Reflections and A Poem on My 91st Birthday, Today

Dinner with MaryAnn, Steve and Harry with Jenny after the Cocktail Hour. Jenny took several pictures ( 36) during the Cocktail and I am posting some of them at the bottom of this page.  

Ninety-One Years: A Birthday Reflection

Today is December 20 and I am celebrating my 91st birthday. Today, I find myself looking back,  not out of longing, but out of gratitude. At this stage of life, time moves differently. It doesn’t rush the way it used to; instead, it settles quietly beside me, offering its memories like folded letters I can open at my own pace and leisure.

Remembering the Long Journey

Inside those letters are the many versions of myself: the young immigrant who left home in search of opportunity,  the naturalized American who worked hard to claim his place, the husband, father, grandfather and now, twice this year, a great-grandfather.

Becoming a great-grandfather feels like being given two new sunrises. Their tiny fingers and soft breaths remind me how the story continues long after we imagine our chapters are done.

My Years in Service- My FDA Years Photo

1990-My First Personal Interview with the FDA, Washington, DC

Another letter contains the professional life I built at the FDA, years of careful, demanding, but deeply meaningful work in public health. I remember the weight and responsibility of the job, especially during the aftermath of 9/11, when so much of the nation felt unsteady. Those experiences shaped me in profound ways; they remain part of the steel in my spine and the steadiness in my convictions.

A Writer at Heart

Then there is the writer in me, the man who, in 2009, began to blog without any idea that it would become a daily ritual, a personal archive, a companion. Over time, my blog posts became footprints documenting the landscapes of my life: family, politics, faith, culture, memory, and the ordinary moments that give each day its quiet meaning.

Today, My Life at The Heritage Downtown(THD), Walnut Creek, CA

Today I live at THD, where the pace has slowed but the stories have not. Life in a senior community carries its own humor, tenderness, and unpredictability. I watch my fellow residents navigate their days with grace and grit; I admire and grateful to the staff who make this place feel like home; and I continue to observe, reflect, and write about the rhythms of senior life. It is another chapter, different from earlier ones, but no less meaningful.

Gathering the Years

At ninety-one, I no longer chase the years. I gather them. I turn them over the way one might examine shells along a beach, each one shaped by time, carrying echoes of laughter, sorrow, triumph, loss, and love.

And through all of it, I still feel profoundly alive. Still curious. Still writing. Still grateful.

A Birthday Wish to Myself

So as I welcome another December 20, I do so with simple gratitude for the extraordinary, complicated, beautiful life I’ve lived. Ninety-one years and somehow, the ink on my pen has not yet run dry.

Meanwhile, here's a poem on this occasion, prepared by my Writing Assistants.  

🎂 Ninety-One: A Birthday Poem for December 20 🎂
by David Balleza Katague

At ninety-one, the days feel softer,
as if time itself has learned gentleness, 
not rushing, not demanding,
just placing moments in my hands
like folded letters from years gone by.

I open each one slowly.

There is the boy who left home for a larger world,
the young man who built a life in a country
that once felt far away,
the naturalized American still proving, even now,
how deeply one can love a place
that didn’t love him first,
but eventually learned to.

There is the professional, 
the long chapter wearing the badge of the FDA,
scientist, regulator, guardian of public health.
The work was meticulous, demanding,
but noble in the way quiet service always is.
I carried it with pride,
as I carried my share of the nation’s burdens
after 9/11.
Those memories live in me like iron, 
weighty, unbending, unforgettable.

There is the writer, 
the man who began, to blog in 2009
and never stopped.
The stories stretch behind me
like a long, wandering coastline:
family memories, politics, reflections,
daily joys, and quiet griefs,
each post another footprint
in the sand of a life well-lived.

And now, here at THD,
the days continue in a gentler rhythm.
Walks down familiar hallways,
the laughter of friends, bridge and mahjong, 
the quirks and sweetness of my fellow residents,
the dedicated staff who weave their care
into our ordinary days.
I observe it all, 
noticing, remembering, writing, 
a chronicler of senior life.

And this year,
two miracles arrived
with tiny fingers and impossibly small toes:
my two great-grandchildren.
Two new branches on a tree
that has grown through storms and seasons,
reaching farther than I ever dreamed
when I first planted its roots.

They are my sunrise.
I am their long, steady dusk.

At ninety-one, I do not chase years, 
I gather them.
I turn them over like seashells,
listening to what they still echo.

