The Continuing Saga of Self in Bacolod

In Dreams From My Father:  A Story of Race and Inheritance, Barack Obama writes:

What is a family?  Is it just a genetic chain, parents and offspring, people like me?  Or is it a social construct, an economic unit, optimal for child rearing and divisions of labor?  Or is it something else entirely:  a store of shared memories, say?  An ambit of love?  A reach across the void?

One thing about America:  You make your own family.  It can consist of a cat, a dog, a beloved teacher, a neighbor or neighbors, your best college chums, your editor(s), your publisher(s), your friendly local librarian —  the permutations are bewildering and endless.

Self was in the Daku Balay again.  She even braved the inner sanctum and took pictures of a few of the employees of the family corporation, Genen.

The cutest secretary in the Daku Balay. Today must have been “Casual Wednesday” — all the secretaries were dressed in their regular clothes (i.e., not in their office uniforms)

The secretaries invited self to share their lunch of what looked like chicken fingers. The food came from Jollibee. In all honesty, self could not partake of their modest repast without huge pangs of guilt. They talked about how wonderful it was when, last March, self brought over seven pizzas from Bob’s. It turned out not to be enough.

Self promised to bring over 10 boxes of pizza, next time.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.


  1. October 31, 2012 at 6:32 pm

    As someone who has decided never to go back to Burma, your time in Bacolod is proving quite emotional even for me to travel vicariously through you “home”.

    I used to “go home to” Boulder, CO, Thailand, and now TX and Philadelphia.

    Oh, and sometimes Chicago.

    But it’s true, in America you can set up a home anywhere.

    In the worst phase of my life in mid 90s, when my marriage and country all fell through simultaneously, I went to flea markets and bought 2 water color paintings, several pieces of cut work embroidery and a knife with a bone handle like the one my father used to butter his bread with.

    I then wrote about 350+ poems, a play, an allegory in the form of a poem, and I felt better again.


  2. October 31, 2012 at 10:52 pm

    Oh, Kyi! Your comment “I then wrote about 350+ poems . . . ” made me laugh! You are a true inspiration.

Leave a Reply to Kyi May Kaung Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

John's Space .....

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

nancy merrill photography

capturing memories one moment at a time

Asian Cultural Experience

Preserving the history and legacy of Salinas Chinatown

Rantings Of A Third Kind

The Blog about everything and nothing and it's all done in the best possible taste!

Sauce Box

Never get lost in the Sauce

GK Dutta

Be One... Make One...

Cee's Photo Challenges

Teaching the art of composition for photography.

Fashion Not Fear

Fueling fearlessness through style and inspiration.

Wanderlust and Wonderment

My writing and photo journey of inspiration and discovery


Decades of her words.

John Oliver Mason

Observations about my life and the world around me.

Insanity at its best!

Yousuf Bawany's Blog


Any old world uncovered by new writing

unbolt me

the literary asylum

CSP Archives

Archive of the CSP

The 100 Greatest Books Challenge

A journey from one end of the bookshelf to the other

Random Storyteller

A crazy quilt of poems, stories, and humor by Catherine Hamrick

%d bloggers like this: