My interactions with rice have always been tainted with guilt. At the tender age of nine, under the disapproving eyes of my mother and aunts, I would devour one whole bandehado of rice--equivalent to about three cupfuls--on regular meals. When the viand along with the rice was a favorite, like talunang manok or talangka, I could chuck in another ( Read more... )

I wasn’t at all a sickly child. Actually, I was quite brown and robust from playing patintero, sha-to, ta-ching, tex out in the sunshine the whole day with the six dusty little boys of our truck mechanic who lived in a shanty just a few blocks from our house. It was for this reason that being rendered bed-ridden always came as a big, unwelcome ( Read more... )