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Here are 7 marriage practices worth perfecting:

Practice Kind Words. Learning to speak with kindness? It’s a day by day choice. When you flub up, back up,
apologize and say it nicer. You might even try doing a filter check before letting the words slip between your lips.

Practice Saying Yes. A new technique in the bedroom? It’s bound to feel awkward the first few times, but how fun it
is when it becomes more natural and it’s something to look forward to. (I have to admit it’s a major rush when you
can routinely wow your husband).

Practice Generosity. Giving without expectation. That is oftentimes one of the most challenging parts of a
relationship. But it is also one of the most freeing. Being generous doesn’t have to take a lot of work. Kiss your
sweetie 10 seconds instead of 2. It’s the little things that matter most.

Practice Marital Success. One of the smartest things couples can do is to mirror their marriages after couples
successfully married for decades. Do you know a couple happily married for more than 25 years? They’re a great
place to start. And if not, there are 50 inspiring ones here.

Practice Listening. Hearing your husband’s heart? Ask a question. Listen. Ask another question. When you find a
good question, hold on to it. Husbands can change over time, so the adventure never ends.

Practice Loving…Even Better. Which one of us could say we have no need to be loved a little more? Is there even
such a thing? When you practice loving your spouse….even better, the most wonderful thing happens: They return
the love.

Practice Teamwork. Teamwork makes the dream work. My husband and I have teamed up for years encouraging
married couples. Paul’s site, The Generous Husband, and mine, The Generous Wife, have been two of the greatest
blessings of our lives. Never underestimate the power of teaming up on everything from little to out of this world.

Never let a clumsy start scare you off. It’s just the start of the process that will get you to accomplishment. Keep at
it. Practice and practice some more fittest. Only the strong survive.

MARRIAGE

Once you reach a certain age or a certain amount of time spent with the same partner, especially as a woman,
friends and family will inevitably start asking questions about marriage or even downright pressure you into taking
this step. But is getting married such a good idea? I believe not, since, nowadays, at least in the developed
countries, it doesn’t bring truly valuable benefits.

Marriage is no longer necessary legally or practically. Once upon a time, for a woman, getting married meant
ensuring financial security and gaining access to a variety of legal rights they wouldn’t dream of otherwise. But
now, in the modern world, years after the feminist movement has established legal rights for women, we no longer
need marriage to get access to certain benefits. Nowadays, women are highly educated and actually constitute the
majority of the workforce in the US. Furthermore, we no longer require a marriage license to be allowed to visit our
partner in the hospital, and, for a lot of us, getting married doesn’t even imply a tax break.

Marriage does not guarantee fidelity. Many people get married hoping that the sanctity of marriage will reduce the
chances of being cheated on. But if your spouse doesn’t respect your relationship and is tempted to cheat, a piece
of paper will have no power in preventing infidelity. Actually, it seems that in around half of marriages, one of the
spouses will have an extra-marital relation at some point.
Marriage does not bring security in a relationship. There are too many people deciding to get married for the
wrong reason. And one of them is thinking that it will ensure that “until death do us part”. While this may have
been true a long time ago, or still is when it comes to very religious persons, marriage doesn’t ensure the security
of the relationships in many of the cases. Though the divorce in the US rate has seen ups and downs during the last
few years, it is still alarmingly higher compared to what it was a few decades ago. The only thing that will truly bring
security is having a strong relationship, based on trust, no matter the legal status.

Love is mysterious and magical, and it should stay that way. And marriage, by definition, is just a contract. The
beauty of love is that it is undefined, it is unique to you and your beloved one, and it is continually changing as you
grow together. I neither need nor want my love to be defined in legal terms.

Marriage has been part of one's life since the beginning of human evolution. A marriage is a commitment and unity
between two people. There are many different types of marriages, which are love, arranged, endogamy, exogamy,
and homogamy. An arranged marriage occurs when the marriage is arranged/fixed by parents, relatives, or close
friends. A love marriage occurs when two people fall in love and decide to get married. An endogamy marriage is
when you marry someone from the same social level.

