For love of music
The treat had begun even before the concert did. There, in his cool white T-shirt, was Arthur Espiritu, our world-class tenor himself, going through passages of his repertoire with his
The treat had begun even before the concert did. There, in his cool white T-shirt, was Arthur Espiritu, our world-class tenor himself, going through passages of his repertoire with his
I was born about where the years of the Dragon and the Rabbit meet. With such fortune, I am under the impression that I have a choice in the matter. And 2017 being the Year of the Fire Rooster, which promises to be a good year for the Dragon but difficult in almost all aspects for the Rabbit, it’s not hard to guess which one I’ll be.
Tall and elegant in bearing, Tita Loleng easily stood out in a crowd. She and my mom, who made up for her lesser height by standing straight and remaining slim well into her 60s, bonded in the way beautiful women do—in a common vanity. They never allowed themselves to appear dowdy, whether at home or in public.
My Lola Enchay usually made her pronouncements in couplets. It might have been her generation’s way of dispensing words of wisdom—to make them memorable. Indeed, many of them I have not forgotten.
It must be that time of life: I feel like having a dog again. Like a child going through its stuffed-toy phase, I find myself thinking, within deliberate earshot of
Alfredo Roces is the youngest of the Roces-Reyes brood of nine boys. Too close to his age, we, his older nieces—Sylvia, only six years younger, Ninit and myself, eight years—couldn’t bring ourselves to call him “Uncle” or “Tito,” only “Ding.”
Just the other day, I caught myself praying for good weather—something I had stopped doing when I came to believe prayers should be more adult, at the very least beyond weather concerns. But this time it felt the most natural thing to do—ask the heavens for the safety of my granddaughter, a first-grader, and her classmates and teachers.
I AM IN rest and recreation mode, and free to draw anything I fancy. It turned out to be a GRAPHIC NOVEL WITHOUT A PLOT AND WITHOUT A POINT.
Among the couples I sought to hear from, it was the husbands, even the normally outspoken ones, who were surprisingly Valentine-shy, their need for privacy in this case almost desperate.
My husband and I are thinking of skipping Christmas this year—at least the frivolity and excess about it that have become somehow excusable. It just doesn’t seem right amid the massive tragedy visited upon our people.
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