A Pagudpud weekend [OWM]

No, I did not go to Pagudpud recently. This photo was taken more than a decade ago when my friends and I went on a road trip to Pagudpud for our summer holiday. This particular beach is at Saud Beach Resort.

I feel nostalgic after I saw this photo and thought about the good times we had in that road trip. About two weeks ago, we got together again after 7 years. A bit older and wiser, and happier, I hope. Jo came home from Canada with her 2 kids after 7 years; Marcel joined us for dinner with her 7-year old daughter. We laughed and talked about old friends, children, my dog, our lives, our jobs and the future. It was great to break bread with you guys again.

Posted for Our Weekend Memoirs

Nostalgia [OWM & WS]

There is nothing special about this beach, in fact, I've never been here for almost two decades. But that weekend after we buried our grandmother, my siblings, cousins and I, had a sentimental yearning to see the beach of our childhood. This is where we frolicked during summer vacations, learned how to swim, chased hermit crabs, watched sunsets and dreamed of the world beyond Guimaras Strait. This stretch of seashore was our playground, from the Kissing Rocks to this rustic resort. Nothing has changed around here except for a wider beach erosion, and the owner as well as the nipa huts got older. The simplicity of life here is achingly sweet and familiar.

stroll to Kissing Rocks

the old Talisay is still standing

my cousins talking about the good ol' days

Posted for Our Weekend Memoirs and Weekend Snapshot

A boy in red - Ruby Tuesday

A boy in red and his comrades hanging out at the Kissing Rocks, a rocky tip of a cove in my hometown.

Posted for Ruby Tuesday

Kissing Rocks - Watery Wednesday

This place was our playground when we were kids---a small rocky tip of a cove locals call "kabatuan". In my teenage years, I heard people call this place "Kissing Rocks", referring to two huge rocks behind the mangrove that moved closer through years of wave action. But my friends and I credited the name to the fact that lovers rendezvoused at these rocks before sunset. I returned to this place on Monday morning with my siblings and cousins to reminisce the countless summers our grandmother brought us here. We buried our grandmother, Lola Fanny, on Sunday afternoon. She was 97.

Posted for Watery Wednesday

Espresso yourself...

Black as the devil, Hot as hell, Pure as an angel, Sweet as love.

Surrendering to coffee is one of my life's pleasures, and sharing a cup of coffee with friends fills me with nostalgic sentiments. Sometimes a cup of coffee is more than just a cup of coffee. Its familiar taste and aroma can take one back to childhood, to a place of comfort where a mother, aunt or grandparent served up kindness along with a rich, steaming mug of barako.

I always believe that I was bottle-fed not with milk but with coffee when I was a baby. Coffee molecules stir up my blood, stimulate my mind, and warm my heart. And what's office and showbiz gossips would be like without cups of coffee being shared in the pantry?

I remember the air of quiet anticipation in my grandmother’s kitchen when I was a kid. Native coffee was brewing 24/7…aunts and uncles and their friends were having coffee at all times. Passionate debates took place at my grandmother’s dining table over mugs of hot, black coffee. Plans were concocted, ideas expounded, tempers cooled and fears were calmed. I loved the fever of it all---voices rose and dissolved into sounds of hot steaming liquid being drank, all punctuated by hums of conversations.

Lola Fanny served us kids with a lighter brew and not without a warning that strong coffee would stunt our growth. My brothers and younger cousins would add steamed rice into their coffee while my sister and I would dip pandesal into our mugs. The warmth and essence of my Lola’s espresso was one of my childhood’s flavorful indulgences.

Note: the photo is not mine