December 3, 2006

I did not know what hit my apartment until the girls room was all but a mess. The windows got broken when our gutter was torn like paper by Rening’s angry winds. A few minutes ago, I was relaxing in my room, reading and critiquing Alvin Yapan’s essay on the Bikol Short-Story as a Site of Struggle. Never did I consider that we would be the ones struggling in a little while. Yes, it was stranger than fiction.

Now power is out and the internet rental is heaven. Some parts of Albay are erased from the map, never to be seen again. Nature it seems, is an erratic writer still reworking the names and places of its geography.

But life is simpler without CASURECO’s meter running. People come together in the streets, tell stories, sing songs. Once again we become narrators and chanters, dancing in the shadows.


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