Memory Recall – Petromax
The hissing of pumped air, the sweet putrid aroma of alcohol and kerosene, the spark of the red-tipped match that started it all, and the beginning of night in a far-flung village detached from the gallows of city lights.
Memoirs and songs.
The hissing of pumped air, the sweet putrid aroma of alcohol and kerosene, the spark of the red-tipped match that started it all, and the beginning of night in a far-flung village detached from the gallows of city lights.
For most of my life, I had wanted to be a priest. But didn’t become one. I remember when my grade three teacher in España, Sibuyan Island, Romblon, Mrs. Roldan, asked us to write down what we would like to become someday. In the dimly lit […]