Sounds of the morning
At breakfast I can hear our neighbor's music, saxopophone instrumentals of classic love songs. The living room acquires the quiet, soporific vibe of hotel lobbies, until Auntie Nanic, my mother's cousin, tunes her little radio to Brigada, a news show in Hiligaynon, as she prepares breakfast in the kitchen. Senior citizens walk and jog outside. They greet each other with the familiarity of having lived in proximity for decades. They talk of plants and pottery, children working in bigger cities, dying and dead relatives from the barrio, and plans to drive to their farms on weekends. St. Paul Street is stirring to life.