Gratitude.
Love.
Work well done.
Stories still unfolding.

And so on this birthday,
I lift my eyes to the December sky
and say simply:

I am still here.
Still learning.
Still writing.
Still loving this beautiful, simple life.

Ninety-one years, and the ink has not run dry.

In Addition, This story is inspired by my next birthday this December 20, 2025

Becoming American: Ninety-One Summers
By David B. Katague

Today, I turn ninety- one.  Ninety-one summers, ninety-one monsoons, ninety-one Christmases under Filipino stars and American skies. The number feels surreal—too large to grasp and yet as intimate as the freckles on the back of my hands. My hands, which once cradled infants, wrote research papers, held my wife’s as she took her last breath, now tremble, but they still write. They still hold on.

This morning, at Chateau Du Mer, the sanctuary I once dreamed of turning into a retirement haven for balikbayans, I awoke before the birds. There’s peace in this stillness, this gentle hush before the world stirs. I brew my barako coffee and sit by the window, watching the sea shimmer like old silver.

At ninety-one, I do not measure my life by the successes listed in résumés or diplomas framed on walls. I measure it in the small, faithful acts:

• Writing my first high school article about being the oldest child of seven.

• Planting Azeleas in our California yard with Macrine, my partner for over  63 years.

• Telling our grandchildren stories in Ilonggo and Tagalog .

• Creating imagined lives-like Dr. Derek Mendoza, the Filipino-American Nobel laureate I never became but always believed possible.

Being American, to me, was never about passports or accents. It was about becoming more than what was expected. About carrying my Filipino roots like a blessing, not a burden. About weaving both cultures into a tapestry that told my truth.

And truthfully? Ninety-one feels like grace.

It is a grace to remember, the smell of roasted peanuts in Barotac Viejo, the roughness of coconut husks, the softness of my mother’s voice in prayer.

It is grace to forget, the slights, the losses, the ambitions that once consumed me but no longer define me.

It is grace to continue, writing, planting, loving. Even when slower, even when it hurts.

Love, too, has aged beautifully. It now shows up in warm soup served by a caregiver who calls me “Kuya Dave,” in poetry shared among senior friends who giggle like teens, and in whispered prayers to Macrine under my breath. The unexpected act of kindness from friends and strangers, memories I will never forget. 

They say you cannot kill a cactus. I say, you cannot extinguish a soul that has loved, lost, and kept growing.

To be ninety-one is not to fade, it is to shine softly. It is to know that while I may not be remembered in textbooks, I live on in stories, in the children of my children, in the air that still smells of salt and mangoes.

So today, on this quiet birthday, I write. I breathe. I give thanks. I am Grateful! 

"Salamat (THANK YOU), Ginoo ( GOD). For this life. For this story."

My Activity for Today: 

7AM-11AM- Reflection, Morning Mediation and Writing/Reading

12-2PM- Birthday Lunch for Family ( for 10) at FOB Kitchen, Temescal District, Oakland 

3-4 PM -Nap Time and Checking E-mail/Writing/Reading

5PM Dinner at THD with Bridge, Mahjong and Chair Volleyball Friends, etc.. 

7PM -10PM TV Time with Batman and Robin

10:30PM- Sleeping Time and Gratitude Time for the Day     

Special Thanks: To Jenny S, Gween C, Sue H. Marsha K, Shari & Jay, and Sandi G for their birthday cards greetings. To Dick B, for his singing telephone greetings.   To Jane W for the book she gave;

To Alex, our musician guest yesterday who allowed me to sing with him, My Way, along with his energetic musical performance, that was fantastic and exceeded the one hour schedule. Alex has outdone himself last night.  To the Servers and Kitchen Crew, Office/Activity Staff who sang at the Cocktail Hour Event yesterday. And for the special appetizer of Lumpia and Puto ordered by Joel...The Puto ( rice cake) was a surprised.   

May I repeat what I said in my blog last night. This memorable event in the Sunset of My Life will be one of the Highlights in my Book of Memories. Gratitude, Gratitude and Gratitude, Indeed!     

Last but not least a video of Pleasant Memories at Chateau Du Mer, 2016. Macrine(RIP) with her first cousins (Nieva Men and their Wives) serenading her with the song Some Enchanting Evening from South Pacific   

Some of the amazing and beautiful photos taken by Jenny yesterday Afternoon, at the Cocktail Hour :

https://www.facebook.com/david.b.katague/videos/10206321560494258/