Getting back to writing. It has been a few days since I've really thought of making anything interesting. Aside from the tattoo designs that I'm planning to get, nothing seems more of a buzz to do.
Here's a good thing though, the past few days have been very eventful: I got the chance to spend Tita's first death anniversary (it's nearing the 26th already, it's been a quick year and she is still sorely missed) and I got to visit my Lolo Pikong and Lola Gloria, still side by side even in their final resting place.
My Lolo and Lola were grand people or so my father would lavishly recall. Lola Gloria would wake them up early in the morning to do the chores: split firewood, heat the cauldron where they make the kakanin they have to sell on the streets and at their school, fetch water for their everyday baths. Papa always had the time to tell the story of how he got that burn on the side of his left butt cheek. He said it was from the dagta of a mango tree he religiously scaled for ripe fruits to sell or eat at home.
Lolo Pikong on the other hand always referred to me as Mac Mac. He was of Spanish descent. And as I can remember; he had fine silver hair and more than fair skin. You could see the blood in his features. Espanyol. He'd always give me ice cream money whenever we visited him in Magdalena. 50 pesos for me and 20 pesos for my Kuya Pao who would then hustle me the money afterwards. Papa said Lolo was very strict and he had a belt to impose discipline on his children.
It has been years since I last set foot on Magdalena. Many things changed: houses were bigger, everything was semi-urbanized but the welcoming feeling was always there (not to mention Rambutan fruits as big as half fists.) It was a fine feeling, knowing that that place was where I could trace my less than average roots.
Another thing that I got to do in the past days was to visit my kid in Baguio. Papa was with me. He enjoyed the night market and the pretty girls that scoured the cold streets for cheap thrills and good buy's. Lots of skin were exposed to the cold Baguio night and they embraced the cold as it was a reprieve from the punishing heat of the Metro. Papa scored a fleece jacket by The North Face, he planned on wearing it on the bus. I said 'No.' Papa also got to enjoy his grandson. He reveled in the sight of outflung arms of a small replica of himself. I thought I saw a little tear in his eye when my kid yelled 'Lolo! Lolo! Lolo!' His arms grew happily tired under the weight of my son he so gladly swung as he did with me back in the day.
I'd take a picture of the two doppelgangers but I had wrecked my phone last week. I also managed to leave our camera. So, I suck. It could have been a better weekend with pictures of the grampa and grandson wolfing down quarter pound burgers and running around Camp John Hay, which, on a different topic, has been fully commercialized and dubbed as Techno Hub.
We were happy and it had a lingering effect up to this time. Oh, yeah. I managed to sneak in two Uniqlo walking shorts for 130 php a pop. Not bad, no? Plus, I got to discover the wonder of a fish shaped ice cream sandwich with red bean filling. It beats Magnum in every field. Again, I would have taken a picture but I had wrecked my phone as I said earlier.
No pictures for now, sorry.