The shared marriage is when both of the partners work and share household responsibilities. The dual-career
marriage occurs when both of the partners are committed to their career, which means that they do not start
having children until the later part of their lives. The least common role of marriage is the reverse conventional
marriage role, which is when you have a breadwinner wife and a homemaker husband. No matter what the role or
type of marriage it is, a marriage can not survive solely on love or commitment. In order for a marriage to last and
be successful, the partners need to have effective communication. They need to be able to give and receive
emotional support. They need to be able to resolve conflicts, develop satisfactory relationship with relatives, and
work out mutually acceptable allocations of household chores and responsibilities. A marriage can be lonely if the
husband and wife never learn to understand each other. So therefore, there may be different types of marriages,
different roles of marriages but all marriages must have love, commitment, intimacy and passion to survive.

ANNULMENT

Whenever the idea of marriage comes to mind, ultimately the first thing that we think of is the bond between two
people who made a promise to one another to share and nourish their lives together, regardless, of whatever
situation they may be in. It is believed that one of its most basic foundation is the love between the two. It is the
key ingredient in making a marriage grow and thrive throughout the years. However, if we look at today, marriages
have been broken or have been considered to be a mistake countless of times. Thus, paving way to the birth of the
lawful ending of one’s marriage called legal separation, divorce and annulment. If we were to describe each one of
them, legal separation can be defined as the separation of two persons legally; however, both are still considered to
be married, while divorce is the termination of the marriage, thus allowing the person to remarry. On the other
hand, annulment is the process in proving the marriage null and void.

In our country, annulment and legal separation are the only ways to separate one from his/her spouse (Fred, 2007).
Divorce, on the other hand, is not allowed because it is believed to be unnecessary and immoral against our culture
and values. However, if you were to ask me, I am in favor of the implementation of divorce because I believe that it
goes well with what a modern Filipino family is.
One of the major reasons why the country has not passed the divorce bill is because of the presence of annulment;
they think that annulment is enough to answer the problems on ending marriages in the country. However, they fail
to realize that annulment has specific grounds before a couple can file an annulment case. Some examples include
being married without parents’ consent, having mental and sexual illnesses during the marriage, fraud and others.
While these grounds may sound reasonable and just, however, it does not fully encompass the other reasons on
why marriages are broken today, such as being abusive to your spouse or practicing infidelity to one another or
simply not compatible with one another (McCloud 2006). With this in mind, we can conclude that annulment is
somewhat outdated for it does not recognize other problems that may arise and cause the end of marriages.

Moreover, annulment is an expensive process because one has to get a lawyer and pay mounds of paperwork for it.
Since Philippines is generally a poor country, being a third world country of having over 23 million out of 90 million
living under the poverty line (Wikipedia 2010), a lot of Filipinos are deprived of having the right to be separated
from one’s spouse because they simply cannot afford it, thus, forcing them to tolerate and stay into their “broken”
marriages.

DIVORCE

Today in America the divorce rate is growing as rapidly as the population. There are many causes of divorce such as
culture clashes, unfaithfulness-adultery, too young when married, lack of communication, job interference, and in-
law problems. Many effects that are seen from divorces are depression, suicide, drug and alcohol abuse, and a
dysfunctional family.

In a marriage, a culture mix can cause an extreme stir up between the husband and wife as well as the children.
Combining two different cultures raises many questions on how the kids should be raised, which customs are the
correct ones to follow, and many more. The culture clash is not noticed nearly as much until it comes time to raise
the children. The father wants the children raised with his culture, while the mother wants them raised how she
feels is right. This flares up arguments between the husband and wife, and also causes tension for the kids.
Together this can led itself to a family splitting up due to cultural differences.

A major and unpleasant cause of divorce is unfaithfulness between spouses. When one spouse commits adultery it
can easily and quickly tear up a marriage. This could be due to lack of trust, lost of interest, or the cheating spouse
choosing the "new" love. Being in this situation for either partner is never easy and when children are involved, the
situation only becomes worse. Sometimes with counseling it can be worked through, but when it is not fixable
deep hurt feelings are left behind for the innocent spouse to deal with.

When a young couple has fallen in love, often they will think that they are with the right person and will make an
impulsive decision to get married. Granted that sometimes these young and inexperienced couples do make the
correct decision, but more often they are not making a wise choice.

Wedding Dance By Amador Daguio


Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the headhigh threshold. Clinging to the
log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across to the narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped
inside, then pushed the cover back in place. After some moments during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the
listening darkness.

"I'm sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it."

The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house like muffled roars of falling waters. The woman
who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened had been hearing the gangsas for she did not know how
long. There was a sudden rush of fire in her. She gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving
in the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the middle of the room; he
knew exactly where the stove was. With bare fingers he stirred the covered smoldering embers, and blew into the
stove. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pine on them, then full round logs as his arms. The
room brightened.

"Why don't you go out," he said, "and join the dancing women?" He felt a pang inside him, because what he said
was really not the right thing to say and because the woman did not stir. "You should join the dancers," he said, "as
if--as if nothing had happened." He looked at the woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall.
The stove fire played with strange moving shadows and lights upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her
sullenness was not because of anger or hate.

"Go out--go out and dance. If you really don't hate me for this separation, go out and dance. One of the men will
see you dance well; he will like your dancing, he will marry you. Who knows but that, with him, you will be luckier
than you were with me."

"I don't want any man," she said sharply. "I don't want any other man."

He felt relieved that at least she talked: "You know very well that I won't want any other woman either. You know
that, don't you? Lumnay, you know it, don't you?"

She did not answer him.

"You know it Lumnay, don't you?" he repeated.

"Yes, I know," she said weakly.

"It is not my fault," he said, feeling relieved. "You cannot blame me; I have been a good husband to you."

"Neither can you blame me," she said. She seemed about to cry.

"No, you have been very good to me. You have been a good wife. I have nothing to say against you." He set some of
the burning wood in place. "It's only that a man must have a child. Seven harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we
have waited too long. We should have another chance before it is too late for both of us."

This time the woman stirred, stretched her right leg out and bent her left leg in. She wound the blanket more
snugly around herself.
"You know that I have done my best," she said. "I have prayed to Kabunyan much. I have sacrificed many chickens
in my prayers."

"Yes, I know."

"You remember how angry you were once when you came home from your work in the terrace because I
butchered one of our pigs without your permission? I did it to appease Kabunyan, because, like you, I wanted to
have a child. But what could I do?"

"Kabunyan does not see fit for us to have a child," he said. He stirred the fire. The spark rose through the crackles
of the flames. The smoke and soot went up the ceiling.

Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started to pull at the rattan that kept the split bamboo flooring in place.
She tugged at the rattan flooring. Each time she did this the split bamboo went up and came down with a slight
rattle. The gong of the dancers clamorously called in her care through the walls.

Awiyao went to the corner where Lumnay sat, paused before her, looked at her bronzed and sturdy face, then
turned to where the jars of water stood piled one over the other. Awiyao took a coconut cup and dipped it in the
top jar and drank. Lumnay had filled the jars from the mountain creek early that evening.

"I came home," he said. "Because I did not find you among the dancers. Of course, I am not forcing you to come, if
you don't want to join my wedding ceremony. I came to tell you that Madulimay, although I am marrying her, can
never become as good as you are. She is not as strong in planting beans, not as fast in cleaning water jars, not as
good keeping a house clean. You are one of the best wives in the whole village."

"That has not done me any good, has it?" She said. She looked at him lovingly. She almost seemed to smile.

