it witnessed a fair and free election. And America gets to talk to someone more pro-business, I mean pro-freedom. Isn't that the same thing anyway?

Business as usual until 2016 when the Americans elected a TV star as president (with significant meddling from the Russians).  They voted him out in 2020, which he tried and failed to insurrect.  But  then in 2024 they elected a convicted felon and sex offender. TV star and also former President, but with an even more impressive resume which now includes porn-star fucker and insurrectionist.

So the Americans decided to give Donnie another shot at it because, uhm life was better four years ago? I mean what can be more American than being given a second chance?   

Maybe this time he'll come through for us and we won't be conned.  

You gotta believe me.

These are my documents!  You gotta believe me Mr ICE officer, sir.

Which dystopia are we living in now?

The international community is aghast at the realisation that , NO, America hasn't got your back. 

America wants your land, your minerals, and access to your markets but tariffs your products. America is in it for America only.

You cannot trust Uncle Sam anymore,  he will take your wallet, side with your enemies, and deny you protection.  

Our dystopia wasn't created by robots, zombies, or aliens.

Turns out it's Nazis.  Who would've  guessed?

ps. And I give credit to my graphics team at Leonardo.Ai for their images above using the prompt "a dishevelled but defiant Uncle Sam on the foreground with a flaming desert backdrop showing smoking ruins in the horizon" Wouldn't  let me use mushroom clouds as the AI guardrails won't allow depictions of violence, and I wholeheartedly agree. Isn't it refreshing to find AI that's more sensible than some humans?

The Kindness of Strangers

 

Today was a big day.  I was going to teach tonight's class without a follower assisting, and it's gonna be a big class, and the new cafe annex the class will be in is halfway under construction.  So I just needed to finish my delivery run, get home, get showered, pack the gear and get to the venue.

I returned to the van in downtown Leura to find my rear tyre was flat.  This is my fifth flat tyre on the job so I knew the drill.  First task is to loosen the nuts.  I slipped the cross-wrench on to the first nut and twisted.  It wouldn't budge, not surprising actually, so I tried stepping on the wrench to give my full weight getting maximum torque.  Usually this works. 

I was stumped and pulled out my phone to call for help. At this time a bystander, a courier from another company, offered to help.  

So I said, thanks sure go for it, and this young fella in matching hi-vis grabbed the cross-wrench and twisted. We heard the nut creak and then turn.  I said wow, that's great,  could you maybe just loosen them all for me and I can manage the rest.  Pretty please.  The strapping lad obliged, and when he got all 5 nuts loosened, I shook his hand, thanked him.  

The universe sent me an angel to get me past an obstacle.  Thank you.

Later tonight, we set a new record for the largest class I've ever had in Katoomba at 22 students. There was a reason I got assigned an angel today, all these people were relying on me making it to class !

Surfing the cosmic waves

 No wonder my life has been so crazy lately, my astrologer friend reminded me that we have a full moon occurring simultaneously with the Aussie  winter solstice, and the kicker is that the moon is in Capricorn (my sign) and also year of the Dragon (also me), so okay then.

I hadn't had time to mourn for Divina Black as I had places to be and people to see.  I needed a new ride ASAP. Up until now I was counting on getting a courtesy car while the garage repaired my car. 

However, now I had to change tack  and go car shopping instead.   I had access to $5k for emergencies and this qualifies.  Within 2 hours I followed leads and contacted 2 candidates.   Now I just had to wait for them to get back to me, meanwhile I dashed to the bank for the cash. The wait  was agonizing as the last rays of  the afternoon started to fade. Just before I could call it a day, I got a call that the car was ready if I still wanted it.  

The short story is that I was satisfied with what I was getting for the money,  so I don't think about maybe the other car was a better offer.  Dude,when we asked for auditions, this one showed up and got cast. 

 I handed the cash over and I became the new owner of a 15  year old Honda CR-V with 300,000km of road experience and flaking paintwork  typical of mountain cars parked outside over many frosty mornings and scorching summers.  On the plus side she has rego till next year, new tyres, and runs like new.  

Everyone please meet Lana. Long may she serve.

From Tuesday, I've been feeling this uneasiness in my gut. It seemed like I couldn't see more than a few steps in front of me.  As things unfolded and developed, I had to react and change my objectives. Luckily, my delivery shifts were uncharacteristically brief and freed me up to chase up mechanics, towies, sellers, and wreckers.   Yes, Divina's inert shell has been consigned to the auto recyclers. 

Until emerging on Thursday with Lana,  I all I could do was solve the immediate problem confronting me.  I felt like I was a Jedi using the force to ride the cosmic vortex of Lunar and Solar cycles.

For landing arse-first into a successor vehicle, I am most grateful.

Adios Divina Black

Back in 2012 we named our Subaru Outback family car, she was Divina Black. A fun, versatile and mostly reliable wagon; batteries die, engines overheat, tyres blow out but the NRMA or even myself can always get us back on the road to resume our journey.

Forty-eight hours ago, Divina overheated on the climb to Glenbrook.  She had enough momentum to coast to stop under a street lamp safely off the highway.  My efforts to revive her were futile.  I had to call the NRMA to send a tow truck.  It was 1 AM when we got home, and it's only 5 hours before I had to get up and start my work shift.  It took ages for me to finally fall asleep.

I finished work early afternoon and canvassed a couple of repair shops.  At this point I still thought Divina can be revived by professionals,  but they can't do anything unless I can take the car to their shop.  So I tried calling some local towies, their voicemail greeting recommends sending a text message.  I guess this makes me rather old-fashioned, but  I suppose it also filters out the time-wasters.  So one of them replies texting their tow truck is out of order (so who tows a towie?) Then another texts he can do it for cash.  I ask how soon?  40 minutes.  Ahh the shop closes in 30 minutes, how about tomorrow?  Done.  

Today I completed my delivery shift and went straight to the repair shop hoping for good news.  I saw Divina on their driveway.  When I finally spoke to the mechanic I was told the engine was cooked and cannot be saved.  Divina was gone.

Delivery Skills

 For Noche Buena* this year I decided to make felafels.  I learned to make them 13 years ago doing cooking gigs in Chatswood.  Soaked dry chickpeas are put through the food processor with fresh parsley, coriander, onions, garlic, and spice seasoning.  The resulting mush is then hand formed into felafel balls and get chucked into the freezer.  I had the ingredients, dusted off the food processor, but the pressure point was finding space in the freezer.  

So I decided maybe I can repack the freezer and if I have to, I'll just defrost and consume what won't fit back in once the felafels are in place.  To my pleasant surprise, I was able to fit everything in even with the felafels!   It was then I realised  that I had been honing my packing skills for over 2 years and it has just manifested.  Another Tetris win!  

Tomorrow I make the yoghurt mint dip.

*Traditional Filipino midnight feast on Christmas Eve  (we Filipinos don't see the point of wasting the first 3 hours of the holiday)

Life in the Pelepens

Day 10 

My dad and my mom were avid bowlers (tenpin).  Trophies crowd the top display shelf in the living room.  I thought it would be a great idea for us to go bowling, my mom, and my niece took me to Southmall for that.  My mom forgot to take her ball but brought her own shoes (of course she had her own custom ball and shoes),  so she had to make do with the house balls.  Meanwhile my niece and I has the house shoes and ball.  I merely took that as my mom playing against us with a handicap.  I came out guns blazing, with a score of 124 on the first game, but I only managed a 99 and 102 on the next two.  It was heartwarming for me to watch my 86 year old mom still beat me on the third game, she took two games to warm up after years of not having hit the lanes.  

Day 11

We went to visit my dad's grave in Parañaque.  I haven't been since his funeral seven years ago.  I like browsing through the other graves and tried to imagine the lives that were lived by its occupants and the implied stories behind some of them like a husband and wife who died only 7 days apart -the wife only lasted a week without her partner.  Some plots had family members dying on the same date suggesting some sort of accident or calamity had claimed their lives on that fateful day.  Most notable however, were the number of fresh gravestones for those who had perished between 2020 and 2022, a poignant testament of the devastation wrought by the COVID-19 pandemic.  Rich or poor, young or old, few families were exempt from this global calamity. 

. . .

By evening, the temperatures have cooled down a bit, also partially due to rains brought about by a typhoon passing through the north of the country. I went for a bicycle ride around the old neighbourhood as I once did when I was a child.  This unleashed a flood of childhood memories. I rode past homes of old friends and crushes that have long changed hands and / or  been renovated or knocked down and rebuilt with bigger and more modern designs.  Trees that were mere saplings back then have matured and their roots cracked walls and paved sidewalks.  Once when I was eleven, a dog chasing me caused me to fall over and graze my knees.  However, I wasn't too concerned tonight when two dogs started chasing my bike, if it comes to it, I'd use the bicycle as both a shield and a weapon. Besides, they weren't too serious and gave up as soon as I was outside their territory.  My ride lasted all of 25 minutes, and I had gone down every street of phase one  of our subdivision -Amelita to Imelda, Lovely to Friendly and everything in between.  I got home with a smile on my face, who knows when I might be able to do this again.

  

Day 12

The week since I got here, I've been following two local news stories.  They are both about off-duty law enforcers pulling out their firearms during a road rage incident.  In  both cases, the offenders were trying to assert their authority against the object of their rage. And in both cases a passing motorist had pulled out their smart phones and recorded video of the altercations.  Both videos have gone viral and there was understandably public outcry against the blatant abuse of power.  In the past, all this would have just been quietly swept under the rug, and their law enforcement brothers would have helped with the cover up. That's no longer possible in today's world of social media because the evidence is now in the public sphere and the public expect consequences.  The newspaper today reports that in both incidents, the offenders have lost their jobs and their right to carry firearms. They were clearly not the guys you want roaming the streets armed. Even more satisfying is that the investigating cops who were allegedly willing to let them get away with it are also facing consequences.  Well done Filipinos, I am heartened by the progress of this society who are now excercising their power to hold these abusers and enablers of abuse accountable.  They are finding out that the dildo of consequences arrives unlubricated.

Downtown Manila

Day 7

After picking up my recovered phone from Alabang Town Center, I hopped on a bus and made my way to Quiapo. Taking a car to downtown Manila feels like too much hassle considering traffic, tolls, fuel and especially parking (might be worth it with a full passenger load but not solo).  Turns out my bus fare from Las Piñas to Quiapo cost less than a litre of petrol.

It was a long slow grind along Alabang-Zapote Road. I'm actually surprised it hasn't been renamed yet, considering that streets I used to know in my lifetime have been renamed  (for historical and some I suspect politcal reasons): 

• Avenida into Rizal Avenue
• Highway 54 into EDSA*
• Buendia into Gil Puyat
• Pasong Tamo into Arnaiz
• Pasay Road into Chino Roces 

I could go on but I'm just showing off my age here.

Traffic eased up once we hit Coastal Road (CAVITEX).  I do enjoy seeing the Manila Skyline from across the bay.  Instead of continuing along Roxas Boulevard, we peeled off into the newly reclaimed land (hah! it was started in the 1970s)  west of the Boulevard to hit PITX and MOA before rejoining it after Baclaran.  Even though the land reclamation had been completed decades ago, I still have trouble accepting this change is permanent as evidenced by the various developments, resort hotels, residential towers, and malls that have since sprouted. There are fewer and fewer people from my generation that still carry living memories of this being part of the sea. 

I was shocked when I saw Luneta had been bulldozed.  My online research indicated that this was part of the plan to ressurrect the original plans for its development dating back to 1905.  I'm sad and infuriated at the same time.

When we were very young (1968-1970), we would sometimes stay over with my aunties in Tondo.  If it was a particularly nice evening, they would take us on a jeepney ride with my cousins to Luneta for an evening stroll.  We used the park as it was meant to be used. Couples and families out to enjoy the gentle sea breeze amid the grass, trees, playgrounds, and sculptures.  There was even an aquarium that exhibited various marine life, my favourite being the piranha tank.  

The bus deposited all of its passengers near Colegio Santa Isabel (don't get me started on the Jai Alai building, I'm done grieving that) leaving me as the only passenger to take across the Pasig River to Quiapo.  Over the Quezon Bridge and down the ramp to Quezon Boulevard (yeah Quezon was a big deal), we shot past Quiapo Church, the passenger unloading zone was further down near Raon than Quiapo.  That suited me just fine as I did want to explore Raon anyway. 

