yesterday my parents and i went to holy cross memorial park to visit the tombs of my grandmother, uncle and aunt. the all soul's day traffic and crush have not yet descended on the green, well-trimmed lawns. i have already bought my own plot here, my memorial service, the coffin, the works. somebody asked me, what if you become national artist, then you will have to be interred in the libingan ng mga bayani.
i smiled at him who wanted to flatter me, and told him the line is way, too long for that kind of honor.
i paid a man to clean the tombs, inscribe the names. i also visited the grave of the writer alfrredo navarro salanga, which is nearby. has it been 20 years since the then-40 year old freddie died at the height of his literary career?
his daughter elyrah just won the ncca grant for biogrphy. she is writing the bio of her great dad.
and now i am at home, devouring books, only too happy to know that there is no class tomorrow, no paper to be checked, no speech to be given, just a stretch of time to call my own.
i smiled at him who wanted to flatter me, and told him the line is way, too long for that kind of honor.
i paid a man to clean the tombs, inscribe the names. i also visited the grave of the writer alfrredo navarro salanga, which is nearby. has it been 20 years since the then-40 year old freddie died at the height of his literary career?
his daughter elyrah just won the ncca grant for biogrphy. she is writing the bio of her great dad.
and now i am at home, devouring books, only too happy to know that there is no class tomorrow, no paper to be checked, no speech to be given, just a stretch of time to call my own.
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