Can't wait
THESE ARE SOME old Multiply photos I don't want to lose. These were taken last Christmas.
Where my grandmother lives, the grass in the park grows too long before it's trimmed—which is just as well. When the wind blows, the grass bends, the leaves rustle, and all seems well with the world. The scene reminds me of the final shots in the movie Gladiator, with Liza Gerald singing "Now We Are Free" in the background. It's hauntingly beautiful.
The trees in Lola Glo's backyard are beautiful. How these photos remind me of Lola, who's slowly losing her memory to aging. I talked to her last November, and she was apologetic because she didn't remember me anymore. What remains of us when our memories are gone?
White flowers abound in my grandmother's garden.
Dogs come and go. After all, this is the Philippines, where they're free to do anything they want. I remember David, the stupidest dog on earth, the only animal I loved, who died this year.
The swing—the same old swing—was where Lolo used to take us every morning before we had breakfast. He would dry the black rubber seats which were often wet with dew. We'd pick our spot, and he'd watch us from behind. I miss him. I still think of him when I study diabetes.
My cousins' kids—Katrice, Jared, and Zach—are walking along the same road where we had played games during the summer many years ago. Now the street feels empty, the houses are quiet, and Lantana isn't quite the same place as I remember it to be.
My kid brother Sean, my mother Shirley, and my older brother Ralph. I miss being at home with them. We talk with each other on the phone, but arguing as to who's going to wash the dishes or set the table or wipe the windows just isn't the same interaction.
And this sight of my parents hugging each other—how I long for home. I hardly get homesick. I am, now.
So, yes, I can't wait to go home. Two 24-hour shifts to go. Countdown begins now.
Where my grandmother lives, the grass in the park grows too long before it's trimmed—which is just as well. When the wind blows, the grass bends, the leaves rustle, and all seems well with the world. The scene reminds me of the final shots in the movie Gladiator, with Liza Gerald singing "Now We Are Free" in the background. It's hauntingly beautiful.
The trees in Lola Glo's backyard are beautiful. How these photos remind me of Lola, who's slowly losing her memory to aging. I talked to her last November, and she was apologetic because she didn't remember me anymore. What remains of us when our memories are gone?
White flowers abound in my grandmother's garden.
Dogs come and go. After all, this is the Philippines, where they're free to do anything they want. I remember David, the stupidest dog on earth, the only animal I loved, who died this year.
The swing—the same old swing—was where Lolo used to take us every morning before we had breakfast. He would dry the black rubber seats which were often wet with dew. We'd pick our spot, and he'd watch us from behind. I miss him. I still think of him when I study diabetes.
My cousins' kids—Katrice, Jared, and Zach—are walking along the same road where we had played games during the summer many years ago. Now the street feels empty, the houses are quiet, and Lantana isn't quite the same place as I remember it to be.
My kid brother Sean, my mother Shirley, and my older brother Ralph. I miss being at home with them. We talk with each other on the phone, but arguing as to who's going to wash the dishes or set the table or wipe the windows just isn't the same interaction.
And this sight of my parents hugging each other—how I long for home. I hardly get homesick. I am, now.
So, yes, I can't wait to go home. Two 24-hour shifts to go. Countdown begins now.
Labels: daily
posted on December 14, 2012
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