This district of Manila is packed with street vendors, stalls, wholesalers and retailers spruiking everything from fashion (fakes or factory overruns, or more likely both), to tools, hardware, electronics.  I even spotted a vendor with dildoes, hmm that's new, I thought. The ground floor of buildings are entrances to a warren of more stalls, and eateries.  This is the furthest you can get from the airconditioned malls, this is where the masses can maximise their purchasing power.  

It is very densely crowded and one has to maintain the highest level of alertness lest one fall victim to scams, pick pockets, snatchers.   Very far removed from the Blue Mountains where the biggest crowds I have to deal with on a regular basis is the check out queue at Katoomba ALDI.   There were some occasions when I decided it wouldn't be prudent to pull out my phone to take pictures, even though every one around me had one and were busy scrolling through their Tik Tok feed. This is where you meet "the average Filipino" going about their lives.  

The noise is deafening, especially in the area where you can buy professional audio components for night clubs, karaoke bars, auditoriums.  Each stall competing with each other by turning their amps up to eleven just to show everyone they have the best and the loudest (they are not always the same thing).  The smells vary from. diesel exhaust, sharp plastic wrap, textiles, leather, to ozone tinged electrical, rust and grease, all of them taking turns with food aromas from frying, barbecuing, and steaming.  Brief periods of rain would send everyone scurrying for cover and deploying umbrellas, Puddles would pullulate into floods if the rain ever went longer than an hour.  Luckily today they remained as puddles, large, 2 inch deep puddles, but still shy of being called a flood.  You can call it a flood (baha in the Tagalog) once the enterprising boys put up walkways made of planks supported by hollow blocks or tyres, charge pedestrians a few coins for the privilege of using them to avoid having to wade through baha.

I made my way past Avenida and wound up in Ongpin, Manila's original Chinatown.  Lamp posts with red and gold dragons marked the boundaries of this district.  Famous eateries are interspersed with traders importing everything from heavy machinery to restaurant equipment, all imported from China and Taiwan. Some of the buildings date back to the American occupation and the post-war rebuild, some more recent like the 70s and 80s.  The streets are like core drill samples where you can identify the many layers representing various time periods.

When I emerged at Plaza Santa Cruz, I saw the church, the fountain, and the old buildings that wouldn't have been out of place in Madrid or Montevideo.  If I hadn't been to any of those places, its significance to our rich history would have been lost on me.  Inside Santa Cruz church, I sat on the pews and teased out memories of being a toddler with my parents attending mass.  I would be the little boy crawling under the rows of seats and over the kneelers disturbing worshippers. 

On Avenida was tired Isetan. I remember when it was new, where I bought my girlfriend a stuffed toy (monkey),  it was cute and she loved it. There is a place that still called itself Good Earth, but I still carry memories of Good Earth Emporium at that site, back when the only other department stores were Rustans, COD, and Arcegas.

When it was time to head home, I made my way to Lawton aka Liwasang Bonifacio via Quinta Market and back south over the Pasig.  The Post Office building where I attended many student rallies in 1983-1984 burned down just this year.  

The only thing that picked up my sad lamentation of lost iconic landmarks is the restoration and re-opening of the Metropolitan Theatre.  This is a desperate plea to all Manileños,  please preserve our heritage.  A place like this magnificent example of Art Deco does not exist anywhere in Asia, not even Australia has anything as exquisite as the Metropolitan. One would have to go to New York or Paris to see, let alone attend a performance in similar a place.   

It has survived WWII and decades of neglect.  I pray it survives developers, the way that the Jai Alai building did not.

*Epifanio De Los Santos Avenue if anyone was asking

Authentication!

Day 6

Movies are cheaper in the Philippines than Australia.  I was hoping to catch Oppenheimer or Barbie so my sister dropped me off at Alabang Town Centre (ATC) after lunch.  On my previous visits a trip to the mall is also a chance to go shopping.  The most prolific mall in the country is the SM brand, not sure how many people actually still remember what SM stood for (Shoe Mart).  It used to be a chain of shoe stores, and later grew into department stores.  However, in the 80s the Viktor Gruen concept  of malls with car parks was changing the world and they built the first "mega mall" in Mandaluyong.   It was a brutalist windowless air-conditioned rectangular block housing three storeys of retail and food outlets anchored by the department store, supermarket and multiplex cinemas.  At latest count there are 83 SM malls in the country (and apparently 7 in China). 

ATC though took a different approach by not adopting the big box. The mall consists of several smaller buildings, each with its own character, and inter-linked by aesthetically landscaped walkways and all tied together with a coherent Spanish/Mexican villa style. It's kind of clever because one could just pleasantly meander around and get lost, thereby increasing your chances of spending more money due to the extended linger time.  Reminds me of casinos that have no right-angle corridors and no clocks to discourage punters from ever leaving  Notwithstanding, hands down it's my favourite mall in the country. 

So that's what I did, I walked around and took note of which shops were as I remember from previous visits, some relocated, some new, and some gone, the empty shells boarded up waiting for the next entrepreneur willing to take a stab at retail success.   Eventually I did make it to the cinema and bought a ticket for "Blue Beetle" (Barbie had only one session but for later in the day).  It was  then that I noticed I couldn't find my phone.  I was horrified when I emptied my bag and my pockets, reaching the unavoidable conclusion that I had lost my phone.  After the movie, I retraced my steps searching. When that yielded nothing, I asked the concierge (yes the mall had a concierge) if by chance someone might have handed it in.  They said no, but if I leave my details, they'll contact me if someone does.  I thought this is the Philippines, if no one has handed it in yet I probably would never see it again. Fuck.

As soon as I got home I went online, and tried Google's find my phone feature.  It said unable to contact phone, the last time it was in contact was 4 hours ago before I left for the mall.  Of course.  I had it in airplane mode because I didn't want to pay $10/day for roaming, but I did use it when wi-fi was available, like at home.  

As a last ditch effort, my sister lodged a post on the Southies facebook group hoping it would be found by a member.  People made helpful comments like try Google find my phone feature. Uh-huh.

I accepted my android phone was gone for good. So I needed to secure it on Google.  When I followed the steps to do so, Google wanted to verify my identity and sent a 6 digit one time code to,  see where this is going?  Yes my phone before it will let me access the secure function.  To secure my lost phone I had to put in  the 6 digit code that was sent to my lost phone. Grrrr.

