Bebe

Mama and cousin Eve often wax nostalgic about Roman Catholicism, evident when we have pasta meals at home. They are both converts to Protestantism. My late father Frank (or Jun) was the pioneer in my extended family, largely Roman Catholic, for conversion. Also, my paternal grandmother Lydia followed. My maternal grandfather Macario was already a Protestant of the United Church of Christ. He read literature from Baptists under Papa's influence. My Roman Catholic maternal grandmother Bebe was happy-go-lucky and couldn't care less about these things. My paternal grandfather Pito (Francisco) listened to Papa's witnessing and was proselytized to even at the death bed, when he died in his seventies.

I tripped in the alleyway in the darkness, as I crashed my knees on the asphalt. There was a wooden board that covered a wire between houses across the alleyway. It was very dark there at night. My eyeglasses fell off my face. Luckily, a Cantonese labourer with a flashlight helped me. My knees just got scraped. I remember another time when I crashed on my knees. It was at Don José Heights in Quezon City in the Philippines. There was a vastness of Martianesque red soil, wherein the "talahib" grass grew. Sometimes, workers intentionally set the grass on fire. My brother and I were still playing, even then, outside. We were still prepubescent. Near burning grass, I stumbled on my knees. My grandmother, Lola Bebe, was so angry. A maid washed my legs in the big tiled sink behind the garage.