The year was 1951. It was a lovely time in Pasay City. We lived on Mabolo Street beside Cartimar, which didn’t exist at that time. A dilapidated shrimp crackers factory stood there instead, in the middle of a vast empty lot. Each day, square pieces of white, gelatin-like, future crispy crackers were placed on the [...]
The best part of my life now is the freedom to stay in bed and read and sleep and read and eat and sleep again. Often, I lose track of time. I wake up wondering where I am, what day it is, what time it is. Am I meeting someone for lunch, or am I free today to do some vacuuming or mopping, or both? I must sort the mounting pile of laundry, too, or I must buy more clothes.
Once a week I step out to meet friends, mostly seniors who love to sing. Most of us sing well—an assurance that there will be no rotten eggs or tomatoes thrown. We think we sing well, but if not, no one cares.
It’s said that 70 is the new 50; well and good. I have a 70-plus brain and when it wakes in the morning, there’s no debating what it wants me to do first. Run to the bathroom, back pain, knee pain and all. I keep my toilet bowl sparkling white and immaculately clean for when I see it, my brain gives the go signal to open the flood gates. My first morning prayer is: “Thank you, Lord, I made it!”