I tried to turn off 2 factor authentication, but before I can do that I had to authenticate first.  With. A. Code. Sent. To. My. Phone. Grrrr.

I also needed to let Telstra know that my phone is lost so that whomever found/stole my phone can't use it to rack up roaming / call charges.  I get on to the Telstra website.  They want me to use the Telstra app (on my lost phone) to access the feature.  How about using the browser?  The webpage says to use the browser on my lost phone.  Grrrrrr.

Eventually I found a link to contact Telstra via facebook messenger.  The support person needed to verify my identity (not again).    She sent me an authentication form, but the link wouldn't load.  She asked me to clear my browser cache and try the link again.  When I cleared the browser cache, I got logged out (duh).  But oh no, that means my Google session was also logged out!  Luckily Google didn't ask for 2 factor authentication and I was able to log back in (maybe because Google recognised I was on the same IP address). I tried the link again and it still wouldn't.

  

Telstra support asked if I have another device.  I told her THIS PC IS THE OTHER DEVICE.  Oh. 

 

So as an alternative, she suggested that I have to go to a Telstra shop and do this in person.    I reminded her I was overseas.  Oh. 

So she asked again if can I use another device.  I was ready to strangle someone, but my sister loaned me a smart phone.  I had to reinstall facebook messenger and try the authentication link again.  To my suprise that worked! She said great!  She processed the form and sent me an email with another link, and when I clicked that, she was finally able to verify me.  Now she can suspend my services so that no one can use my phone / sim.  I will have to go in person to a Telstra shop when I get back to Australia to lift the suspension when I can get a new phone / sim.  

Aaaarghhhh!

My sister and her daughter were convinced my phone was lifted from me by a skilled pick-pocket. I insisted that would not be possible, I was aware of everyone around me at ATC and no one got close enough to me the whole time I was there.  I did concede that if I had accidentally dropped it or if it fell out of my bag, I had little faith the finder would turn it in. It's a poor country and a free phone is a free phone.

The next day, my sister got a call from the ATC concierge. My phone was found by a security guard at the bottom of an escalator.  However, since I didn't leave my contact details, how did they know to call my sister's number?  They found her post on the  Southies facebook group.  

Thank you to all who helped reunite me with my phone.  May the universe repay you with good karma.

Pilipinas 2023

 I haven't been back since my father's funeral seven years ago.  What I wanted was to visit together with my daughters, but that proved too complicated to organise and as the years dragged on, I saw that waiting for things to be perfect means I may not visit for years so I decided to visit solo -I can't allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good.  I should visit now and visit again when I get my children's papers sorted out.

Day 1 Sunday

To be more precise, first night as our flight arrived on Sunday evening. We were whisked away to my mother's ancestral home as soon as we were collected from the airport.  The house was located in the rural town of Bustos about 50km north of Manila, although the place is so built-up and densely populated, the only thing that reminds me of how provincial it used to be are small plots of rice paddies that remain as most of the farmland have been sold for industrial and residential use.

The house itself had undergone a renovation as sections of it were already falling into disrepair.  The last person to actually live there was my Tita Ine (aunty ''ee-neh) my mother's youngest sister, my nieces and nephews addressed her a Lola (grandma)  Ine.  She passed away just before the COVID pandemic.

My cousins who still live in Bustos have become de-facto caretakers of the property and for that I am grateful.  It gives us all a place where we can gather as a gi-normous family and have feasts and celebrations spanning four generations.  It's a reason for all my cousins scattered all over Metro Manila to make the trek to Bustos and share dinuguan, menudo and San Miguel beer, with the option of an overnight stay at the renovated ancestral home we affectionately call Villa Remedios (Remedios is Tita Ine's full name).

It was 4am by the time my sister, my bayaw and I called it a night and ended the party.

Day 2 Monday

Unsurprisingly I woke up with the mother of all hangovers and totally missed out on the family breakfast.  Last night was the welcome home party for us, the freshly arrived Aussies.  It also so happens today was a national holiday to remember Ninoy Aquino whose assassination 40 years ago triggered the downfall of the the Marcos dictatorship,  In a biblical generation, the Filipinos have gone from ejecting a kleptocratic tyrant, to electing his son as President.  As much as this shits me, the people have spoken, people like me who have migrated out have no right to judge.

The long weekend was also an opportunity to have a family party with pancit and lechon.  More cousins arrived for this party.  I was unable to enjoy this party as my liver was working overtime to get my systems back to normal operations. Like a zombie I just ambled at the edges of the party, watching and listening to my nephews and nieces laughing and teasing each other as we and my cousins, their parents, used to do.  It was clear the next generation is in great hands, and my role in it diminishing with each year. Sad as that sounds,  I'll dismiss that as the hangover talking.

By 430pm this party had wrapped up, all of us taking our share of the leftovers home back to the pockets of Metro Manila we called home. All must return and  resume their work and school commitments tomorrow.  Villa Remedios emptied out, cars and SUVs pulled out of the gates, and silence descends, the house settles into slumber awaiting the next family gathering.  Which just happens to be next weekend due to another long weekend, as next Monday is also a national holiday..

On the drive home I watched the landscape scroll by, I struggled to identify familiar and significant places and landmarks from my life here decades ago.  Freeways, billboards, and high-rise towers dominate the major traffic arteries of the sprawling megalopolis. Juxtaposed with the familiar ramshackle dwellings that have always been there.  There are overgrown and abandoned industrial parks, alongside working ones. It doesn't take long for the jungle to start reclaiming unoccupied land in the tropics. 

Caught a glimpse of  my old high school in Makati, fenced in by tall condominiums; Magallanes cinema had long been knocked down and redeveloped, South Supermarket had long ago moved really south to Alabang;  I almost missed the entrance to the subdivision in Taguig where we lived when my first daughter was born; in Bicutan I failed  to locate Basilica of the Immaculate Conception as I strained to keep my bearings; the semiconductor assembly plant in Muntinglupa  where I used to work before migrating; the MacDonalds at the top of the hill that used to be the site of the decaying Madrigal mansion; the entrance to Concha Cruz drive where the old Philippine Standard plant was; the site of the ARCO paper and cardboard factory which we used to be able to smell and hear from our subdivision. I catalogued  the updates to my mental Google Street View and filed away old memories in my nostalgia baul.

