Rare are the afternoons when I have idle time for myself. But yesterday was something else. There arrived an unexpected blessing—a pocket of sweet time when I had nothing to do. As soon I parked the car, I greeted my mother in her room, interrupting her Netflix viewing. I headed out to the living room. The sun was glorious but not scathing. Photographers call the late tropical afternoons the golden hour. I went back to my desk to grab the camera, whose existence I only recall when I travel. I jolted Paul from his nap. "Dali na!" I said. He yawned, stretched, and trailed me. After three years, we've figured out his body language. He was waiting for a treat, a belly rub, or some play time that involves an old tennis ball—or all of the above. "Hulat lang, Paul, ha?" I speak to him like I would to a three-year old. Nanay's small garden is a place of tranquility. You'd hear birds chirping. You'd see nests on top of the tree. They must feel saf...
May 30, my parents’ wedding anniversary, a date on the calendar we still celebrate, seven years after Tatay has passed on. In my mind—in my family’s mind—Tatay’s memory is alive. We speak about him, in random circumstances. Over dinner, for example. And my faith tells me: he is alive, in the fellowship of saints in heaven, laughing and singing and feasting and supremely enjoying the presence of God. I imagine him looking down, saying, “Dali na kamo diri. Kadugay sa inyo.” But the last days of May found us in a plane, from General Santos, with a brief stopover to Manila that would take us to Busuanga. If you’d spotted us at NAIA, you would have noticed Manong and me, holding on to our mother in laughter, provoking her with random comments that got her riled up; or, more correctly, she holding on to us, complaining about her eyeglasses that still give her trouble with depth perception. She is adorable. She is getting older. We make most of our time to take her aro...
This sounds too un-nationalistic. While the rest of the nation was witnessing Mrs. Arroyo's declaration of a State of Emergency because of a supposed coup plot, I and my dormmates decided to have dinner at Philcoa together. The meal was sumptuous. We had hearty, funny conversations. We then decided to go to Mercury (the drug store, not the chemical Jef messed up with) to check our weights, body mass indices (BMIs), blood pressures, and all that jazz. You see, there's this wonderful machine that automatically measures you, and all you have to do is drop a five-peso coin to check if you're still within the limits of obesity or kwashiorkor (no, it doesn't measure protein content). Paul V. was too mortified to know that he's still overweight, after those early morning and late-in-the-afteroon jogging sessions and rigid dieting. Paul B. , on the other hand, couldn't believe his eyes: gravity was still pulling him down because his measured height didn't quite me...
what a way to start the year!!!super love ko yung gizzard sa kanila mang larry!!! ganda ng pix...food trip naman tayo paminsan sa chinatown...hehe
ReplyDeleteSalamat, Frances. Kaladkarin lang din ako. Just a text away.
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