Reading about the recent chaotic mess at Naia, I selfishly thought, “Thank God it was not during my recent travels.”

My cousin arrived from Florida with two first-timers to the Philippines and could not find the words to express her embarrassment and disgust.

Now, numerous aggravated passengers are comparing consuelo de bobo perks received from the different airlines that tried to atone for the inconvenience.

I heard a couple bragging that they were booked in a plush hotel. Others moaned about greasy cold fast food.

I guess you can’t please everybody.

Pio’s Kitchen

At a surprise birthday dinner for Asia’s Queen of Song, a blow-by-blow account came from her brother-in-law, who had a long tale of woe about being booked on a flight that couldn’t take off from Bangkok and later wasn’t allowed to land in Manila. He was still groggy from the ordeal.

Pilita’s children hosted the intimate family gathering at Pio’s Kitchen in Quezon City. Pio’s is an “events place,” cozy and comfortable, with an understated “feel at home” elegance.

Chin Gallegos-Bagis is its hands-on owner and executive chef. Her husband Mon is their logistics and marketing director. Pio’s Kitchen operates in Chin’s lolo’s home. In fact, the main table was set in “Lolo’s Bedroom.”

Guests were welcomed with a delightful chilled virgin kamias and calamansi cooler served margarita-style in champagne flutes.

The Chef’s table was rich with Spanish cheeses, tapas, baked scallops, three kinds of paella, tarragon belly, tenderloin steak a la pobre, roast chicken Iberico that melted in your mouth, and baked salmon with lemon caper sauce. For dessert we had Lola’s Maja Delight, a layer of leche flan over coconut and corn maja blanca topped with latik.

There was nostalgic music. You could feel the love. Pilita was overjoyed.

Urgent call

My friend texted. “Call me, it’s urgent. I have a question.” Why she calls me for answers I cannot fathom.

Apparently she had a spat with her daughter. It happened after she reprimanded her grandson, 16, who, “probably very tired from school but that’s no excuse,” was slouched spread-eagled on the couch in front of friends and family. She asked him nicely to sit properly.

He ignored her. She told him again. This time his mother intervened and told her to get off the son’s case, that after all he was in his own home. Later that evening, mother and daughter had an argument.

I am tempted to tell my friend to give it up. But she is like a dog with a bone. Her point being, “It is not right, not polite and it is unseemly and has to be corrected.” I can’t argue with that.

Once upon a time the feisty mother in me, or the teacher, or strict disciplinarian would have risen and taken the lead. Today I am convinced that there is no role for me to play anymore.

I can try. But who made me such an authority on good manners anyway? And is it worth the risk of creating resentments?

Then I ask: Should I keep on trying? One part of me strongly says yes. But I hear an old and very tired voice inside me say, “Just look away.”

And I remind myself for the umpteenth time that the bringing up of the next generation is no longer up to me.

Over time, many of us have put up our hands in meek surrender. There’s no shame there.

I learned to back away not too long ago when a grandson grew an unsightly beard. I was mortified and I said something. So he started to come around less. And I missed him so. Beard and all.

And when a few of them showed up with indelible designs of the moon and the stars on their arms and legs, I took a deep breath, checked my blood pressure, and asked them why. And then I realized that I couldn’t explain to them why not.

It’s time for “apo night” when I cook dinner and the grandkids come to eat, laugh and tell stories. I need to be with them, talk to them a little, love on them a lot.

I realize they are all grown up, some with children of their own. Time has flown.

While I still can, I want to talk to them about life, about respect, honor, integrity, and the way it used to be. They always enjoy my “cuentos.”

Someone suggested I write a primer for the great-grands. You think?

The milk of human kindness

I saw the photograph online. It touched my soul.

In far away Buenos Aires outside a children’s hospital, Celeste Ayala, an Argentinian cop, was standing on guard duty when she heard the inconsolable cries of a baby. She entered the hospital and saw a filthy, smelly, malnourished child. She asked if she could hold him.

“He had his hand in his mouth. He was hungry,” she explained.

Without a second thought she held the famished baby to her breast and nursed him. The child was immediately comforted.

In today’s world where man looks out only for himself, and no one seems to care what anyone else has to go through to even just survive, this young woman stepped up and unconditionally offered her heart and gave of her own life-giving sustenance.

How many of us would do the same?