I wasn’t Scattered, I Was Consistent

There's a Bisaya word that got used a lot to define me as a kid: ki'at - basically a person, usually a child, who is restless, hyperactive, rowdy, bouncy. You get the picture. That stuck.

Mom, though, always saw me as something else - and yes, I will of course refer to another Bisaya word: buotan. Kind. Good. Well-behaved. Nice. So that was me. I was a restless but kind little boy.

Mom's favorite story - I'll summarize it here for you. They were working late. I was home alone with my three little sisters. It's okay, it was the mid-70s. It was okay to leave the kids home alone. I was hungry and called Mom. She said there's chicken on the table, just get started. I replied that I didn't want to, because we might eat everything, so we'd wait for them to get home.

"Thoughtful," she used to say about me. I'm sure she still feels that way. But there you have it.

The thing that stuck more? Restless. Always in the principal's office. Can't stop talking in class. Fast forward to high school and college - same restlessness, unsure what to pursue, so I wandered. And well, you've read a piece of that story.

The thing is, it was easier to just categorize my behavior than to try to understand it. I felt defective, and it became my theme: I don't know what I want to do.

Through adulthood, this was my theme and I proved it by taking on all sorts of work - the sort of work that was temporary, and after I received what I needed, I moved on. So to someone outside, that scatterbrained individual was still doing his thing, and I believed what everyone around me said and even owned the labels.

Shoe sales, camera sales, maintenance worker, DJ, photographer, security guard, learning to fly, bakery, et al. For years, from one odd job to the next. The only constant was the family bakery where my parents worked, but even then I still took on jobs as a photographer. I was told I needed to focus - doing photos while working at the bakery wasn't focusing.

One day my wife sent me some IG reels about micro-meanings or something to that extent. Then I thought about it harder, thinking of all that has happened, and it hit me. It made sense.

Maybe my life wasn't a series of never-ending odd jobs. Maybe I was acquiring something - like the Jack of All Trades, but the real meaning of it all: A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.

But even that wasn't quite right.

Because when I looked closer at those jobs - Thom McAn, the DJ booth, the camera counter, the photo sessions, the bakery - they weren't random at all. I was doing the same thing in every single room.

Being present with people. Listening. Caring. Showing up not just physically, but with intention. With kindness.

I was being buotan.

The venues changed. The buotan stayed constant.

Thom McAn wasn't about shoes - it was about making people feel seen while they tried on a pair of loafers. The DJ booth wasn't about music - it was about reading a room and giving people what they needed. Photography was never about the camera - it was always about connection, respect, treating my models like human beings first.

And the bakery? Same work. Feeding people. Being there. Tending.

The Manila café I keep dreaming about? Not a destination. Just the next room. Same buotan, quieter interruptions.

Mom saw it the whole time. The restless kid who wouldn't sit still wasn't scattered. He was just looking for the next place to practice the same thing he'd been doing since he was a little boy waiting for his parents to come home so everyone could eat together.

I wasn't ki'at.

I was buotan in motion.