Thursday, June 5, 2014


Artist, Filmmaker, Writer, Martial Arts Fighter, Son, Brother, Him.

I can't recall a day when my only son, DUANE, pestered me with annoying wails of brattiness. He's always been a peaceful, quiet, fun-loving kid. A Deep Purple rocker would rock him to sleep (turn the volume low, he'd wake up), a crumpled piece of bond paper was his little canvas where he'd scrawl his little investigations of life, a mere kick of an MC Hammer hip hop would send him bouncing all over wherever, whenever. When I come home from work, I'd bring my kids anything—toys or candies or books... Duane would first offer his to his sisters and if they prefer his, he'd gladly offer what was supposedly his. He was the child who'd nicely ask his aunt or uncle whenever they buy them something in a mall: “Tita, you don't have to buy me anything, you already bought a lot for my sisters.” After all these years, I ask myself, “What have I given my son?” I've given him his life. When that tiny hand of life clutched mine as he wailed out to the world when he was born, I knew it was the greatest gift that was. I can lose anything, anywhere, anytime—but I'd never break and crumble and crush if it's not about my son and my children...

NOTE: It is June 6, his birthday, in the Philippines at this moment. The Pacific Islands side of Asia is 12 hours ahead of US East Coast time.

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