26/04/2026
I was just browsing through the page when I came across this, my old private garage, something I built with my own hands from leftover construction scraps. This was long before it became the small café I eventually opened to the public.
When I got really sick, I retired and we moved back home to the Philippines as a family, I looked for a place where I could enjoy a truly good, hot cup of coffee near home. I couldn’t find one. Most places felt too loud, too crowded, too focused on aesthetics, on being “Instagram-worthy.” Somewhere along the way, the authenticity of the coffee, the space, and the quiet meaning of simply sitting down with a cup got lost.
So I decided to build my own.
I turned my garage into a small, private coffee space, something that reminded me of the quiet corners I used to frequent when we lived in Japan. Raw, unfiltered, small, and real. Most of all, quiet… with only faint music playing from an old turntable.
Then people started coming.
Wanderers, friends, even strangers, dropping by, sitting down, staying a while. What began as a private refuge slowly became a shared one. So I opened TG to the public. It started small, a single room, one barista, serving two or three people at a time… most of the time, just me. And honestly, that was already enough.
Then a super typhoon came and left that small piece of heaven in ruins.
I had to rebuild. My family encouraged me to make it a little bigger this time, to welcome more people, more wanderers looking for their own quiet escape. A place where they could listen, slow down, and enjoy a good cup of coffee and home-cooked food I personally prepare.
So I built it again.
Still using reclaimed wood, recycled metal, raw cement floors, old sewing machine bases turned into capiz tables—pieces with history. I wanted to keep that same honest feel: slightly unfinished, textured, a bit wabi-sabi, a bit brutalist but deeply rooted in the home I grew up in. The design of TG Café carries my memories of that house and everything in it.
The coffee comes from my wife’s province in Batangas. The menu is made up of recipes our family has always loved. And the music, the nostalgia, comes from growing up with my parents, from the records we used to play.
TG wasn’t planned. It grew slowly, shaped by need more than intention. A place for refuge, for wanderers like me, for old souls, for people who simply want time with friends, with family, and most importantly, with themselves.
Everything here was built by hand, from the space, to the menu, to the music, to what it stands for. It’s still taking its time to become what it’s meant to be. But then again, the good things always do. They aren’t rushed, and they don’t follow trends. They grow through patience, through work, through something real.
Just a quiet reflection from someone still in awe of what this has become.
It started with a simple spin, a hot cup, a small garage space, a wandering soul… and somehow, it turned into a community of wanderers and now it carries stories beyond my own.
Thank you for being part of it.
— The Garage
