I  came across these articles while taking a “break”.

A newborn was found inside a carrier by schoolchildren. If you have Faith, then you’d say this child has a Super Being looking after her. It’s so cold today, it could have within a few hours of exposure. If you don’t have Faith, then she’s very lucky indeed.

Now they’re looking for the mum as she might be bleeding etc. The report says the child might be of Black or Asian descent. And now that sort of gives me a little comfort that it’s not Pinoy. They mean either african or middle eastern.

Still point is you wouldn’t think cases like these happen in “developed” countries.

On a lighter note, have you read that article written by a Brit in Pinas where he dissects our eating habit and penchant for “weird names” like Lingling, Lovely, Randy etc?

Anyway, I don’t have the time to trawl thru my emails archive but there was such an article being passed around some years ago.

And today Yahoo wrote about the UK (and US) “weird names” and I tell you these are definitely curse-worthy. Come on, Bill Board? Annette Curtain? And the best Doug Hole?

To think I already pitied this baby christened Alejo Alejo.

You cannot avoid talking about the past during reunions. According to my ditse, she couldn’t believe I remember so many details. I get this reaction all the time. Some probably think I am making them up, but I don’t.

Some of my memories go back to when I was as young as three I think.

That early memory is of my Tatay chasing me around our dinner table, an office table from NIA and our only piece of “furniture”. I thought it was a game, but I apparently made him furious, he was after me to give me a good spanking. I remember jumping to Nanay’s lap and trying to hide under skirts.

I love my memories. These are my only companions when I feel alone and isolated from the rest of the world. I tell and retell them to myself, trying to describe everything as it was when they happened. The scene, the atmosphere, my feelings, my reactions and if I could, how others reacted.

I re-live each moment and sometimes I can still feel the emotion I felt at the time.

The captive audience would often comment I tell the stories very well. That I lived a very interesting life. A close friend in Uni once said she wished her life was as colourful as mine.

But I don’t see my life experiences as special or unique. They are certainly special to me, however I do not tell them to impress or boast or look for pity.

I tell them because it makes me feel alive.

It’s always been in my nature since I can remember, to always “review” my life. Perhaps that comes with being emotional (read: nuts).

Last year, I’ve resolved to start writing these down. Because I do fear losing them. Like the way I lost my passion for poetry.

So that’s a warning, you’ll re-live these with me.