"Thank you", anyone?

I'm back to my normal mode after a hectic last quarter of 2010...There was my mom's visit, and then I juggled between work, school, being with her and shopping for christmas gifts.  I couldn't believe that I spent 2 months preparing gifts for my family and some party of 10 families, uncles and aunts specifically. Because it dawned to me that for 5 years I'd been away from them, this was my chance to make up for all the missed birthdays, anniversaries, weddings and other special occasions. So coinciding  with my mom's homecoming for christmas, I generously sent as much gifts as I could for everyone I know...Surprisingly to this day, I haven't heard from any of them. 

If there's anything I'm grateful about learning here in canada, that's discovering the real use of this universal phrase - 'thank you'.  I've known this expression of gratitude since the age of conciousness, but I've never realized its value to this day. I remember before, I would only say thank you if someone gives me a gift or invites me to a party. Other than that, I'm always reserved to saying thank-you.

But now, I've learned that saying thank-you isn't limited to these occasions I've mentioned. It is also used to express politeness to someone who offers you a seat on the bus; opens the door for you; ask how you're doing; provides you an important information; do you a favor; gives you a hand; and even for just calling you on the phone. 

It's so funny how I find the locals strange during my first encounter with them and their excessive use of this colonial expression. They'll say "thank you" on just anything.  When you hold the door for them; when you let them  pass before you; when you pick-up an item and hand it to them; when you give them directions...Just anything that you'll do in their favor.  They will never miss to say 'thanks', 'thank you' or 'thank you very much.'  Even the reply "you're welcome" and "sorry" are just all over the place.  At first, my  puzzling reaction is,"what's with these people that they keep  repeating "thank you" and "sorry?". Then later I realize that this is a Canadian trait.  The culture that this country has somehow embraced and becomes an emblem of their identity.  And I tell you, it's viral.

Sometimes, I couldn't imagine how many times I say thank-you at work in a day.  Maybe 5 times to someone who ask how I'm doing. 10 times, if I get 10 phone calls a day.  Another 5, if I send 5 emails (that's not including the email I reply to) And maybe, 10 more to every person/co-worker I deal with that day. Come to think of it, that's an enormous 30 thank-yous a day.  And where else in the world could we ever express that much gratitude?

I've never lived anywhere besides Canda and my birthplace, Manila. So I couldn't really gauge the tenacity of politeness they have in the south or the far east. But apparently, during my frequent travels across the border, I've noticed that very few people have this kind of demeanor.  It seems that they are also reserved in using this popular phrase thank-you. I could actually count how many people I've ran into that's gracious enough to express gratitude.  Then later, I perceive that they're actually Canadians.

So, if this holds true of the Canadian culture, how did they become a prodigy of politeness? Is it the global location? Environment? Climate? Or simply, a matter of factness.

I heard from a news about a study of the rudest cities in America.  According to the report, Los Angeles was the rudest, seconded by New York; then followed by Philadelphia, Miami and Washington DC. (http://www.travelandleisure.com/articles/americas-rudest-cities/2)  And the reason -- when people cram in a small area they have a tendency to be rude.  I've almost agreed, because I've experienced that in New York.

So if it's not about territorial boundaries, then I believe population contributes to urban behavior.  Then we should be worried that the growing population is endangering the use of thank-you. 

On another note, now I understand why the recipients of my gifts never acknowledge the giver.

I wouldn't be surprised if this universal expression, 'thank you', would one day be extinct, just like the diminishing number of elephants in Thailand.

Gondola Ride: A way to end 2010

I haven't done anything special on New Year's day because I'm still hang-up with my last few weeks experience before the end of 2010.

I dared myself with my friends to a gondola ride in Banff National park.  It was the scariest 8 minutes lift of my life to one of the highest peak in the Rockies --The Sulphur Mountain.  From 698 meters (2,2982 ft) to 2,281 m (7,486 ft) summit terminal.  I thought I conquered my fear of heights, but I underestimated the whole thing. I was frozen and trembling inside when I realized how high we were and how deep the pit of the mountain terrain was. Thankfully my friend was entertaining. He told hilarious stories while we were on the small 4-seater carriage being lifted from and to the main terminal.

I'm glad I did it though, or I'd never capture this spectacular sight.

Then a few days later, I found myself on another thrill ride.  The gondola peak to peak ride from whistler mountain of 1,530 m (5,020 ft) to blackcomb mountains of 1,609 m (5,280 ft).  Not so high though compared to Sulphur mountain in Banff.  But this one was 11 minutes ride, and approximately 45 minutes total cabin trip from peak to peak and back.

