Afternoons at home
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...
Too much foreign language.
ReplyDelete"Daw agi ni Jose Rizal." -- It's like Jose Rizal's handwriting.
DeleteLast paragraph: "That will only be lost here. If someone leaves behind a wallet, nobody cares. But if it's a pen, then people can't wait to get their hands on it!" -- Something like that! Hahaha!
Thanks for the translation. You better get your pens engraved with your name then, hehe.
DeleteMedyo iba sulat na Rizal (looking at Mi Ultimo Adios) but you both have a nice hand. His is more legible, yours is more regular.