Mom ruined my stack of books, photocopies, magazines and Philippine Star cut-outs and so I was doomed the whole morning to sort out what my mom termed as “stupid junkies” and what I value as I value my boobs. But guess what---upon arranging my “treasures,” I found the hackneyed drafts of my essays. In the afternoon, I reread them all.

Hmn... I am not a bad writer at all.

I did make sense in my works.

I am blessed with this talent.

Glory be to God, indeed!