Like my village, my own ancestral home had also changed and adapted to the age and lifestyles of my family who still lived there.  Half the prized lawn which my dad kept as a vanity project (even arranging for regular tanker deliveries of water to sustain) have been given over to growing, fruit, vegetables, and herbs.  The clan of shih-tzus had passed on, now it;s one dachsund in heat and a frustrated pomeranian unable to fulfil its biological imperative because of the height difference (admittedly not much of a gap, but just enough to deny all attempts at coupling).  

But I was finally home, to my family.

Day 3 Tuesday

It was time to reconnect with friends.  I reached out to them so they could find room for me in to their busy schedules, after all I was on vacation, they were not.  Whenever they were available is when I would see them.  First was a very close friend from high school who suffered a personal tragedy in the past year.  I learned about it via social media last year, but I never got around to contacting him and offer my condolences. Somehow, writing a reply to their post with stock expressions of sorrow and a sad / care emoji felt trite and grossly insincere. I wanted to be there personally and offer comfort.

We spent an evening dining in Makati's 'Little Tokyo' updating each other on what's happened to us in the last seven years since we saw each other.  In times past we would've hit a beerhouse and wrapped up the the night iat a massage parlor, this time neither of has had the desire nor inclination.  Like the Goldilocks on Pasong Tamo, such indulgences had receded into history.  We bid each other goodbye before boarding our ride-share cars for our respective homes.  

I was surprised to find my mother still playing mahjong with my niece, bayaw and sister. I normally would get home around 4am every time I was out drinking with "the boys".

Carpe Diem

Started the day baking muffins to take to work (banana apple mocha).  Finished my delivery shift before the stroke of noon. It was a short run, but for which I am grateful.  It allowed me to swing by a friend's place and borrow his power hose.  I was home by half past noon, so I chucked my fluoros into the washer, as I sat to lunch.  

Then I set an alarm for 1615H to make sure I get to my next job at 5pm.  I plan to make a good impression.  I put on some mambo music, hung up my fluoros and got outside to clean my roof gutters while I still had the momentum.   Something I've been planning to do for ages but has now become urgent -since the real estate inspection politely asked me to get it done.  As well as clean the outside of cobwebs.  Hence the loan of the power hose.

It took a bit of creative engineering to relocate the ladder along the length of the gutters, with the ground uneven, overgrown, and narrow.  Which reminds me I need to use the mower soon too. On occasion my recollection of destination fucked videos saved me from taking foolish risks, something in my head clicks and I can see the video of me heading into disaster.  This is when I put on my safety supervisor hat and chide myself into doing better and eliminate, avoid, or mitigate the risks.  Operation complete, no injuries to report, just had enough time to pack up the ladder and get changed for my first kitchen shift since 2021.

I arrived at the restaurant 5 minutes early, met the owners and got settled in.  We did 35 covers and at no point was I stressed, I didn't even get a hint of imposter syndrome.  This was just like being an agency chef all over again: new kitchen, new menu, get to work.

Today is one of those satisfying days, yes I had it seized!

Carbon and Oxygen Orgies

Otherwise known as fire.  Having a functioning fireplace has been an aspirational fantasy of mine since I was young. Back then the closest thing to cold climate I could travel to was Baguio or Tagaytay. The places we stayed at featured fireplaces but it just wasn't "cold enough" to be worth the bother of making a fire.  Well? It's middle of winter in the Blue Mountains, let's fire it up!

It's my third winter with a fireplace now so I've tried all sorts of ways to start fires and sustain fires. Some work better than others, there are many abandoned methods once I find  better ones.

What I have distilled it down to is a complex understanding of chemistry, physics, biology, electro-magnetic radiation, bernoulli, venturi, laminar and turbulent flows  -it's a fucking rabbit hole. 

The simple equation is 

FUEL + OXYGEN + HEAT = FIRE.  

In my specific use case that would be

WOOD + AIR + HEAT = FIRE

What do we mean by HEAT?  Specifically the temperature identified as the kindling point of the material ie. fuel.  Rubbing your hands together can get warm but not enough to set fire to anything, we need a match or a lighter.  These are good for lighting birthday candles, gas barbecues, or joints. However, holding a lighter under a log is not going to do anything. You need a big fire to start a big fire. What keeps this from becoming a Catch-22 is that it is possible to turn a small fire into a big fire. All it needs is a gradual or stepped increase in the supply of fuel. The best part is that the initial burn increases the heat energy which allows the consumption of more fuel which then burns and makes more heat.  When you understand this, it gets scary watching bushfires or building fires.  

It's hard to control fire once it's got away.  From this perspective, I can imagine fire as an energy being we humans somehow domesticated. We can spawn these beings at will to serve our needs, whether it is to drive a steam train, or candle-light to read by.  

I've decided to name each fire that I ignite at my fireplace.  Fire "Steve" was born late last night. I made a thin bed twigs for a base.  I covered it with  shredded and crumpled newspaper. I held it down with chunks of charcoal left over from the previous fire (thanks fire "Bernard" 21-24 July 2023). I then layer more twigs over the top making sure to use the skinniest twigs first and saving the thicker branches for later. At this stage no twigs are thicker than my finger. Using a lighter I ignited random corners of newspaper that I could get to.  Soon all the newspaper was alight.  This flareup in turn ignites the layer of tiny twigs, which then ignites the layer above.  As the fire grows I add more and bigger sticks of wood.  The fire gets fed bigger fuel as soon as the energy is sufficient to ignite larger and larger pieces of wood.  If I do this well, I can get the fire to the stage I call the "log-eater", that's when I know that the fire is hot enough it will consume a new log as soon as there's room to chuck one in.   

I thought that we could express the formula as

CARBON + OXYGEN + HEAT = MORE HEAT + CARBON DIOXIDE + CARBON 

In this context I imagine CARBON atoms are solid particles that tend to form crystalline structures like diamonds and coal or cellulose (wood). 

I imagine OXYGEN as a gas particle always looking for something to react with, even if it's just another OXYGEN atom (O2 and Ozone wave hello to everyone).  Reaction can take a long time like rust (Fe + O), or rapid burn (C+O2). OXYGEN is a promiscuous reactant but is surprisingly faithful when attached to a pair of HYDROGEN (H2O). 