This didn't scare me to death because the gondola was huge and had a capacity of 7-20 people depending on the kind of cabin.   And who would be afraid of the ride if you see the skiers below racing through the snowy slopes of the mountain. 

I couldn't believe that I didn't feel the slightest butterfly in my stomach while on board the gondola. Because the whole space was full and dynamic, that I couldn't find time to feel my fear. Specially, when we watched the tiny creatures gliding and sprinting on the ice from above.  They looked like little ants spawling everywhere.

On our way back, our cabin was jammed-pack with skiers with all their heavy gears on.  Probably going back to the station after a ski day. So all my attention was on them that I realized our gondola trip was over.

                                                                         

I'm still awed looking at the photos of our trip to Banff and Whistler.  It's one collective adventure that's worthy of a travelogue kit.

Now, I wonder what  will be my next adventure before this year ends.  Well, it's too early to tell. But I have plans in mind...Nope, not bungee jumping!

Marcus

I met this awesome guy at Banff, Alberta.  He used to work as companion of the blind.  But because he's super friendly,  he's been promoted as the Director of Pet Relations.  And so,  Marcus has his own post at the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise...

If he can make a difference, so can we

I jumpstart a car with my hands!

A week ago, I was invited by a friend to watch a christmas singing tree show at  a local church.  Before that night, we went shopping in the morning. It was just me, my girlfriend and her little boy.  We used the old car that they just purchased.  It was a 19-something model ford mercury.  Since she's a novice driver, and her husband was at work that morning,  I was tasked to drive the car. 

First, I was hesistant because they told me that the car broke down one time while on the road and that they had to call BCAA (British Columbia Autmobile Association) to jumpstart their car.  Then later, they found out that the car's battery was old and weak.

That's the very reason why I was having second thoughts driving the car.  But since my friend assured me that she's a BCAA member as well, I finally gave-in and trust my technical ability to deal with it -  If and when it broke down on me.

So before leaving, I warmed-up the car for a few minutes. On start, I didn't have problem with the ignition.  The engine started at once. But when we were all settled down, buckled up and ready to go, the engine wouldn't start.  I tried, and tried four times, and still wouldn't start. We looked at each other. Then before I almost gave up, I instinctively jumped off the car and opened the hood.  I  was positive, it was the battery.

I clamped my fingers on the posts of the two terminals and tried winding it.  It looked tight and secure.  So I tried slightly tipping the battery off and clinching back to place (just imagining how my dad would do it in the same situation) After pretending that I knew what I was doing,  I went back the driver's seat, and re-started the engine.  Wah-lah!  It worked!  I was completely stunned. My friend was also amazed and said, she didn't have a clue whatever I did that make it work.  And for the whole morning we went shopping, the car was smooth running till we got to the show.

But later that night after the two-hour show, in the frigid parking spot, the car weaselled out on us again. Being successful with my first endeavor in the morning,  I did exactly the same thing, and once again, it worked.

I really don't know if it's just coincidence or real science.  But I'm puzzled myself.

So here's what I gathered:

"...When we scuff our shoes upon a rug on a dry winter day, our bodies typically charge up to a potential of several thousand volts with respect to the ground. In physics this is a well-known fact, and is easily verified by meter measurements. Touch a grounded object, and a spark will leap between the object and your fingertip. This kind of electric spark can only exist when a high voltage is present. The tiniest spark requires about 500 volts. Big, nasty, painful sparks require lots more voltage, up to several thousand volts. But even when no sparks are jumping, there is still a high voltage between your charged body and the ground, and your charged body is surrounded with an invisible electric field..." - http://amasci.com/emotor/voltmeas.html

An Amazing Fact

According to the scientists, in 15 per cent fat in a human body, it is possible to generate 11,000 watts of electricity per hour. In fact, different yielded energy levels are 81 watts from a sleeping person, 128 watts from a soldier standing at ease, 163 watts from a walking person, 407 watts from a briskly walking person, 1,048 watts from a long-distance runner, and 1,630 watts from a sprinter.  http://hubpages.com/hub/Generating-Electricity-From-Body-Heat




So next time your car battery dies down on you, try using your hands to jumpstart...But scuff your shoes first on a rug.  Who knows?

My rude awakening

There are few things I get excited about this holiday season. One, there's the work bonus that I'll be receiving in the coming days, and two, there's the holiday tour I'll be having with my friends. (giddy, giddy up!)

