At 32, what was I doing? Where was I?
Have I accomplished anything? I mean, have I become a company president? The editor in chief of the paper I was writing for? None of the above.
At 32, I was a sportswriter the last seven years of the Manila Bulletin, editor of the Bulletin Saturday Sportsweek and literary editor of Panorama, the weekly magazine of the Manila Bulletin.
Quite a feat already I must say, if you happened to ask my Mom & Dad (bless both their souls, Dear God).
I didn’t have much money then, as now, but the fulfillment of having achieved something in the profession I had chosen had given me some degree of satisfaction.
You know, you don’t need a lot of money to make you happy.
I have always believed that money can’t buy happiness.
For example, you pay a caregiver a lot of money to take care of you in your old age.
Or – this is a bit cruel – you pay even your nephew or niece tons of money to take care of you in the twilight of your life.
You think they are taking care of you because they love you? Of course, not.
They take care of you because you pay them good money.
They love your money. Not you.
The love angle, if ever it’d materialize, would merely be incidental, if not accidental. A rarity.
Not in the case of your wife and children, though.
They will take care of you even without money.
The wife, the husband, will always love the mate up to the last breath. With no moolah involved.
Same with kids. They’d always love their Mom & Dad even with their pockets empty.
Blood is thicker than water. Always.
Nothing can ever buy happiness.
Only you, your own self, can make you happy. Plus your REAL loved ones.
And even without money, you can be happy. For as long as you know how to do it.
Thus, my wish for Pacquiao is, he stays health.
He’s got billions and not just millions.
I don’t have both millions and billions.
But, as I said, I’m happy.
Am sure Pacquiao, too.
I eat three square meals a day and that should be it.
The beauty is, I still can afford some snacks. Coffee and suman or tupig (our native delicacy in Mangatarem, Pangasinan) in the afternoon after nap at times. Pacquiao can do more than that.
Indulge in life’s luxuries I cannot afford.
Like, fly to Europe’s major cities and the expenses would hardly dent Pacqiao’s bank account.
I can’t do that because I don’t have air fare money to begin with.
Pacquiao does not have only money for tickets for the entire family and even maids, but also a hefty budget for the most expensive hotels in the world, the priciest restaurants in the universe.
But I don’t fret not having the money that Pacquiao has.
I can imagine – and think I am in London, Paris or Rome.
The power of imagination. Of dreams.
That can make you happy, too.
Pacquiao isn’t imagining already. He’s got virtually everything at the snap of a finger, a press of a button, a whistle as in calling his dog, PacMan.
However, even with his limitless wealth, he’s got to lean on one
crucial factor that should define the essence of his life: Health.
You have wealth but you don’t have health, what’s the use?
Isn’t health wealth itself?
That’s why I believe in the call that Pacquiao retire now.
OK, n’yet.
But, as I said, one more fight. One last fight. Against Mayweather. And that should be it.
That’s also my wish for Pacquiao this Christmas: That he tells us Mayweather’s his last fight.
I don’t want an accident happening to Pacquiao.
And that can happen if he doesn’t stop after fighting May-weather.
Against Mayweather, Pacquiao is safe as baby asleep in a crib.
The reason is, all Mayweather does is run.
Ask this to my buddies Mon Datol, Rey Fortaleza and Kuya Mario Panoringan: “How can a runner like Mayweather ever inflict an accident on Pacquiao?”
Their answer is as good as mine.
Merry Christmas!
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|