luglugan time. draft.
Sometimes, he thought, maybe waking up at twelve noon then eating breakfast at two is u healthy enough to thin his social life. Or, perhaps, to under-nourish the time he spends with the family that wakes up at seven and eats their breakfast at nine.
When he sleeps, he sleeps through the day. He doesn't mind that the sun has learned decades ago not to wait for him when it reaches its peak. That for all the sun's worth, its brightness is nothing against thick curtains ad even thicker dreams.
He sleeps like no man should; right through the EDSA revolution, when in the wee hours of the m0orning Marcos had announced his 1081 over the radio; through Pacquiao's defeat of Morales on ABS-CBN's delayed telecast. His late hours have buffered the stirrings of America's democracy, when CNN covered Obama's speech live and this side of the world caught wind of african-american pride over lunch.
he hadn't been awake fr much of anything. He was asleep on the pew during his eldest's confirmation ceremony; he was asleep in the backseat of their rusty Tamaraw FX during last christmas' Tagaytay outing.
He marks his sixty-seven years in verses. Someday, he hopes these verses will evolve into a song then, maybe, Mang Simo will sing them, all baritones and fancy guitar-plucking, in one of his five-set-a-week performances in the local Bar En Grill.
When he sleeps, he sleeps through the day. He doesn't mind that the sun has learned decades ago not to wait for him when it reaches its peak. That for all the sun's worth, its brightness is nothing against thick curtains ad even thicker dreams.
He sleeps like no man should; right through the EDSA revolution, when in the wee hours of the m0orning Marcos had announced his 1081 over the radio; through Pacquiao's defeat of Morales on ABS-CBN's delayed telecast. His late hours have buffered the stirrings of America's democracy, when CNN covered Obama's speech live and this side of the world caught wind of african-american pride over lunch.
he hadn't been awake fr much of anything. He was asleep on the pew during his eldest's confirmation ceremony; he was asleep in the backseat of their rusty Tamaraw FX during last christmas' Tagaytay outing.
He marks his sixty-seven years in verses. Someday, he hopes these verses will evolve into a song then, maybe, Mang Simo will sing them, all baritones and fancy guitar-plucking, in one of his five-set-a-week performances in the local Bar En Grill.