Birds Fly

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Three years ago, while recovering from leg fracture, I wrote this reflection....

Friday afternoon, I was waiting for my neighbor to pick me up at school. I still cannot walk right from a fracture I had so somebody would have to fetch me at school every day. So I was waiting for him, seated alone on a bench, and it was past five in the afternoon, when I noticed a flock of birds perched on the transmission line. It was a large group, maybe a hundred or more. Locally known as “lansang”, they were singing (or should I say making noise). It rained hard earlier that afternoon, and the wet grass, the smell of drenched soil and the song of birds were creating a pastoral atmosphere. It was peaceful, and so I sat there waiting, watching the birds. Watching the birds, oblivious to time and to the electricity, made me think of my own life and others as well. Life and time are two inseparable things.

A Lighted Candle

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Almost five years ago, a year after my father's death, I wrote this sad recollection....

As noisy as it had been, the house is now peaceful. Friends and relatives who came to commemorate with us my father’s first death anniversary had now left. And as lonely as the stillness that enveloped our home are my father’s memories, which a few hours ago, we joyfully shared.

My Father and I

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Two years ago, I wrote this short memorial about my father.... 

Today is my father’s third death anniversary. Three years have already passed but it seems like yesterday. Not that I have not moved on with my life without him, or that I am still haunted with his memories. I simply missed him.

Tell Eddie: Someone for Him

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Continuation... (From Tell Eddie: Collision)

When he opened his eyes, the lush greenery unfolded before his view. The breathing green, freckled with dead gray, was asleep beneath the placid blue. The sky was devoid of clouds, so pristine and clear, save for the few sparrows flying in perfect serenity. All around the cemetery, marble mausoleums stood in dignity. Amos bent down and laid the flowers on the grass. He wiped with his palms the stone epitaph that said “In loving memories…”

“Linda,” he murmured.