Father's Day Reflections

Last Sunday was Father's Day. The earliest memories I have of my late father when I was growing up were waking up on a weekend to the sound of the turntable resonating through the house. It will be a Broadway musical or some recordings of Placido Domingo or Mario Lanza. He would eagerly wake me up from sleep, so he would ask me to be his assistant for whatever project he was doing at the time. I'd be all grumpy and resentful on waking up too early on a non-school day. Thus, he'd call me teasingly his Mr. Aburido . Looking back, though, I c…

That time my parents were scammed... well, almost.

Almost more than a decade ago, I was out of the country on an overseas assignment, spending most of the day doing fieldwork. Because I worked in an environment with a risk of explosions, I couldn’t carry my mobile phone since any non-intrinsically safe electronics were strictly prohibited lest it becomes an ignition source. When I finally returned to my desk, I saw a string of missed calls from my parents. I called back immediately. The moment they answered, I could hear the panic in their voices. My mother told me that someone claiming to be from the…

Battling the Summer Fly Invasion

Every summer, like clockwork, our house becomes a battlefield swarmed by hundreds of flies. They slip past doors and windows, invading even the most guarded corners indoors. That’s when I reach for my trusty fly zapper (my weapon of choice) and imagine myself as a sword‑wielding anime hero. (Though I admit, “Fly Breathing Technique” doesn’t quite have the same ring as the ones in the anime.) Each swing of the racket‑like mesh delivers a satisfying crackle of electricity, punctuated by the unmistakable scent of singed fly flesh. The most satisfying strik…