about the talking fish

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Writer. Wheelman. Occasional DIY mechanic. Walking collection of hang-ups. Hopeless romantic. Old-school. Analog soul in a digital world. I am all of these things and more.

Sunday, April 21, 2002

We had my relatives over here for lunch, instead of our usual "hangout," my grandma's house in Caloocan. Never quite thought that hosting would be such a chore. Partly because I didn't expect so many of my usually missing-in-action aunts/uncles/cousins to come over. We prepared an absolute feast.

My mom was too tired to realize that there were too many people for our rented tables -- she never even got to take a bath or freshen up before they all came over. My dad was more talkative than usual, mostly due to the indoor drinking spree my uncles invited him into. My sister was helping along and entertaining the little rascals I call my younger cousins. I in turn was trying my best to avoid my cousins fighting over my PlayStation and their chances of being next to play Street Fighter Zero 3 or Tekken 3. I really really didn't want my cousins to play those games, knowing how quickly their squabbles turn into screamfests.

Thank God the day's over. What a mess. At least it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd turn out.

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