He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and came closer to her. He held her face between his hands and looked
longingly at her beauty. But her eyes looked away. Never again would he hold her face. The next day she would not
be his any more. She would go back to her parents. He let go of her face, and she bent to the floor again and looked
at her fingers as they tugged softly at the split bamboo floor.

"This house is yours," he said. "I built it for you. Make it your own, live in it as long as you wish. I will build another
house for Madulimay."

"I have no need for a house," she said slowly. "I'll go to my own house. My parents are old. They will need help in
the planting of the beans, in the pounding of the rice."

"I will give you the field that I dug out of the mountains during the first year of our marriage," he said. "You know I
did it for you. You helped me to make it for the two of us."

"I have no use for any field," she said.

He looked at her, then turned away, and became silent. They were silent for a time.

"Go back to the dance," she said finally. "It is not right for you to be here. They will wonder where you are, and
Madulimay will not feel good. Go back to the dance."

"I would feel better if you could come, and dance---for the last time. The gangsas are playing."
"You know that I cannot."

"Lumnay," he said tenderly. "Lumnay, if I did this it is because of my need for a child. You know that life is not worth
living without a child. The man have mocked me behind my back. You know that."

"I know it," he said. "I will pray that Kabunyan will bless you and Madulimay."

She bit her lips now, then shook her head wildly, and sobbed.

She thought of the seven harvests that had passed, the high hopes they had in the beginning of their new life, the
day he took her away from her parents across the roaring river, on the other side of the mountain, the trip up the
trail which they had to climb, the steep canyon which they had to cross. The waters boiled in her mind in forms of
white and jade and roaring silver; the waters tolled and growled, resounded in thunderous echoes through the
walls of the stiff cliffs; they were far away now from somewhere on the tops of the other ranges, and they had
looked carefully at the buttresses of rocks they had to step on---a slip would have meant death.

They both drank of the water then rested on the other bank before they made the final climb to the other side of
the mountain.

She looked at his face with the fire playing upon his features---hard and strong, and kind. He had a sense of
lightness in his way of saying things which often made her and the village people laugh. How proud she had been of
his humor. The muscles where taut and firm, bronze and compact in their hold upon his skull---how frank his bright
eyes were. She looked at his body the carved out of the mountains five fields for her; his wide and supple torso
heaved as if a slab of shining lumber were heaving; his arms and legs flowed down in fluent muscles--he was strong
and for that she had lost him.

She flung herself upon his knees and clung to them. "Awiyao, Awiyao, my husband," she cried. "I did everything to
have a child," she said passionately in a hoarse whisper. "Look at me," she cried. "Look at my body. Then it was full
of promise. It could dance; it could work fast in the fields; it could climb the mountains fast. Even now it is firm, full.
But, Awiyao, I am useless. I must die."

"It will not be right to die," he said, gathering her in his arms. Her whole warm naked naked breast quivered against
his own; she clung now to his neck, and her hand lay upon his right shoulder; her hair flowed down in cascades of
gleaming darkness.

"I don't care about the fields," she said. "I don't care about the house. I don't care for anything but you. I'll have no
other man."

"Then you'll always be fruitless."

"I'll go back to my father, I'll die."

"Then you hate me," he said. "If you die it means you hate me. You do not want me to have a child. You do not
want my name to live on in our tribe."

She was silent.

"If I do not try a second time," he explained, "it means I'll die. Nobody will get the fields I have carved out of the
mountains; nobody will come after me."
"If you fail--if you fail this second time--" she said thoughtfully. The voice was a shudder. "No--no, I don't want you
to fail."

"If I fail," he said, "I'll come back to you. Then both of us will die together. Both of us will vanish from the life of our
tribe."

The gongs thundered through the walls of their house, sonorous and faraway.

"I'll keep my beads," she said. "Awiyao, let me keep my beads," she half-whispered.

"You will keep the beads. They come from far-off times. My grandmother said they come from up North, from the
slant-eyed people across the sea. You keep them, Lumnay. They are worth twenty fields."

"I'll keep them because they stand for the love you have for me," she said. "I love you. I love you and have nothing
to give."