But on the other end of the table, there's also that one thing that I fret about -- the annual work review. I'm not worried because I've performed bad this year, but I'm worried that I don't know what to put on my own evaluation again. Yes, again. I've had the same problem last year. Because, honestly, for four years I've worked here, my job specs has not changed. There were some added task, but as always, I believe I've delivered exceptionally well.

Sounds cocky? Not really. I just thought that for the last four years in this company, I've already master the art of efficiency ---That even my co-workers wonder how I get to be very organized and spot-on with my work.

My answer is simple. If you do a crossword puzzle everyday in four years, wouldn't you think that you could be an expert puzzle solver over the four years? Same goes with a meadow maze. If you visit and walk through it everyday, in four years you'll definitely figure out how to get out of it in no time. And that's exactly what has happened to me. I watched. I learned. I conquered.

So now my big question is what would I write on my review sheet --"what in my job needs improvement?" or "how do I make my work better?"...Better? How can you make something perfect already to even better?

When I met up with my boss last Friday for the review, she was wondering why I put the word "better" on the performance review sheet, and what do I meant by "better". Because even she was also convinced that I was doing great with my job already. So her question left me reeling for hard answers. Then after forty-five minutes chatting and exchanging our views, opinions and situation about my work, we were able to disect and botch the word "better" to come up with an appropriate description for my work. As it turned out, I wasn't really perfect after all.

I found flaws in my work. She helped me realized that my filing wasn't efficient enough as I believed to be, because she had some difficult time looking for files she needed. My shipping and purchasing as well, was not cost-savings as I thought of. And in the end, we were able to find some objectives that needed to be accomplished next year for my work to really be "better"...And so the perfect job performance that I thought it was, was actually overrated by myself.

Is it true to say that there's really no perfect world; no perfect worker;no perfect partner; no perfect life..? That those who use the word "perfect" is trying to be in denial? Or optimistic? Or unrealistic?...Because if you come to think of it -- if this world is perfect to begin with, then we wouldn't have to work hard to make all things right. Right?

My workstation before 9AM and after 5PM..."Show me your workstation, and I'll tell you who you are"

A place that reminds me of Happiness

I've been feeling terribly disheartened these past few days. And the only way I know how to cope is to remember happy memories...

So while I was unearthing old stuff, I found these wonderful photos.

Four years ago, I was brought to this place. Not by my own will, but my heart lead me.... A place I call -- The city of my many happy thoughts.

I wish I can re-live this moment, and feel special again...

Mother's Touch

It's flu season again. Last week, I felt the symptoms. And eventually that weekend, I found myself in bed and nursing a flu... Having learned independence for long, I know I can deal with this seasonal flu just like before. But one phone call from my mom has made my flu-weekend different.

My mom is in town for a few months holiday, and she stays at my sister's. Her vacation is an extra special occasion to us. It's a once in every year or two that she visits us. So inspite of our hectic life we ensure that her presence be valued everyday. And since I live far from my sister's and don't get to be with my mom this whole time, I always call her from work in the morning. So when I've received a call from her that day I'm terribly ill, I'm so surprised. I wonder how she sense that I'm sick. Then I've realized that her razor-sharp maternal instinct hasn't changed a bit through all these years.

As promised, she came by with my sister the following Sunday morning. As soon as she walked in the door, she prepared soup for me; extracted some lemonade juice; and, tidied up my messy kitchen while we were busy chatting. And all I did was slumped on the chair and watched her incessantly as she was juggling around the kitchen. I was sentimental. It seemed like ages since I last felt this kind of motherly care from her. Although I knew I could take care of these things, I let her be in-charge of my life that weekend. And for a rare moment, I let myself feel like a little girl again...

This is what my mom loves most --taking care of her loved ones, including friends and relatives close to her. In a few weeks she'll be turning 67, but her maternal touch has never wavered through all these years. That same utmost caringness she had when her three daughters were 7, 12, 16, 21 and 25 years old is still and remain unaltered; Very much same as how it was many years ago.

When I was living with my family, I recalled how my cousins, my aunts and even her friends would come to her and seek maternal attention. And she would spare them that same care that she gave to her family unconditionally.

I remember asking her one time, "Who do you think among your daughters will be like you when they become mothers?", and she said, "No one." I just grin and look at her, because she doesn't know that one of her girls has been closely watching her while growing up, and slowly inheriting her motherly qualities.