My dad tells a story about that house of rice. There was a hole, he says, and the grains of rice fell from that hole. Little bit by little bit, the rice was disappearing. During wartime this was bad because food was scarce and there were so many mouths to feed. There was my lolo, lola, my dad and his sister and brothers.
When my lolo found out about the hole in the floor, he also discovered the neighbors had placed baskets underneath the falling rice.
My dad loved the ending of this story. Did my lolo confront his neighbors?
Let them have it, he said. We have plenty.
This story that we grew up on, influenced my dad and the way he lived. He had a supply of rice in his big heart. And there was also a little hole. And so many baskets catching every grain of rice.
Three months today we lost you, Daddio. I offer this little bowl of rice to you. Maraming salamat, po. Mahal na mahal kita.
