My Ninang, who is really my aunt, Florida dela Torre, sends me toys from that city when I was young. Holding that ATARI console in hands, I wonder how Chicago looks like and how it is living there. Every time I see an airplane, I always wave my hand and shouts "Ninang! Ninang! Or Tita Paning! Tita Paning!" and I would continue playing after that. I promise myself with my cousin Chris that someday we will conquer Chicago and watch a Bulls game. The first time I saw my Ninang was when I graduated in elementary. She left the Philippines when I was 4 years old. In spite of the distance, I regard her as my second mom. We have long talks over the phone and we often exchange correspondence. The last time we were in the Philippines was when she celebrated her surprise 60th birthday. A year after that I left for NY.
When I came here in the US, she is so excited to buy me a ticket for the holy week break in 2009. She almost did but decided to postpone my trip because I still yet to finish my house hunting. That Easter Sunday. I succumbed to a heart attack. When I told Ninang I am coming his year she can't help but reminisce what happ ened two years ago. This year we have to finish the unfinished business.
I arrived at O'Hare with Ninang having a bunch of pink flowers in her ha nds. I literally grabbed them from he
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