The Shape of Words: Breakfast

When I was a boy, my lolo used to take me to the shore before dawn so we can catch the fishermen who just returned from the sea. First, we’ll have our breakfast of pandesal and kape (Milo for me), then we’d walk to the beach and wait for the fisherfolk to get first dibs on their bounty.

Then we’d take home the freshest crabs, squids, shrimps, and fish (some of them still alive) and cook some for a second breakfast — this time with rice, vinegar laced with garlic, and buko juice too if I’m lucky. My lolo would read his newspaper (there was never a day without it in his house) while he listened to the loud news commentary from Bombo Radyo. He was big — he towered over other men, sported a military haircut, and had a no-nonsense demeanor. He was someone that people listened to, and they never failed to greet him on the street.

I finish my second breakfast, run outside for a whole day of tumbang preso, stealing kamias, getting innumerable scrapes from tumbling down the next canal, and having the best Summer a boy could ask for.