​What does it feel like  living  alone  in a half a century old ancestral home . Our house is  situated in a  1500 square meter lot along Pana y Avenue.

It has been our humble abode since 1967. Our home is surrounded with various fruit trees. From Indian Mango trees, to coconut trees, Midget Santol trees ,duhat, star Apple tree  You name it, the lot is fully spacious with quiet tranquil surroundings. There are assorted variety of fowl and birds gallavanting around the area.

During summer time and sunny days you can find  Maya birds darting from one tree to another. Occasionally there are stray Hens and rooster   scratching at the dark brown Sandy soil searching for food scraping through mounds of  dried leaves that fell from trees that almost encircled our house.

In quiet tranquil days you  hear deep penetrating buzz of crickets and cascades chirping each minute away. Occasionally on every passing the hour the sound of the cuckoo clock breaking the silence of the heavy baritone bhong  coming from the grandfather clock. As if time has stopped, certain period I hear rodents, mouse ,and rats racing along the ceiling. In the late afternoon I hear fruit bats flying coming and darting out from their homes.

​Wasn’t it just yesterday when my Dad was alive I imagine ghostly images of memory as if recent  piano music used to be play in the early hours of the evening or classical guitars echoing in the once hallowed grounds of the family estste. If the walls could speak about what occurred in these modest humble home. Time, dirt and dust slowly strode the fabrics and wooden structure of the Ira estate.

​it is now another Thursday evening, exactly 10:33 pm. Besides the 33 inch television blaring ,watching a Korean take drama. I hear a lizard calling out from the dark wooden crevice. Not to mention the usual common buzzing sound from crickets and insects breaking the silence of the night. I sit now at the sofa, waiting for my son to come in from his work at Taguig Fort Bonifacio. I try desperately to compose my thoughts, for a moment I heard the old reliable Swiss cuckoo clock sounding off. It is now 10:30 in the evening. I reflect and sometime reminisce of the past of a once happy home.

My Mother as a Writer

​Back in 1977, I vaguely recall my mother typing till the wee hours of the morning, literally burning the candle light.At that time she was working on the draft for her now priceless classic coffee table book – The Streets of Manila.I sometimes wished I should have taken her advise. I now regret and wished to be as prolific writer as she was.

​Now I sit by the sofa just beside my mother’s make shift hospital bed. 

My 89-year-old dementia bed ridden mother lies now sleeping in her twilight years. My two siblings sisters on the other hand followed my mother’s foot step. My youngest sister won an award for the English Category for Children’s Story for the prestigious Carlos Palanca Award back in 1987. While my other sister worked as a writer for The Chronicle Newspaper ,she later transferred to Advertising and finally moved to Washington in the U S where she took her Masters Degree at N Y U. My sister Vanessa is currently a writer and Freelance Editor for a Digital Parent Magazine in New York.

I now feel it is best to write about my mother and siblings while they are still around.My simple way to say….

Happy Mothers Day

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