Headlines for Sunday:
|A||_||Evening performance, Artist as Filipino|
Intramuros. The Walled City. I savor the sounds and sensations of the old Spanish names rolling off my tongue. Baluarte de Santa Barbara, Baluarte de San Miguel. As we walk along the weathered walls, I shiver thinking of the histories these stones have seen. Here Rizal wrote his farewell poem before he joined the ranks of the Philippines' martyrs. There the prisoners were kept during the Japanese occupation. Oh, I've been to older places: temples in Japan, museums in France, graveyards in the US... But it's different when a history is *your own*, when you recognize the names and stories from the textbooks of your childhood, when you catch a glimpse of your heritage.
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