he was a survivor.
his parents were both victims of Mayon volcano's wrath in 1961. they were at their farm in Albay when disaster struck while he was then in calauag, quezon at his aunt's home.
naturally, he was adopted and raised there, and as a normal kid got 'entangled' with boys his age.
he bathed and fished in its rivers and ponds, slid in its mountain inclines with palm-fronds, picked shells in its beaches, biked on its sidestreets, smelt its lumberyard's aroma of sawdusts and its market's tanginess.
he existed there.
but not everytime was playday. in order not to be a burden to his aunt, the boy did odd-jobs: to support the daily needs, and to produce 'baon' (which was often, bread) by peddling plastic housewares displayed in a kariton (cart), and on different parts of the day, selling bread.
by that, he practically set his sandalled feet on every nook and cranny of the town, his face a familiar feature in their everyday lives.
he sold pandesal in the early morning, pan de coco (bread with sweetened young coconut) in later part of the morning, pan-legaspi (bread cooked with condensed milk) at coffee breaks, and bonete (bread shaped like a bonnet!) in the early part of the evening. he could have sold balut too, except that his aunt disapproved of it because most buyers were drunk.
he graduated grade-school near the bottom of his class, happy with his passing grades.
for him, it was an achievement.
