I have the power

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I loved the Masters of the Universe live-action movie. It brought me right back to my 1980s childhood.

This is the kind of message we don’t often see in movies today—the classic 80s “never say die” spirit, where the protagonist faces impossible challenges and transforms through courage, determination, and sheer willpower.

Last June 12, we watched the movie as a family. We do this from time to time whenever there’s a good film showing in theaters. Movie tickets now cost around ₱600 per person, a far cry from the ₱25 tickets I remember growing up. But hey, this one was worth it.

In the middle of the movie, Iuri even took a photo of me completely absorbed in what was happening on screen. The film had its dull moments—some scenes felt longer than necessary, with too much dialogue. But then again, if you grew up watching cartoons in the 80s, you know there were plenty of dialogues and scenes that could have been edited down too.

One thing I appreciated was how the director managed to bring the cartoon’s humor into the live-action adaptation. Skeletor’s laugh and comedic moments felt authentic and captured a side of the character that many of his villains never quite matched.

The best part, of course, was when He-Man raised his sword and shouted, “By the power of Grayskull… I have the power!” That gave me goosebumps.

It was a fun movie that took me back to my childhood. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I certainly enjoyed it. In fact, when the movie ended, I raised my water bottle and shouted, “I have the power!”

Building highly effective teams

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Photo by Thirdman on Pexels.com

In 1999, I joined Citibank as a young employee with much to learn. I was fortunate to work under two leaders worth watching closely. My team leader was the kind of person you could approach with any technical question — patient, knowledgeable, and generous with her time even when she had none to spare. The department head taught me something different: the power of appreciation. When I hit a target for the first time, she walked over and handed me movie tickets. It was a small gesture, but what it gave me was not entertainment. It was the feeling of being seen. Of mattering. That stayed with me, and I have tried, in my own way, to pass it on ever since.

That team performed well. We passed every audit. Our metrics were consistently strong. Looking back, I believe the reason was simple: we had good leaders. That experience reshaped how I think about leadership. I used to think a leader just needed expertise and the ability to delegate. I was wrong. Building a highly effective team begins with the leader — someone who brings not only technical knowledge but sound decision-making and genuine people skills: the ability to communicate, to build relationships, and to navigate conflict. What I advocate for is a more democratic kind of leadership, one that earns authority rather than just assumes it.

Across many years and many organizations — large and small, local and foreign — I have seen this pattern hold. High-performing teams are almost always led by someone their people look up to. That regard can come from respect or from fear, and both can produce results as well as both positive and negative consequences. But a leader who relies on force extracts compliance. A leader who leads through encouragement and recognition builds something that lasts. Your style, your choice.

In a few weeks, I will be facilitating a team building program for about 60 employees of a printing company navigating a significant transition. A new generation of leaders is stepping forward, and they are asking their people to embrace three values: accountability — owning your work fully; transparency — speaking up, sharing perspective, making better decisions together; and malasakit — genuine care for the work and for one another.

These are not small asks. Leading through transition requires maturity and wisdom. There will be moments when the mission feels too large, when the road ahead is unclear. But that is precisely when leadership matters most — when a team needs someone steady enough to guide them forward.

My hope is that when this program ends, every person in that room walks away feeling what I felt in 1999: seen, appreciated, and heard. Not because of a grand gesture, but because they experienced what it means to be led well. And that when their turn comes, they will know how to pass it on.

Dinner at Izakaya Kikufuji

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Kikufuji

We were looking for somewhere to eat. G4 first — the parking lot was full. Then Mile Long, but the restaurant we had in mind was closed, the one everyone online had been recommending. And so, without much discussion, we ended up at Kikufuji. A place we hadn’t been to in a while. Entirely unplanned.

There are worse ways to find yourself somewhere.

I have never been the kind of person who chases the newest restaurant. I would make a terrible food vlogger. Even as a child I wanted what I already knew, or what someone I trusted had already tried. I’m not entirely proud of this, but I’ve made peace with it. Who wants to pay for a meal they didn’t enjoy?

The menu at Kikufuji runs six or seven leaves. I browsed it, then closed it again. Too much. I ordered the Chirashi Don — what I always get here — and Natto, which I order lately if offered.

The food came. It was good. It did not disappoint.

But somewhere between ordering and eating, I noticed something. I hadn’t even been craving Chirashi. Japanese food had come to mind, yes, but nothing more specific than that. The menu arrived and my brain, already tired from the redirected afternoon, simply gave up. Not out of laziness. Not out of fear. Just — there was nothing left. The parking lot, the closed restaurant, the rerouted plans. By the time we sat down, I had used up whatever it takes to want something new. So I reached for what I already knew.

There’s a researcher named Barry Schwartz who studied this. He found that more choices don’t actually make us freer. Past a certain point they do the opposite — they exhaust us, overwhelm us, and send us straight back to the safest, most familiar thing we can think of. We don’t expand to meet our options. We shrink. We become the version of ourselves who already decided, a long time ago, and never had to decide again.

That’s what happened at Kikufuji. Not a character flaw. Just a tired mind doing what tired minds do.

The Chirashi Don was satisfying. That’s true and worth saying.

I enjoyed it with my beer. And what I keep thinking about is not the meal itself but the small moment before it — the menu I closed, the question I didn’t ask myself, the brief window where the afternoon could have gone differently and I let it close without noticing. It’s a small thing. Nobody else at the table would have seen it.

What it cost me wasn’t money or a better dish. It was just — being there. Actually there, in that restaurant, on that particular afternoon, with Ingrid beside me on the bar and a menu full of things I’d never tried.

More choices, less choosing. More options, less presence. That’s the paradox.

The Chirashi Don was good. Kikufuji was exactly what I remembered.

Invisible ordinary day

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We are so accustomed to ordinary days that we fail to see how special they are.

Friday felt meh. I woke up, had breakfast, went to work, talked with the boys, attended First Friday Mass, took Ingrid out to dinner at Apero, and met a large orange cat at the Corinthian Hills clubhouse.

Nothing extraordinary happened.

What struck me later was that this day would have been unimaginable to a younger version of myself. There was a time when I wanted meaningful work, financial stability, and someone to share dinner with. Somehow, after years of effort and a fair amount of good fortune, many of those hopes became ordinary.

That may be the problem. Once a blessing becomes familiar, we stop seeing it as a blessing and start treating it as a baseline.

Psalm 118:24 says, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” It does not say to rejoice on exciting days, successful days, or memorable days. It simply says, “this day.” This means, that in all circumstances, we need to be grateful.

Most days are not dramatic. They are made up of work, meals, conversations, errands, and routines. We keep waiting for something noteworthy to happen, while missing the fact that an uneventful day is often a sign that many things are already going right.

That Friday was not exciting.

It was simply a good day.

If God made Adam & Eve in His Image and likeness, why did they disobey?

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I fell in and out of sleep during the online video session of Jeff Cavins’ Unlocking the Mystery of the Bible series. Today, we were covering Creation. I would write notes for a few minutes, then fall asleep, wake up again, write some more, and then drift off once more. The cycle continued until the group returned to plenary.

This was only our second class, which Ingrid and I signed up for, and we still have a few more Mondays to go. The first session was more of an introduction than a class, simply explaining what to expect from the series.

The session did not become truly engaging until the plenary discussion, where classmates answered some of the reflection questions. The questions were rarely answered directly. One person would respond, another would offer an opinion, and the conversation would branch into different topics.

One particularly good question—obviously not part of the official discussion guide—was this: If God made Adam and Eve in His image and likeness, why did they disobey? Following that logic, does that make God imperfect? The person who asked it was genuinely curious, as she made clear, and not merely being pilosopo.

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