A person who does not read, or reads little, or reads only trash, is a person with an impediment: he can speak much but he will say little, because his vocabulary is deficient in the means for self-expression.
Mario Vargas Llosa, “Why Literature”
A person who does not read, or reads little, or reads only trash, is a person with an impediment: he can speak much but he will say little, because his vocabulary is deficient in the means for self-expression.
Mario Vargas Llosa, “Why Literature”
Three days before Christmas, father brought my brothers and I along with him to the department store. He needed to buy something for their party. I went along with my brothers to the toy section. We were awed to see the plenty displays. there were many things on the shelves.
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Tags: april, brothers, christmas, doctor, father, memoir, Prose, stethoscope, toys
Every four o’clock in the morning, before Papa left to work, he never forgot to give me a hug. This loving gesture would always stir my heart.
As he mount his old rusty bicycle, I would run outside to say goodbye. He would just smile. As he pedaled away, I would follow his silhouette down the road until he disappeared in a cloud of dust.
His old mountain bike was our first bonding together.
I remember then, back in grade school, he bought a bike for me and my siblings.
Tags: creative nonfiction, hug, memoir, old bicycle, papa, pedal, Prose
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She stood with her black face some six inches from the moist window-pane and wondered would it ever stop raining.
Alice’s hand outstretched on the open window feeling on her palm the raindrops that were as cold as her husband, Jim. Weather forecast announced that a storm was expected that night, she foreseen that a storm was already passing by in her life. Continue reading
Tags: alice, fiction, flash fic postcard, husband, jim, kring, Prose, stromy we-ther, wife
She stands with her black face some six inches from the moist window-pane wondering if it would ever stop raining. Her clothes barely warding off the cold, she gripped the cold steel of her umbrella and sighs, ten minutes more. She watches the puddles on the street as rain drums on endlessly on her rusting roof top. Gray clouds stretched on for miles. She worries of Marcelino’s fish traps.
Tags: alpha, beach, fish nets, fish traps, fisherman, nets, postcard fic, Prose, rain, shiver, wife
I heard my cellphone beep after class dismissal; I read a message from my sister, Dream. She was telling me dramatic stories about her allowance, wanting to borrow money from me. She is also in Davao, but we are not living in the same house for my school is far from hers. She had insisted on studying here in Davao, even if she had not take nor pass any entrance examinations here. My parents were absolutely against it, but with my help, she ended up getting what she wanted.
Dream, my sister is only a year younger than me, and because of that we were always in competition. My parents would always give us the same amount of allowance, the same brand of clothes, and even an equal share of household chores for the sake of treating us fairly. However, back when I was five, I really felt that life was unfair.
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"And They Say..."