More articles about: essay

 
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In "The Fancy Dancer," essayist Jack Wigley remembers dancing with prostitutes.
I didn’t know that these girls, who were good to me and mother, were prostitutes. I just thought about them as my aunts.I was in grade four when Mother rented a barbecue space along Fields Avenue in Balibago. When my parents separated and ...
 
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In "Leaving Baby," Earnest Mangulabnan Zabala writes about what it's like to grow up an orphan of Martial Law.
I have always imagined it to be a unanimous decision: that moment when my activist parents decided to “give away” their baby daughter for safekeeping.I imagine their shared glances as soon as they heard Martial Law declared on the radio; they must ...
 
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What an ill-conceived marriage proposal has in common with the Holocaust.
So this happened last week: A young man in love was dragged away by policemen, ostensibly as part of Oplan Tokhang. His girlfriend, along with a small crowd of bystanders, try to stand in the way of the uniformed officers, asking for ...
 
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In high school, I often glimpsed actress Gina Alajar strolling on the street tangent to ours and felt an aching whenever she passed.
“They say the mayfly lives only for a day. Pity the mayfly born on a wet day,” writes the bard. I say pity the mayfly born anywhere in San Juan, Metro Manila, on St. John the Baptist Day. When I was growing ...
 
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Never forget the viral Harry Potter and Marcos analogy when seemingly silly tweets demand you to think, looking beyond rhetoric, and see the distortion of truth.
After the shockingly swift burial of the dictator Ferdinand Marcos in the Libingan ng mga Bayani in Taguig last November 18, 2016, we saw how collective dissent and anger against this injustice was brought not only to the streets but to the ...
 
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Life in the city never shuts up. How can we find some much needed quiet time and real, undistracted human interaction?
This was originally published in our April 2013 issue.Find me a quiet place: a public area that isn't in some far-flung part of the Philippines, a place that isn’t abandoned, uninhabited, or a graveyard. Find me a place to recover from the ...
 
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It's the best type of marketing, and we fall for it every time because when we reminisce about what we eat, we can't help but remember everything else.
My only child does not have a photo album. I have taken countless pictures from the time she was a bump in my belly up to, well, last night at my nephew's birthday party where she happily stuffed her two-year-old face with ...
 
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"You are many things and this car has seen better days."
You will sit in the passenger’s seat, and outside the street will glow red with the multitude that crawl northward, away from the emptying city. Maybe it will flash yellow, from the lights that flicker above us as we speed towards our ...