We’re already jolly-jumping like what we always do in welcoming the New Year. Believing in superstitions to invite good fortune. With an empty biscuit can, grandma drumming her heart out with a wooden ladle like a rock star; and we jump with each beat until our legs become very sloppy. On polka dots, dad opens all the windows of our house and makes the coins in his pockets rattle – complementing the music in full volume. Mom wrestling with frying pans, steel pots, and a pressure cooker in the kitchen sink. A fruit salad, an arroz caldo, and a pineapple-glazed ham are slated for the Media Noche.
her little fingers
skipping some numbers
Far from home. I am alone at my condominium, in solitude, welcoming the New Year.
On the balcony, from soft to loud, the crackling sound of pyro brings me to the present.
The weight of a heavy heart and an overworked body dissipating. . .
The vastness of citylights from here brings forth thoughts of what it used to be at home.
the slow descent of
Saturday 24 June 2023
Debut Flash: 'Five Minutes to Midnight' by Anthony Q. Rabang
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A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...