She took herself away from him, for a voice was calling out to him from outside. "Awiyao! Awiyao! O Awiyao! They
are looking for you at the dance!"

"I am not in hurry."

"The elders will scold you. You had better go."

"Not until you tell me that it is all right with you."

"It is all right with me."

He clasped her hands. "I do this for the sake of the tribe," he said.

"I know," she said.

He went to the door.

"Awiyao!"

He stopped as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain he turned to her. Her face was in agony. It pained him to leave. She
had been wonderful to him. What was it that made a man wish for a child? What was it in life, in the work in the
field, in the planting and harvest, in the silence of the night, in the communing with husband and wife, in the whole
life of the tribe itself that made man wish for the laughter and speech of a child? Suppose he changed his mind?
Why did the unwritten law demand, anyway, that a man, to be a man, must have a child to come after him? And if
he was fruitless--but he loved Lumnay. It was like taking away of his life to leave her like this.

"Awiyao," she said, and her eyes seemed to smile in the light. "The beads!" He turned back and walked to the
farthest corner of their room, to the trunk where they kept their worldly possession---his battle-ax and his spear
points, her betel nut box and her beads. He dug out from the darkness the beads which had been given to him by
his grandmother to give to Lumnay on the beads on, and tied them in place. The white and jade and deep orange
obsidians shone in the firelight. She suddenly clung to him, clung to his neck as if she would never let him go.

"Awiyao! Awiyao, it is hard!" She gasped, and she closed her eyes and huried her face in his neck.

The call for him from the outside repeated; her grip loosened, and he buried out into the night.
Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then she went to the door and opened it. The moonlight struck her
face; the moonlight spilled itself on the whole village.

She could hear the throbbing of the gangsas coming to her through the caverns of the other houses. She knew that
all the houses were empty that the whole tribe was at the dance. Only she was absent. And yet was she not the
best dancer of the village? Did she not have the most lightness and grace? Could she not, alone among all women,
dance like a bird tripping for grains on the ground, beautifully timed to the beat of the gangsas? Did not the men
praise her supple body, and the women envy the way she stretched her hands like the wings of the mountain eagle
now and then as she danced? How long ago did she dance at her own wedding? Tonight, all the women who
counted, who once danced in her honor, were dancing now in honor of another whose only claim was that perhaps
she could give her husband a child.

"It is not right. It is not right!" she cried. "How does she know? How can anybody know? It is not right," she said.

Suddenly she found courage. She would go to the dance. She would go to the chief of the village, to the elders, to
tell them it was not right. Awiyao was hers; nobody could take him away from her. Let her be the first woman to
complain, to denounce the unwritten rule that a man may take another woman. She would tell Awiyao to come
back to her. He surely would relent. Was not their love as strong as the river?

She made for the other side of the village where the dancing was. There was a flaming glow over the whole place; a
great bonfire was burning. The gangsas clamored more loudly now, and it seemed they were calling to her. She was
near at last. She could see the dancers clearly now. The man leaped lightly with their gangsas as they circled the
dancing women decked in feast garments and beads, tripping on the ground like graceful birds, following their
men. Her heart warmed to the flaming call of the dance; strange heat in her blood welled up, and she started to
run. But the gleaming brightness of the bonfire commanded her to stop. Did anybody see her approach? She
stopped. What if somebody had seen her coming? The flames of the bonfire leaped in countless sparks which
spread and rose like yellow points and died out in the night. The blaze reached out to her like a spreading radiance.
She did not have the courage to break into the wedding feast.

Lumnay walked away from the dancing ground, away from the village. She thought of the new clearing of beans
which Awiyao and she had started to make only four moons before. She followed the trail above the village.

When she came to the mountain stream she crossed it carefully. Nobody held her hand, and the stream water was
very cold. The trail went up again, and she was in the moonlight shadows among the trees and shrubs. Slowly she
climbed the mountain.