So CARBON is like "the catch" and OXYGEN are like "the suitors". 

OXYGEN: Hey you, want to become one with me ?

CARBON: Can't you see I'm an integral part of this structure?

OXYGEN: Can you feel the excitement?  I'm ready to bond.  Come on. 

CARBON: Oh wait it is getting hot in here, but I'm not sure I'm ready to leave my crystal.

OXYGEN: OH it's really hot now, come on you can have two of us even!

CARBON: OH my YES! Let's. 

For a brief moment ,they have the craziest union particles can have and release electro-magnetic radiation in the form of heat(infra-red)  and light (visible spectrum).  The exhausted combined particles of CARBON DIOXIDE (CO2) float away as smoke taking some heat along with it.  I picture CARBON with an OXYGEN on each arm stumbling out of the club.  

I tried my best to not ascribe specific gender types in my analogy, if it upsets you, try reversing the gender assignment and see if that works better.  Or you can just imagine it all as just one gender. 

What then blew my mind was that plants use the CO2 to make food by photosynthesis. Using the electromagnetic energy of the sun to process H2O and CO2 to form carbohydrates and releasing O2 back. 

Throughout the life of fire "Steve"  he may need to be re-kindled, like when left overnight and is on embers.  A few twigs and kindling and "Steve" is ready to be raised to log-eater status.  On occasion I may leave it for too long and need to resuscitate.  

Eventually though, all fires must die.  When that happens, Steve's remains will be used to help birth the next fire.   

Mocha

 So coffee is awesome.
Chocolate is awesome.
And they had a baby together -Mocha.

It's chocolate with a kick,
It's coffee but mellow, -Mocha.

It's great when hot,
kinda okay when gone cold, -Mocha.

I just pulled off a Dawn-till-Dusk today.  Not for lack of trying, it was the best I could do.  I misdelivered on a parallel street -I had to go retrieve it and correctly redeliver.  Five occasions I had to invoke the "if you can't find the parcel in 5 minutes -move on to the next delivery, you'll find it when van is empty."  

The highlight was a daily (an address that gets a parcel or more every single day).  Lately the parcels have been accumulating and the front porch is overflowing with unopened Spotlight, Amazon, and Temu packs. I dreaded going there just to add to the pile.  But just as I was pulling up, there were cops at the front.  I stopped and asked the constable if there was trouble?  She asked if I was the postie that was there this morning, I said no but I delivered there yesterday.  Then she said that the resident was deceased, she won't be needing any parcels. I said that I don't think we have that as a select option in the REASON FOR FAILED DELIVERY.

So I took a breath.  Restarted the van and reframed the situation: Looks like two less parcels to deliver today, let's move on to the next address on the runsheet.  The weather was nice today.

Also today I had a chat with a childhood friend over voicelink.  I always admired his physical agility, strength and general physicality as we played as wild crazy boys. We'd be playing basketball or sipa , marbles, chess, table tennis, fencing with sticks, flicking tansan at each other like shuriken, running, biking, all of it until we grew up and went our separate ways. The beauty of voice (no video) is that the image of him I use in my head is of our youth -I would guess because we spent so little time with each other as adults my mind was biased.  It was great to reconnect. 

Then I got confirmation I have Daddy-Daughter date with number One next weekend. Life's great. 

I've already prepped banana and dark chocolate mocha muffins for tomorrow.

Help All Delivery Drivers

It's in your best interest, if you would like as expedient a service as you can get. 

Let me explain.  So you're expecting a parcel.  Your parcel has made it through the system and arrives that morning at the depot for someone like me to load into our van and deliver today.  TODAY.

Where is that damn house?

We get to your parcel and we are looking for the address.  Google Maps says it's here, but we can't find it.  There is no contact number to call. We ask around. We call our supervisor.  With regret we scan the item as FAIL DELIVERY - no such address / incorrect address.  It comes back to the depot the next day.

Sometimes though, a delivery gets failed too because of some issues, which YOU as a customer can help fix.  Here's what I suggest based on what I have encountered as a deliverer of 1 year's experience.

1. Make sure your house number is easily visible from the street.
2. Make sure the numbers are NOT the same colour as the background.
3. Make sure the numbers are not obscured by foliage.
4. Make sure the numbers are L A R G E enough to be easily visible.
5. Make sure the fonts are not confusing (eg. is that '1b' or '16') or missing digits.

 

Anybody home?

Sometimes, we are delivering your parcel and we require a signature.  It means if no one is there to sign for it, you will get a SORRY-WE-MISSED-YOU card and you can collect it at the post office.  You could have had your parcel TODAY.

A lot of people complain that they were home and that the delivery driver was just too lazy.  Although I cannot vouch for anyone but myself, I will say that I have been earnest in all my deliveries.  I will be announcing myself as I approach your gate or front door.  

"Good morning. Australia Post parcel delivery.  Anybody home?"

I will ring your bell or knock and repeat my announcement. 

I will listen for 10 seconds.  This is crucial.  To save time, I'm pulling out a card and my pen. I start writing the date and time of pickup at the post office.  If the resident answers at this point, I can still reuse the card.  I write down the name and barcode digits.  If the resident answers now, the card is trash. I fold and stick the card in the door gap, take a photo and take the parcel back to the van.  

If you hear us knocking, do let us know you are home.  A simple "Yes" or "please wait" is sufficient. We will wait for you.  We won't start writing a card that would have been wasted.  If you received a card from me, it's because you weren't home or you ignored me.   Yes, there have been a couple of occasions people have been home and couldn't be bothered to answer the door.  I wrote those two cards with a vengeance for wasting my time, because I still had a loaded van idling. 

Nice Doggy

Sometimes just the sound of my diesel engines is enough to set off a barkfest in the neighbourhood.  Although mostly, dogs wait until I announce myself at the gate or the door, and then start their vigorous declarations of "Don't you dare come into my territory!".  Not a problem if the parcel fits in your letter box or a reasonably safe and secure place to leave it like a crate, shelf, garage or alcove.  Otherwise you get a card and I record "unsecured dog" as the reason.  

There are a few addresses I like to deliver because of a particularly friendly dog.  One of them demands payment in belly rubs for entering, delivering, and leaving the premises. Most other friendly dogs are merely susceptible to my secret stash of dog treats in my cargo pants.

