24/08/2025
Sabi ni Shakespeare,
There are seven stages in a man’s life —
Infant, schoolboy, lover, soldier, justice, old age, and finally, second childishness.
But my father?
He lived ten.
1. A dedicated son to his parents.
2. A supportive brother to his siblings.
3. A hardworking husband.
4. An inspiration to his children.
5. A good and loyal friend.
6. A farmer.
7. A fisherman.
8. A vendor.
9. A laborer.
10. A builder.
And finally, the role he never truly got to live—
Was being himself.
He lived for everyone else…
But who is he to himself?
⸻
I’ve seen so many comments online—
One side says,
“I don’t owe my parents anything.”
The other says,
“We’re supposed to give back.”
And I get it.
Both sides come from deep, lived truths.
But what I’ll share with you now isn’t about proving who’s right.
It’s simply my experience.
My story and the table that carried me.
And from time to time, the role of the table and my father interchanges inevitably.
⸻
At 25, I’ve learned something simple but profound:
The table doesn’t really matter.
You can be seated at a makeshift table today, and at a Starbucks table tomorrow.
Next week, maybe it’s an office table, or a conference table in front of a stage.
The shape, size, or price of the table changes…
But what stays with you…
Is the first table you ever sat on.
⸻
I’ve sat at many tables in my life.
But none of them felt like that table—
The tagpi-tagpi table my father built for me.
From scraps of wood he gathered from our neighbors.
That table wasn’t elegant.
It wasn’t expensive.
But it was made with care.
Made by someone who wanted to see me succeed.
And even with the limited resources he had, he built that table just for me.
⸻
Over time, you’ll encounter many tables:
Tables where you’ll learn.
Tables where you’ll lead.
Tables where you’ll wait for your turn.
Tables where people will underestimate you.
And maybe, one day, tables where you finally feel seen.
And although tables remind me of my father…
Tables are not people.
They don’t feel.
They don’t grow tired.
They don’t carry stories in their veins.
They serve a purpose.
And once they stop being useful, they’re replaced.
But people—especially the ones who built your foundation—they are not meant to be discarded.
⸻
Like any object, tables have life cycles.
At first, you’re excited to use them.
Later, they become familiar. Eventually, they feel inconvenient.
And one day, you consider replacing them.
But people aren’t like tables.
My father is not like a table.
Because when I look at that old, patched-up desk, I don’t see inconvenience.
I see life lived in perseverance.
⸻
Maybe that’s why I write about him so much.
He is always been the CENTER OF MY PIECE.
Because he lived a life of effort, but not of recognition.
And I’m proud.
So proud that I can’t stay quiet about it.
Because he deserves to be known—not as someone disposable like an old table.
But as someone irreplaceable.
⸻
When I help others, I think about people like him.
People who gave everything, even with so little.
And I also think about those who didn’t grow up with a father like mine.
To you, I won’t pretend to understand your pain.
But I hope you find healing for the wounds you can’t speak of.
⸻
Some people debate:
Should children support their parents?
Or is it the parents’ job to support the child forever?
For me, it’s personal. Not a rule. Not an obligation.
But a choice born out of gratitude.
⸻
Whatever path you choose in life…
Choose to be good. Choose to be kind.
And when you finally sit at a table that feels like success,I hope you take a moment to remember…
The first table that carried you.
And I am not talking about the table this time.
