Butterflies Are Free:
On a Misty Surigao Wednesday Late Afternoon, at the Surigao Memorial Park, me and my Trinx bike.
Remembering Mama Marietta on her 4th Death Anniversary. Prayers and butterflies from your garden with you, Ma!
1985. The golden age when during Christmas season, the Balikbayan box shipped from overseas is picked up at the local Post Office and upon opening at home, every item carefully tucked inside revealed a thing of wonder and delight.
2025. The time where we hold a rectangular copper object containing a plethora of encyclopedic knowledge, latest intrigues and rumours, and with one press of your golden thumb, can send out your gift, cash, or your automated message From Me and my Family, Merry Christmas To You.
Open Kalami! Walking around allows you to occasionally step into portals of wonder and delight. Like, this cavern of Persian cuisine of shawarma and kebab.
Shawarma grilled in the traditional way. Which makes me long for the days of yore in the now extinct Harrison Plaza in Vito Cruz, Manila.
No, this is not the 90s anymore, this is not that happy place, this is Butuan, but this rain, this shawarma, this beer bring that same, old, familiar comfort.
"Why Do "Amigas" suddenly appear?
The one creature, great and small of our dear Lord creation, she is aghast. And repelled by.
Now, this is my constant complaint of my girlfriend when am at her apartment. No, not the female, flirtatious feline specie. But "amigas" in the Bisayan sense, the crawling, hard-working, subjugated sense. 'Ants".
It is her fervent belief that I bring the ants to her place. She complains as if I bring along Nefertiti's kingdom as I indulge in my usual wont of Tanduay Jr lapad, liempo pulutan, and mani pulutan.
But that be said, I love her (kaluod) and we have our sweet, saccharine moments. Such as this one in Dumaguete. So i guess, xoxo.