Obstacle Course

Because the mountains are still semi-rural, there is quite a number of relatively remote properties we deliver to.  These "roads" give me the same thrill as any 4wd enthusiast, except I'm driving a high centre of balance loaded van with two-wheel drive, thank goodness for diesel torque.  But not much YOU as the customer can do as this is something for the local government and roads authority to sort out. 

 

What you can do is make it easier for us to get to your front door once we found your address.  

Is the path overgrown? You can give it a trim, especially when you're expecting a package.

Are the steps slippery? Dangerous?  We can leave a card with "Safety issue" as the reason.

Is your front door not actually at the front?  Leave us plenty of clues, we enjoy playing stupid detective. A note would be your best bet,  our detecting abilities get weaker as we get tired from all those 30kg packages of pet products we had to lug that day.

Oh god, you all just turned me into delivery Karen.   Aaaaaghhh!

A year collecting data

Last year I was curious about how I was performing as a delivery driver.  I decided to collect data and measure what I can.  I made a spreadsheet and so far some interesting charts.

Only logical, the farther I have to travel in between deliveries the longer it takes.

And subsequently, the more parcels there are the longer it takes to sequence and load.

 minutes per item

parcels per km

sort sequence and load time 

Next time, I might drill down one level and see if there is a correlation between specific runs and parcel density.

Everything Everywhere All at Once Forever

 SPOILER ALERT

If you haven't seen the movie and don't want spoilers, stop now. 

Come back after.

We'll be right here waiting.

Okay, so either you've seen it or don't care.

This movie connected with me in so many layers, notwithstanding that I am exactly at Evelyn's crossroads.  I am minutely aware that all my choices have led me into this exact moment.  The challenge is to be present in that moment whether it be overwhelming or dreadful. 

I have moments of daydreaming, nostalgically cherry-picking moments in my life where a different choice would have led to a vastly different existence.  Take for example the time I professed my love for the very first time in my life, it was the scariest thing I had ever done in my entire life thus far. Do I win her or do I lose her? I imagined a life ahead that we shared side-by-side, it all hung in the balance. In another universe perhaps that led to a completely different outcome, then fast-forward four decades and imagine how both versions of me would feel about each other's choices? Both of them equipped with the same decades of memories of struggle, triumph, crisis, and mediocrity.

Personally, I love the mundane moments most of all. All the shit that I complained about in my 30s, turns out to be the kind of things I now associate with my happy place.  Like driving to the city twice a day to drop off and collect my wife at her workplace.  I was mostly alone in the car, listening to radio or playing cassettes.  Not unlike my current job delivering parcels.

I've started and abandoned many hobbies, just like Evelyn.  Some of them I occasionally practice like Karate-do and Aikido. Some of them I have turned pro, like cooking and dancing. However, just like Waymond (such an adowable name), I have finally understood the supreme importance of kindness. 

This movie resonates with me in ways so deep. I felt the disappointment of my father and judgement when I made choices he disagreed with.  I wore the same wardrobe in the eighties and nineties. I also dragged my wife and child to start life in a new country, in part because I wanted to prove to my father he was wrong and I was right.  But most of all I remember a moment too when I looked at the endless circle track that I was carving in time-space.  Telling my daughter how to do better as an adult when I wasn't at all sure I had done any better than what my own parents had hoped for. 

I have daydreamed of many versions of myself where I was a warrior, a sailor, an explorer.  These other versions of me I have tried to access, not with paper cuts or butt-plugs, but by actually trying them out. Like when I learned to fly a plane. I once wondered what my life would be like if I pursued my childhood dream to become a pilot.  I've flown enough hours that I'm desperately confident that I can land a single-engine light plane in an emergency.

I've also lived long enough to know that it takes time, a lot of time to get good at anything.  So even if I fall in love with a new hobby, there are even chances that I may stick with it or drop it once I have reached a minimum level of proficiency.  In terms of the movies, that's why they go through great twisted lengths to explain how anyone can just instantaneously learn to fight like a ninja at a convenient plot point.  Because we all inherently know how long it takes to master anything from chess to surfing.

I like to believe there are an infinite versions of me coexisting in infinite universes.  There are universes where I am an actor, dancer, writer, explorer, warrior, teacher, etc.

What if I take this idea much further.  

What about the other people in the universe we all share? So a new universe just split off when I wrote an entire paragraph and decided to delete it all, but what if someone random decides to call in a sickie instead of going to work, which version of me would be in that universe?  

Let me tell you what I am beginning to feel, and it sounds very much explained in The Egg

We practice kindness because everyone else is really us.  We are all connected.  Like leaves from the giant tree of the multiverse, each life in a tangled chain is one Being on an infinite loop of variations and recombinations (Jeremy Beremy?).  

You and I are the same person at various points of our eternal experience.

Aloha. 

I love you too.

Canine Capers

 I'm fairly confident around dogs, I just feel that most dogs would learn to like me. I mean until I have established some sort of rapport with the animal I will treat them with caution and always with respect.

My job as a parcel delivery driver, I have encountered many many dogs of all sizes and temperaments.

Addresses with vicious dogs are well shared among all posties and drivers, just card them. Always. Then there are those dogs who get very territorial crashing against doors and windows while I'm trying to write a card (obviously if the owner was home, there will be a lot shushing and trying to calm down the animals).    I always heed  the sign on the gate that says "beware of dog" (some even have it in Italian -just to show they have culture "attenti al cani").

As a general rule I would call out "Parcel delivery! Is anybody home?"  before opening a gate, sign or no sign.  Usually, dogs would come running out barking as it's probably the most interesting thing to happen to their day. If there are no dogs, I enter, but maintain caution.  Just because there is no beware sign, is no guarantee there isn't any animal to beware of.  I keep an eye out for food or water bowls, or toys. 

In one of my deliveries while still a rookie, a greyhound came to the gate when I called out. He was friendly, sniffed me and let me pat him.  So I figured I'd be okay to drop off the package at the front porch so I opened the gate and let myself in being careful to keep the dog in the yard.  He was so excited he kept rearing up and put muddy pawprints all over my chest, I also realised how his mouth was level with my neck when he did that.   I was about five steps in when a second greyhound I  wasn't aware of arrived next to me like the velociraptor in Jurassic Park.  I froze and made a quick re-assessment of my situation.  I can handle one dog, but two dogs make a pack.  Discretion was the better part of valor so I walked slowly backwards and let myself out of the gate while pretending to play with the dogs.  At no time did the greyhounds bark throughout the whole encounter. The customers can go pick up this package at the post office.

