old bicycle

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.

Memoirs from the Jeepney

When I was small, my everyday routine was always confined in my mother’s idea of “keep right.” Everytime my mom would fetch me from school we always rode jeepney. Upon stepping in the jeepney, she would carry me until my feet could reach the floor, people sitting inside would hold my arm and guide me. My mom would follow me after she’s done folding her umbrella. I usually search for bigger space for my mom, and if there is no space for the two of us I would just sit on her lap.

Perfect Melody

The sea stretched far beyond the horizon. A myriad of tiny diamonds, spread out between mountains and shores. Waves leaped about with glee as the sun’s rays touched their glittery guise. They whispered my name.

 

I closed my eyes and heard the waters roar.

Scratch Papers

 

They were all over the place – in my bedroom, lurking under my bed, hiding inside the cabinets, even concealed in my pillowcases. Things like these do happen, once you have gotten used to the scratched papers lying around, no matter how odd they look, you come to think of them as natural, and later on, you’d conclude that weirdness is normal. I kept reminding my mother that scratch papers lying on the floor is not an act of teen rebellion, neither is it an issue of cleanliness. It is simply because their presence occupies what seemed like an empty space, in which I am constantly self-absorbed with my creatures of doom.

Webbed Beauty

“Perhaps even these things, one day will be pleasing to remember.”

-Virgil

 

There was a little crack in plaster of the ceiling in our house. As I was concentrating so hard on what to do with a pile of old books, I could not help but stare blankly at the old plastic bag on top of the cabinet. “Hay …” I sighed blankly. “Hay…” I sighed again until all I did was to sigh for the nth time. “Damn, what on earth am I here for?” I asked myself, though I badly knew the answer. Well, I just assumed that I did something great because for the past five hours, instead of obeying and performing Ate’s bidding to clean the entire house, all I did was to sigh. Little did I know that my eyes were already following a spider close to the old plastic bag. The tiny fellow was creating a web, building a new home. Weird to think but, but the mere presence of the spider revived the memory of the past years. It reminded me of my mother whom I was fond of calling Nornor and my twin sister, Twinie.