While everyone else is commemmorating the World Trade Center (or should be), self is remembering the fact that tomorrow is Ying’s birthday.
It’s also the day she passed away, a year ago, in Tel Aviv.
My mother had stepped out of the room for a moment, my brother was taking his son to breakfast: she passed away peacefully. A nurse noted the time of death and went looking for my mother to tell her. Ah, what a loss. Ying, companion of my adventures (Angkor Wat, Bangkok, Bohol, Cebu, Divisoria, the Salcedo Village Farmers Market, Scout Limbaga and Timog Avenue) and staunch champion of self’s writing.
She said she wanted to go to India and live on an ashram. And then she found out she was pregnant with Anita.
When she died, it was the morning of Sept. 11 in Tel Aviv.
Which means, right now.