I have never really hugged my father. It’s only now that I’ve put my arms around him. But that’s to help walk him up to the bathroom.
The pain has reduced his range to barely a few steps off of hospital bed.
We are in the closing days of his final stand vs the big C. An absolute triumph is close at hand.
News of his passing found me in Baguio city. Where the nippy air brings back stories from the past.
The earthquake of 1990 brought us together here in Baguio city. He was the seismologist, I was the usisero. We photowalked the city in ruins.
Our first and only.
Here is my epicly-poor portraiture of my father (left) in action along Session Road. Buried in his Pentax MX.
The same camera which infected me to photography.
I photowalked Session Road before heading back to Manila. To find us both among the crowd maybe. But that was twenty-seven years ago.
Such a long long time ago.