My meal arrived warm. And as always, it did not disappoint. It was so good that I wanted it to last for as long it could. But I was too famished to make that happen. I still savored every spoonful. It was a clean blue plate.
It’s a short book and has fairly large text. The engaging illustrations by Mike Casal are nice. What made it difficult to read is my personal awareness of what happened during the Martial Law years. I’ve watched clips. I’ve read stories. I’ve seen the lies and the bias.
I was there for two days: the first and the last. While I have done that before, it’s nice to be reminded of the stark differences between first day and last day. During the first day: there are so many books, including rare tomes and limited editions from specialty stores—you just have to know where to look; some books have discounts and some do not; and you could bump into hardcore readers and/or hoarders. During the last day: book stocks have gone down significantly; the discounts could increase to somewhere between 30% and 50%; and you could bump into people fresh off the streets that are curious about the commotion in the center.
I took all your foolish ways
And I played all your childish games
And we’d never learn to say every time you weren’t so brave
I’d never seen that face
But in my heart, it’s you I crave
You can hate it all you want
You’ll never catch the wind
Somehow, I loved the crispy onions so much than anything else on the bread—and that is big coming from me who detests onions. Never knew that onions could make me happy.
I could still remember how much fun some of my classmates and I had reading it, especially “English is a Pain! (Pane?)” by Shirlee Curlee Bingham. But during that time, it never occurred to me that I had an anthology with me—and one that is meant for kids!
The exhibit is called The Spirit of Budo: The History of Japan’s Martial Arts. It was arranged by the Japan Foundation, Manila and runs until September 30, 2018. It also coincides with the Eiga Sai Festival, a showcase of Japanese films at select malls and theaters at certain areas of the country.
The halls are sometimes lined with statues and statuettes. Sometimes, they have their own pedestals. Sometimes, they share a shelf with other carvings.
Say it’s here where our pieces fall in place
We can fear ’cause the feelin’s fine to betray
Where our water isn’t hidden
We can burn and be forgiven
Where our hands hurt from healin’
We can laugh without a reason
It offered cute and quirky designs for cakes, which was their biggest seller. But soon people, including me, discovered that there was more to them than just cakes.
When I visit a government building, museum, or church, I sometimes wonder at its many details. I even try to guess how old it is and what style it has. I note some of the details that catch my eye. Sometimes, I’m able to find the name for it; sometimes, I do not. Nevertheless, it fascinates me to learn about buildings. That’s why I was floored when I learned what exactly was in the book I chose.
For years, I worked in Intramuros and passed by the place a number of times. The word “museum” at the front of the building was too imposing to be ignored, yet I rarely found them on any list of museums; I vaguely remember one article that said a visitor had to call for a schedule—or something like that.