- A NEW WORLD IS BEING BORN
- BUT WHAT IS FILIPINO?
- THE STRUGGLE OF AN ARTIST
- MY 1ST ARTICLE IN THE TORONTO STAR
- WHAT KILLED DR. WILLIAM JONES?
- THE AFTERTASTE OF TESTICLE
- CHICKEN? a story about fear–with photos of chickens
- TURN OF THE CENTURY
- POST BACOOD STA. MESA MEET TORONTO
- MY RUN-IN WITH THE MILITARY IN BIKOL…
It was 4am, the sun was still a long time from rising, and rain was falling when I woke up to make breakfast with the one other guy in the group. We were in Balinak, Ligao, Bikol, a town at the end of the road—literally.
The single paved lane wove around the rolling hills of the land around Mt. Mayon, it ended at the basketball court of Balinak, a simple village that still consisted of many nipa hut homes, a village with a sad recent story.
The rains came and went for the few days I was in Bikol. The bus window showed evidence of this less than seasonal weather. It was dusk, and the sky was finally clearing, the clouds in my mind had also started to break.
Today we went to Divisoria, then Quiapo = hunting and gathering…handa ka na?
Random selector, new people-places-things…