it’s one of the very few titles that i have managed to save when i had once tried to abandon the art of writing.
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Tanzan and Ekido were once traveling together down a muddy road. A heavy rain was still falling.

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admiration
— our polite recognition of another’s resemblance to ourselves.

alone
— in bad company

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Close all open things, Lord.
Open all closed things.
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jeepney-riding always seems to amaze me.
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Problem: Define a failure. Answer: Someone who is still riding a jeepney after 40.

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When I was a child our house in Dipolog was the most imposing in the block. Built in the early 1950’s, it was — I remember — a white-painted, two-storey wooden house with arched windows and an added foyer banked by a cement wall added out to look like it was made of large, irregular blocks of stone.
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Haltingly I undo the knots
around your parcel that came this morning.
A small boox should require little labor,
but you’ve always been thorough,
tying things tight and well.

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You entered the classroom and found your way to the seat a few chairs from mine. I looked at you as your put down that old, rugged bag. Dressed in a red shirt, faded jeans and a worn out pair of sneakers, I wondered to myself what had made you come to school this time.

As if reading my thoughts, you approached me and handed me a flyer. I looked ar the piece of paper and read. It was an invitation for a class walk out tomorrow. “So that’s why,” I said to myself.

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I remember the day the magic died. But i’d rather remember when it was still there.

Giselle was my cousin. I mean, she still is, but we’re grownups now, or atleast that’s how society classsified us to be.
Two small girls we played in that cramped space in the bodega — a place where nothing is impossible and where dreamlike things can happen. It is the world which only allowed our puppy Sparky, our doll Cleska and a few other selected things that knew how to enjoy a hot summer day.

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