When Lumnay reached the clearing, she cold see from where she stood the blazing bonfire at the edge of the
village, where the wedding was. She could hear the far-off clamor of the gongs, still rich in their sonorousness,
echoing from mountain to mountain. The sound did not mock her; they seemed to call far to her, to speak to her in
the language of unspeaking love. She felt the pull of their gratitude for her sacrifice. Her heartbeat began to sound
to her like many gangsas.

Lumnay though of Awiyao as the Awiyao she had known long ago-- a strong, muscular boy carrying his heavy loads
of fuel logs down the mountains to his home. She had met him one day as she was on her way to fill her clay jars
with water. He had stopped at the spring to drink and rest; and she had made him drink the cool mountain water
from her coconut shell. After that it did not take him long to decide to throw his spear on the stairs of her father's
house in token on his desire to marry her.
The mountain clearing was cold in the freezing moonlight. The wind began to stir the leaves of the bean plants.
Lumnay looked for a big rock on which to sit down. The bean plants now surrounded her, and she was lost among
them.

A few more weeks, a few more months, a few more harvests---what did it matter? She would be holding the bean
flowers, soft in the texture, silken almost, but moist where the dew got into them, silver to look at, silver on the
light blue, blooming whiteness, when the morning comes. The stretching of the bean pods full length from the
hearts of the wilting petals would go on.

Lumnay's fingers moved a long, long time among the growing bean pods.

MORNING IN NAGREBCAN

It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by
moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along
the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills,
but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters
crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile
trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their
stakes.

In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house.
Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin
between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother
licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a
saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.

The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the
mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy
smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine
about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.

The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-
spotted puppy on top.

Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old,
small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded
cotton undershirts.

The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the
lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his
legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy
stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.

He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy
licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his
eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so
that it howled.

The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and
ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the
roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and
sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his
toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower
teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady
legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.

It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by
moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along
the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills,
but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters
crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile
trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their
stakes.

In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house.
Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin
between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother
licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a
saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.

The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the
mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy
smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine
about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.

The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-
spotted puppy on top.

Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old,
small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded
cotton undershirts.

The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the
lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his
legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy
stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.

He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy
licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his
eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so
that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and
ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the
roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and
sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his
toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower
teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady
legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.

How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife (American Colonial Literature) By Manuel E. Arguilla

She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace. She was lovely. SHe was tall. She
looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth.

"You are Baldo," she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. Her nails were long, but they were not
painted. She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momently high
on her right cheek. "And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much." She held the wrist of one hand with the
other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his
mouth more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum.

I laid a hand on Labang's massive neck and said to her: "You may scratch his forehead now."

She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns. But she came and touched Labang's
forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And
by and by she was scratching his forehead very daintily.

My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from
the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca
Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes
away from her.

"Maria---" my brother Leon said.

He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all
she would be Maria; and in my mind I said 'Maria' and it was a beautiful name.

"Yes, Noel."

Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it
was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and it sounded much better that way.

"There is Nagrebcan, Maria," my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward the west.

She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while she said quietly.

"You love Nagrebcan, don't you, Noel?"

Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he
rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel.
We stood alone on the roadside.

The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide and deep and very blue above us:
but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the
fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the
sinking sun. Labang's white coat, which I had wshed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like
beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire.

He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot.
And far away in the middle of the field a cow lowed softly in answer.

"Hitch him to the cart, Baldo," my brother Leon said, laughing, and she laughed with him a big uncertainly, and I
saw that he had put his arm around her shoulders.

"Why does he make that sound?" she asked. "I have never heard the like of it."

"There is not another like it," my brother Leon said. "I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world
there is no other bull like him."

She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across Labang's neck to the opposite end of the
yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was the small dimple high up
on her right cheek.

"If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become greatly jealous."

My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of
laughter between them and in them.

