Currently Reading: Dreams From My Father, by Barack Obama

She still has that lump on her right temple.  She feels skittish about it, wondering if that’s the kind of injury that recurs, years later, as a tumor.

On the other hand, she likes to think that the bruising around her right eye is starting to fade.

The last eight days are the longest self has ever felt this ugly.  She has to go all the way back to her freshman year in high school, when she had very long, straight hair and glasses, to recall feeling similar levels of ugly.

On the positive side, self is hugely enjoying Obama’s Dreams From My Father:  A Story of Race and Inheritance.

In the passage she’s just finished reading, Obama notices a series of oval-shaped scars on his Indonesian stepfather’s legs and asks, “What are those?”

“Leech marks,” he said.  “From when I was in New Guinea.   They crawl inside your hiking books while you’re hiking through the swamps.  At night, when you take off your socks, they’re stuck there, fat with blood.  You sprinkle salt on them and they die, but you still have to dig them out with a hot knife.”

I ran my finger up one of the oval grooves.  It was smooth and hairless where the skin had been singed.  I asked Lolo if it had hurt.

“Of course it hurt,” he said, taking a sip from the jug.  “Sometimes you can’t worry about hurt.  Sometimes you worry only about getting where you have to go.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Sunday Night, Lacson Street: A Parade of Giant Puppets

Self had never seen anything quite like it in her entire life:  Down Lacson Street this evening were a parade of giant puppets wielded by groups of schoolchildren.  A cousin explained  that each puppet was the project of one class.  The whimsy, the creativity were simply spectacular!

Here are a few examples:

The parade was just so incredibly fun!

Prizes went to the most creative puppets.

The street felt completely different from midnight Saturday, when self went walking (actually, inching along would be more like it) and was overwhelmed by the crush of bodies and the contact with a thoughtless man’s glowing cigarette.  Now, this Sunday night, it really did feel like a festival.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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