A lot of things can happen in ten years, but I hope my 29-year-old self would only have a few things to scream and wail about once he found out what happened to him ten years on. (That younger version was a difficult man, way too exacting, unreasonably and obsessively passionate about all things–work, school, life, love, but love most especially. This current version is relatively calmer, more forgiving, and somewhat (again, I hope) wiser.
While searching for a document on my computer, I found this photo from 16 years ago when I was a student in Vietnam. To my right was a good friend whom I eventually lost contact with years after I returned home. She and her painter mom generously invited me to stay with them in their house in Hanoi, though it was not legal at that time for Vietnamese families to have foreigners live in their homes. The mother and daughter managed to convince the village police that I was a distant relative from the south of the country near the border with Cambodia who was coming to stay with them, which explained my strange accent. My Vietnamese was that good then, it seemed.
Life was a lot simpler. It was a beautiful time, to be young and without a mortgage to pay off.
Hedz was a schoolmate at UP Visayas (we never attended the same class, but for some odd reason we always found ourselves having late night conversations in the waiting shed by the entrance leading to the staff houses in Miagao).
We joined the Partido sang Mainuswagon nga Bumulutho (PMB) at the same time in our freshman year, but heading the college paper, I thought, was a more exciting venture than diving deep into turbulent campus politics. Hedz went on to chair PMB during our final year in the university.
Eighteen years, it appears, wasn’t sufficiently long to get in the way of a friednship we developed back when we were younger and still unflinchingly idealistic.
I presented my research on informality and food safety practices observed by street food vendors in Metro Manila at the 47th Anthropological Association in the Philippines (UGAT) conference in Holy Name University.
I regret having to stay in Bohol for only a day; surely, I’ll come back again someday to stick a while longer.
Thanks to the UGAT people who are the kindest, nicest, and most supportive group of scholars. And thanks most especially to my favorite teacher, the indefatigable Prof. Mary Racelis, who gave away her ticket to a tour in order to attend my panel.
One will never fully recover from the death of a precious cat. Zorro passed away on Monday in my arms. He is loved and was deeply cared for.
From being an unassuming garden cat, he moved into our home after getting sick of calicivirus and suffering from a severe dental problem. It did not take him much time to adjust to a quiet retirement life indoors with our other cats and dogs.
For roughly three years, Zorro lived a pampered and comfortable life as a house cat.
Zorro began to show symptoms of chronic kidney disease after his complete dental extraction a little over a month ago. And for the last five weeks, he’s been on assisted feeding. This morning at about 6:20, he took his final breaths while I held him for his breakfast. It was a quiet death.
We love you, Zorro! And I am certain we will see each other again someday along with your brothers and sisters.
You’ll never be forgotten. Ever.
I spent two days at home with mama and papa. They both seem happy and content with their life together as retired public school teachers.
My mother has put up a small sari-sari store that keeps her and papa busy. My father looks healthier now, more optimistic, smiling most of the time I was there.
I hope to be like them once it’s my turn to retire. In the meantime, however, I need to have fun, save aggressively for that phase of my life, and stay healthy.
Going against the current 