It is the multi-colored sago beads floating on the pinkish, melted ice shavings in a left-over halo-halo.
The buzzing of mosquitoes on your ears on a warm summer night.
Blaring soap-opera sounds out of the windows of every nearby homes.
Off-key voices, singing all time favorite videoke pieces.
Sunburns, dried sand sticking on a pair of worned-out tsinelas.
Sticky hairs from too much sun and saltwater.
Whiff of dried fish mixed with the tangy smell of vinegar and soy-sauce on a crisp morning.
Clothes and pillowcases and blankets hanging on the clothesline. The meeting of the glittering blue of the waters, and the soft blue of the skies.
The bursting of pink and orange and yellow and peach and purple on a setting sun.
It is the tasty fish balls downed with a bottle of chilled coke.
The loud colors of hanging banderitas, body paints on tanned skins, beatings of the drum that match the beatings of your own heart, and dancing….dancing everywhere.
The first bite on a saccharine water melon, or the thirsty gulp of pure coconut juice.
The intricately painted jeepneys, jam-packed with local tourist heading for the beach.
The steady buzz of the pump boat’s engine against the crashing of the waves.
Plump shrimps and inviting crabs.
Footsteps of the Floristas on a humid May afternoon.
Familiar voices, singing Hiligaynon Flores de Mayo songs. Latin prayers.
Dried flowers dumped on the corner of the dusty barrio chapel, from yesterday’s offering.
Pinas’ summer is for family, for pictures, and umbrellas…and memories.
Pinas’ summer is for gratitude, for the happy shades of green and blue.
Pinas’ summer, is always, always for going home.
The bursting of pink and orange and yellow and peach and purple on a setting sun.
It is the tasty fish balls downed with a bottle of chilled coke.
The loud colors of hanging banderitas, body paints on tanned skins, beatings of the drum that match the beatings of your own heart, and dancing….dancing everywhere.
The first bite on a saccharine water melon, or the thirsty gulp of pure coconut juice.
The intricately painted jeepneys, jam-packed with local tourist heading for the beach.
The steady buzz of the pump boat’s engine against the crashing of the waves.
Plump shrimps and inviting crabs.
Footsteps of the Floristas on a humid May afternoon.
Familiar voices, singing Hiligaynon Flores de Mayo songs. Latin prayers.
Dried flowers dumped on the corner of the dusty barrio chapel, from yesterday’s offering.
Pinas’ summer is for family, for pictures, and umbrellas…and memories.
Pinas’ summer is for gratitude, for the happy shades of green and blue.
Pinas’ summer, is always, always for going home.
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