tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133186643530402962023-10-03T01:43:39.150-07:00Altheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10699165182461198057noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13318664353040296.post-58889568882779407232020-12-28T04:36:00.002-08:002020-12-28T04:39:28.964-08:00

We didn't die. We were children in the 1980s and left many times to our own devices for lengths of time utterly unthinkable these days. When my siblings and I and our cousins talk about our childhood, one invariably says, "Thank God nothing bad happened to us." They all have their own children now, and we all say what most every generation says about their growing up years: Times were different

Altheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10699165182461198057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13318664353040296.post-87661995980421934892020-12-16T21:51:00.010-08:002020-12-16T22:14:38.753-08:00

When I was four years old, I transferred to a big Catholic school in Alabang Hills for kindergarten. Before then, I had gone with a cousin to a neighborhood preschool in a village next to where we lived, so near that I could forget my lunch bag at home and someone could easily bring it to me in time for recess. My new school was carved out of ten hectares of rolling terrain that had a hill, a

Altheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10699165182461198057noreply@blogger.com1