I received an email about a lady whose handbag was stolen, with her cellphone, credit cards, purse and other important documents in it. When she was able to get in touch with her husband, he said that he received a text message from her asking abut their pin number. He gave the information. They discovered later that their money in the bank was withdrawn. (more…)
First off, let’s get things straight — no, I didn’t write this one, and, in my defense, my wife made me post it =). If I sound defensive, you’ll know why when you get to the end of the – how to call it, poem? This is one of those emails currently going around and I’d be more than glad to attribute authorship if someone steps up.) (more…)
I heard the news when it broke out, but I wasn’t that bothered — until I saw the photos. 8 people died in a massacre in Calamba, Laguna. according to reports, “the gunman aimlessly rained shots at four separate residences.” In a separate incident, 10 people died in an RCBC bank robbery. “The victims were made to line up and shot in the head,” according to reports. Here’s a photo of the RCBC robbery-massacre. You’re warned about the graphic nature of the picture, so please proceed at your own risk. Note that all victims are made to lie down, with no gunshot wounds on their body — just the head, execution style. (more…)
First off, let’s get things straight — no, I didn’t write this one, and, in my defense, my wife made me post it.
If I sound defensive, you’ll know why when you get to the end of the — how to call it — poem? If you’re impatient to read the entire section without prior warning, here’s why: It’s mushy. This is one of those emails currently going around and I’d be more than glad to attribute authorship if someone steps up. (more…)
The headlines these past days have been all about rice. I know rice, and not simply because I don’t feel satisfied eating without rice, just like any Filipino. Many years ago, while growing up in the province, I would walk the pilapil of rice paddies with ease, something which would probably come in handy when I try the “sangkilo” bridge at Isdaan. We have a modest tract of ricefield, with produce sufficient to last the family, and some, until the next harvest season. Just like any child, I loved playing with, and in, the ricefield mud, and I refused to understand, way back then, why such pleasure would merit punishment from my mother. I have cultivated rice — from the preparation of the field, preparing the seeds, planting, weeding, harvesting until milling. (more…)
