The Piano
Our beautiful house in Cubao, where I grew up, was finally sold. It will be turned into a paper factory. As long as I do not return to #47 16th Avenue, the same house shall remain as is in my memory. That is how I want it to be.
My father who is now enjoying his retirement (he teaches college part time) in the hustle and bustle free Palawan islands gave me the old piano my late mother loved so much. They make beautiful music together. She takes care of it like a soldier takes care of his rifle. I remember how upset she was over my piano teacher when she made scratches on the keyboard cover as a result of tapping her pen on it while trying hard to grind the lesson piece into my hard head. Normally, one would take my dad’s offer enthusiastically, but unlike the other valuable furnitures that were gone in 60 seconds, there were no takers for the piano. So my dad had to give it to me.
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- Published:
- August 26, 2007 / 7:55 pm
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- Life
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