Memories. Languages.

Went tobogganing with little kids today. Everyone slid down the slippery, snowy slope on plastic sleds — even the eight-month-old boy, who licked the snowflakes that fell onto his lips.


I am eight years old. I take old candles and old crayons, scrub them onto one side of a small, thick wooden board. Then I flip it over, sit on the unwaxed side, knees tucked under my chin, bare feet flat on the board. I wear my rubber slippers on my hands, use them for control as I slide down the inclined, paved street.


Me: Ano ang kuliglig?
Sis: Wart!
Bro1: Hinde, cricket!
Sis: Eh ano yung wart?!
Me: Kulugo.

Bro2: Diba dati tinatanggalan natin ng palakpak [yung insektong] yun?
Me: Ano sa Tagalog ang wing?
Bro2: Hindi ko alam!
Bro1: Pakpak! Palpak.

Mom: Namimintas ka nanaman.
Bro2: Namimintas, diba yun yung pag nagha-harvest sa trees?
Me: Namimitas yun.


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