Not long after, I started carrying dog treats with me.  If a dog was nice to me and responds to the "sit" command, they get a treat.  If the owner is present, I'll ask permission first and that usually wins over the human as well.   Sadly though, not all dogs accept bribes.  

A couple of months ago, a dog surprised me just as I finished taking a photo of the card I had jammed into the front door.  I was turning on my heels to step off the veranda, I had to change direction quickly to create distance between me and the dog. The edges were lined with potted plants so I dived over the plants into the garden floor below.  I still clutched the package in one arm so I couldn't put an arm out to break my fall. I tucked my chin against my chest planning to roll on impact. Oof! There was no roll, I landed on my side and had the wind knocked out of me. The dog was friendly and just wanted to say hi.  My ribs were sore for a few days. 

I do have a few favourites, there's Murphy in Hazelbrook who is is just always happy to see us and will be up for a sniff and a pat, maybe a neck rub. 

There's Banjo in Wentworth Falls who is sometimes wandering a few houses from his own and he comes up to me when I'm delivering to any of his neighbours. 

And of course there is Ratchet in Lawson.  When I first delivered to his house, he was lying on the front step trying to stay cool in the summer heat.  He heard me call out and silently ambled toward the gate. I realised he was old and his eyes were a little cloudy.  He let me pet him so I decided to enter through  the gate.  As soon as I closed the gate behind me, Ratchet rolled over and presented his belly.  I get it, it's a shakedown. You wanna deliver? It's gonna be a belly rub to get in and another one to get out.  

Today was another canine adventure.  Usual protocol: Call out.  Listen for barking. No barking.  Enter through the picket fence gate with a little picket archway.  About 10 meters in, another 20 meters to the front door, the backdoor swings open and the homeowner steps out. Okay cool.  Then a big white dog dashes through the backdoor, barking and headed for me. Another quick assessment of my situation. I can outrun this dog, it's only 10m to the gate, and I have a 20m headstart on him. I turn and dash for the gate. 5m to go and I could hear the barking dog closing in. I look over my shoulder and make a re-assessment of the situation: I won't have time to open the gate, I'm going to have to vault it parkour style. I planned out my strides, -left -right -one -two -three -four  /right foot on the wooden bench, -five / left foot on top of the gate  post, -six and-seven would land me outside the gate...  my right foot catches on the picket fence pointy tip and I fall head first outside.  Luckily this time I did roll and avoided injury.  The owner apologised for the dog chasing me, but I was too busy hysterically laughing because I didn't break my neck or crack my skull.  

Chasing my next dream

 When I first settled in the mountains, I had in the back of my mind a desire, a dream to have a salsa dance community in the community I'm in. Well then that led to the next thought which is why don't I teach classes? Well it was difficult to find my feet since I just started a new job as a chef instructor.  Also the rosters were quite unpredictable -I never new until 3 weeks before that I have to do dinner shifts on one or more nights.  And then the pandemic happened.

Fast forward to now and I have a great job that leaves my weekends and my evenings available to -do what I want.  Right now I want to dance. I want to share my passion for dance.  I want to build a salsa dance community in my community!  

And I will need anybody and everybody to help. That's kind of the point.

It might take a while.

That's okay.

Parcel Delivery Driver 1.0

 I love analysing processes and finding opportunities for improvement.  Back in the 90s there  was a "quality improvement" revolution in the corporate world.  These days you'd probably know it by the buzzword Six Sigma. So anyway, here I am now with a process job.  Because I think it is fun and I cannot resist myself, I try to analyse my tasks in terms of a work algorithm.  Basically how would I program an android to do my job.  

Before we get into it, allow me to walk you through what actually happens on my typical day as soon as I arrive at work:

Sorting

Before I even get there, trucks from the Eastern Creek hub would be arriving at the depot from 3AM to drop off all the mail and parcels for the Blue Mountains area. 

Forklift operators would pull out cage pallets from the trucks and deposit them into the bull pen. 

Workers in the bull pen would swarm each new cage, sort the parcels into the correct run cage.  By the time I get there at 6AM, most of the parcels have already been sorted.  My supervisor would tell me which run I am doing and give me my assigned cage.  That means all the packages that I will be delivering today is in this one cage (sometimes two on a busy day).

I would start pulling out each parcel and writing down the street number on my run sheet.  The run sheet is a tabulated list, with street names on each row, and I read and copy the address numbers of each package I pull out.  As I place each one on the floor, I try to arrange the packages in the same order of the streets on my run sheet. The idea is that I would load the packages into the van in reverse order, so that the last package I will deliver is at the very back of the van, while the first package is right next to the door.  This means I will spend less time rummaging through the van to find a parcel when I get to the address.

Scanning and Loading 

After I have emptied the cage and written down every address number on my run sheet, I have to scan the barcodes on each parcel. This tells the system that the package is loaded into my van and will be delivered today, sometimes the customer gets an email or text message triggered by the scan.

Then it's time to load the van.  I like to think of it as 3D tetris with extra objectives:

• trying to stack the packages so that they fit snuggly 

• trying not to crush the flimsy packages with heavier ones 

• allow me to see the labels to quickly find any package 

• keep packages for the same street together to make it easier to search

Delivering

 Drive to the first street on the list and stop at the first address.  Find the parcel, scan the parcel, drop off the parcel, take a geo-tagged photo, submit and cross off the address on my run sheet.  Go to the next address, repeat until van is empty.

Most of the deliveries are called safe-drops where we can leave it even if no one is home. However some packages require a signature, and that takes extra time because we have to wait for someone to answer the door.  And if there is no one to sign for it, I have to fill out a sorry-we-missed-you card, stick it in the door jamb and take the parcel back to the post office for self-collection.  

On a good day, everyone gets their parcels and I go home after the last delivery.  Unfortunately, most days I have to clock off only after I've dropped off the carded parcels at the local post office.

The best part is that after I clock off, there is no more mental residue from work that I take home with me. 

When I am done for the day, I am done for the day.  

Tomorrow is another cage, tomorrow is another run.