Dog in Zambales

Dog, pathway, landscape

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Afternoons at home

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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...
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I know. I don’t post here as often as I should. When I do, I hardly write anything at all. I post fillers: random photos of my daily grind; quotations from books and articles I like to commit to memory; summaries of my meditations; epiphanies and random links to miscellaneous items I hope to return to but don’t. When I scroll through my blog history, I’m surprised that I’d posted about a film I would have otherwise forgotten if I hadn’t written about it in the recent past. In the early days of this blog I wrote many entries each month. There were years when I’d post something daily. It was fun. Updating blogger.com was enmeshed in my routine as toothbrushing; my day wouldn’t be complete without it. And then I gradually skipped it. The short of it is: life happened. And the internet became a dangerous place. I became more mature and private, relishing the absence of web footprint, while the world—including my circle of family, friends, and acquaintances—was only discovering the joys ...
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