Sometimes, I think of the patch of sunlight that shone on that building we could see from our bathroom- the first hint of the morning for our eyes, that had become accustomed to reading under the light of the electric bulbs. Even at six in the morning, we had to turn on those light. You would tip-toe against the floor boards early in the morning, trying hard not to wake me up. But half awake, I'd hear you on your phone, talking to Ja sometimes, but mostly to Sean, in a tongue, I knew wasn't Tagalog, but something I'd started to recognize for its rhythm. I loved how the rhythm naturally slowed down and tripped when you talked to Sean and it made me think, some day, I'd sound like that, speaking to my little one.
Space. There was a lot of that in our little dorm in Katipunan. We were free, connected to our families only in our hearts. We were free to wander for hours in the National book store or the little book store next door to us, like it was the ultimate way of claiming our identities. How much we sought from the world in those evenings that ended in a 20 minutes walk back to the dorm from the Uni! We were free to spend the night, talking to the undergrad kid who thought Derrida was an emo. We were free to think we would take the MRT one morning and keep moving out of Manila.
And we knew it was a time of our life that would never return.
They're building beautiful new bungalows behind our house here in Kathmandu. I hate how they fragment my view of the sky and block light and breeze in my room. The morning sun now appears on the walls of the newly constructed houses before it does in the garden. Every morning, I stare at the sun shining on those buildings and think of Manila mornings, that began and ended with you. I guess, I miss you.
Love,
P
P.S. And right now, the thought of biting into a soft, warm pandesal with melting cheese, while sipping a cup of Spanish style coffee is driving me out of my wits. They were always a part of our breakfast conversations.
Space. There was a lot of that in our little dorm in Katipunan. We were free, connected to our families only in our hearts. We were free to wander for hours in the National book store or the little book store next door to us, like it was the ultimate way of claiming our identities. How much we sought from the world in those evenings that ended in a 20 minutes walk back to the dorm from the Uni! We were free to spend the night, talking to the undergrad kid who thought Derrida was an emo. We were free to think we would take the MRT one morning and keep moving out of Manila.
And we knew it was a time of our life that would never return.
They're building beautiful new bungalows behind our house here in Kathmandu. I hate how they fragment my view of the sky and block light and breeze in my room. The morning sun now appears on the walls of the newly constructed houses before it does in the garden. Every morning, I stare at the sun shining on those buildings and think of Manila mornings, that began and ended with you. I guess, I miss you.
Love,
P
P.S. And right now, the thought of biting into a soft, warm pandesal with melting cheese, while sipping a cup of Spanish style coffee is driving me out of my wits. They were always a part of our breakfast conversations.
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