
I no longer recognized the lady at the counter. I did not recognize anyone at all. I ordered the usual ham, cheese, and egg sandwich, with a can of Coke Zero. I sat al fresco on an unpretentious red plastic monoblock chair and watched the tricycles and other vehicles pass by the main street of Marbel. I felt nostalgic. My father used to bring us here, back in the days when Trisha's served mustard and the store was more jam-packed (now, it's Pinoy style ketchup and hot sauce, repackaged in squeezable plastic containers). I imagined he would have ordered same things I had ordered, but would have asked if I liked to buy another burger before I finished eating.


I relish this yearly pilgrimage to small stores I used to frequent as a kid growing up. Trisha's, always at the top of my list, reconnects me to memories of old, when my father was still alive, when I spoke terrible Tagalog, when my idea of the world was Marbel and everything around it.
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