Saturday, March 20

The lolas are leaving.

Or perhaps not. Earlier this week, there was this tribute party to those over 65, and a lot of them were literally lolas. I first knew some of them as teachers in my undergrad, and I couldn’t imagine them sporting anything other than a head of white hair or those balloon skirts, and they somehow all nod off in class, no matter what time of day it was. Anyhow, that afternoon, we were told how in the olden days, when Diliman was new and the lolas were fiery, one of them decided to elope. Yes, elope. Nagtanan. Complete with ladders and ropes and jumping out second floor windows, hoping that the parents don’t notice that they’re lugging away tons of clothing. Elopements sound exciting. It would be hard to do that if you lived in the middle of Ortigas, or like me, on a silong of an old house near the river. A new badge of courage for that one. Who would have thought she was some fiery goddess when you look at her now, frail and lola-like?

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