Egypt opens two ancient pyramids, unveils new finds
Egypt opened two ancient pyramids south of the capital Cairo and unveiled a collection of newly found sarcophagi, some containing well-preserved mummies.
Someone called me the other day asking me to define “high apple pie in the sky hopes.” When I explained that I lifted it from a Frank Sinatra song, he was amused.
I don’t know why, but as each year ends there seems to be a gasp of shock across the universe over the speed with which time flashes by. This is true at any age, but more so for a super senior. We are too painfully aware of the passage of time.
The Philippine Embassy to the Vatican has announced that the mosaic image of San Pedro Calungsod, the second Filipino saint, will be blessed by Pope Francis on Nov. 21, 4:30 p.m., at the Crypt of the Basilica of St. Peter, next to the tomb of Pope Paul VI.
Once, on my way to the house of Pipang Quema-de los Reyes in San Juan for our weekly mahjong (our brain workout) session, I noticed the presence of many pawnshops on the major streets of that town. The words “Bahay Sanglaan” were sufficient to push my memory way, way back.
David Beckham kicks balls with 99-percent accuracy to the thrill of football lovers. His mohawk hair looks bellicose and wild one day, comely and beguiling another day. His heartthrob face on giant billboards dominates the cityscape of Europe.
It was in the mid-’90s that I began writing about the yearly procession honoring the image of the Miraculous Black Nazarene in Quiapo. I was in my teens when the family decided to move to the ancestral house of my maternal grandmother after my father passed away.
I used to know English and I used to know Tagalog. Or so I thought. Now I’m lost when English is treated as Tagalog. Carry mo bang ano? Carry mong isuot—ano pa? Dare to wear mo ba, go against the world, your conscience, others’ opinions? In other words, carry mo ma-judge as either avant garde or lukaret?
When I sit in the garden for my morning sunbath, the tweeting on the trellis above is real. The brown, long-tailed Angry Birds arguing fiercely above my head are not virtual. Neither is the mouse hiding behind the flowerpot. The spider is hanging on the jade vine, thank heavens, not on some world wide web.
Your mantra for the week: “Every person I meet is a potential channel of my good.”
The glee written all over the little boy’s face, the brightness in his eyes, and the motor-motion of his hands as he operates his toys—dinosaurs, robots, transformers, race cars— are, clearly, sheer acts of fantasy. A toy is a realization of his pipe dream, or a vicarious thrill he entertains in his fertile mind.
