I woke up yesterday, Tuesday to find these boys still in their PJs hanging out in our garage and playing with the new members of Chin's extended family. (Chin stands for Chin-chin, the dog my dear cousin and buddy Ida gave me in 5th grade and who inspired mother's love affair with small dogs. She died when I was in 3rd year college of hit and park.)
Meet Ben and his Kuya Andre Ben obviously doesn't mind being the 6th puppy The mother for some reason doesn't mind her head being shoved around by this white kid. (Pardon me, but the mother's name escapes me now. I'm sure it starts with Ch. After Chin-chin, my mother's instruction for strict compliance is to start the names of all our new pups with Ch. So through the years, we've had the company of a Chippy, Chiquita, Chitay, China, Chucky, Chocolate.)This surprise pulling-his-pants-down is a routine we do with Ben, who just hates it! Awww... look at his distraught face. Love you Ben! He sought for an ally in his yaya Karen, who didn't do anything but laugh. Poor kid. Love you Ben!Perok's boys: Peter, Jr. (he wasn't his usual charming self that early morning and didn't want his photo taken), Kuya Andre and Baby Ben.
This blog is a sigil of my self-handover, though almost unwillingly, to Ormoc. Many years I allowed my dreaming to wander away from it. Though I may have left my heart in this sleepy town at the nape of the mermaid-shaped province 2 Supercat hours from the queen city (not to any boy, mind you, as is the case of many damsels in confusion, but to my family), I paddled against the tide drawn towards it. I refused to acknowledge even the slightest probability that I could find myself here. Well, fate makes amends in ways that catch you, including me in my almighty “I don’t want to based in Ormoc ever again,” unawares.
Because here I am. Since I cannot spread out the two years ahead on a table in front of me like God could, I am left with either perishing along with this subjective loathing for its seeming monochromic tendencies, or to make the most of it and, bless me and my attempts, find Ormoc as the exact opposite. It should be easy to figure what would make the next two years – quarter way celebrating my 24th year – forgivable and worth a run along the memory lanes several years from now.
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