I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he was always like that, but I kept a firm
hold on his rope. He was restless and would not stand still, so that my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several
times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top.

She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on
the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she had swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was
fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away.

"Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay and hold on to anything." Then he
put a foot on the left shaft and that instand labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up
to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of labang. The wind whistled
against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears.

She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent togther to one side, her skirts spread over them so that only
the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. her eyes were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair.
When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed to me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and
pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around.

"What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo?" my brother Leon said.


I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went---back to where I had
unhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills
shadows were stealing into the fields. High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires.

When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the Waig which could be used as a
path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly:

"Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?"

His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of
the Waig.

"Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Wait instead of the
camino real?"

His fingers bit into my shoulder.

"Father, he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong."

Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed,
and he sat back, and laughing still, he said:

"And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of with Castano and
the calesa."

Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, "Maria, why do you think Father should do that,
now?" He laughed and added, "Have you ever seen so many stars before?"

I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across knees. Seemingly,
but a man's height above the tops of the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the
shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim, grayish blur. Crickets chirped
from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated
earth mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart.

"Look, Noel, yonder is our star!" Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost
touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky.

"I have been looking at it," my brother Leon said. "Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to
see stars you must come to Nagrebcan?"

"Yes, Noel," she said. "Look at it," she murmured, half to herself. "It is so many times bigger and brighter than it
was at Ermita beach."

"The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke."

"So it is, Noel," she said, drawing a long breath.

"Making fun of me, Maria?"

She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon's hand and put it against her face.
I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the cart between the wheels.

"Good boy, Baldo," my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and my heart sant.

Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and
quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed
drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart.

"Have we far to go yet, Noel?" she asked.

"Ask Baldo," my brother Leon said, "we have been neglecting him."

"I am asking you, Baldo," she said.

Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly:

"Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is home---Manong."

"So near already."

I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last
words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was
not saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was 'Sky Sown with Stars'---the same that he
and Father sang when we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the
song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each
time the wheels encountered a big rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on,
until, laughing softly, she would join him again.

Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked
the shadows. Labang quickened his steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low
dikes.

"But it is so very wide here," she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see
far on every side, though indistinctly.

"You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don't you?" My brother Leon stopped singing.

"Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here."

With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he
was more thirsty than tired. In a little while we drope up the grassy side onto the camino real.

"---you see," my brother Leon was explaining, "the camino real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and
passes by our house. We drove through the fields because---but I'll be asking Father as soon as we get home."

"Noel," she said.

"Yes, Maria."

"I am afraid. He may not like me."


"Does that worry you still, Maria?" my brother Leon said. "From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the
world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest-tempered,
gentlest man I know."

We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I
surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and
my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said "Hoy!" calling them by name. And they shouted
back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told
me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels.

I stopped labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down but my brother Leon took the rope
and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we
would crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time. There was light downstairs in
the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping
Maria over the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother's hand were:

"Father... where is he?"

"He is in his room upstairs," Mother said, her face becoming serious. "His leg is bothering him again."

I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I hardly tied him under the
barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the
kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them.

There was no light in Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the western window,
and a star shone directly through it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he
saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking.

"Did you meet anybody on the way?" he asked.

"No, Father," I said. "Nobody passes through the Waig at night."

He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced himself up in the chair.

"She is very beautiful, Father."

"Was she afraid of Labang?" My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resound with it. And again
I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders.

"No, Father, she was not afraid."

"On the way---"

"She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang."

"What did he sing?"

"---Sky Sown with Stars... She sang with him."

He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the
voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Father's voice must have been like it when Father was young. He had
laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted
end and vanish slowly into the night outside.

The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in.

"Have you watered Labang?" Father spoke to me.

I told him that Labang was resting yet under the barn.

"It is time you watered him, my son," my father said.

I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went
out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

Footnote to Youth by: Jose Garcia Villa

The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang when he
got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and led it to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant
about saying it, he wanted his father to know what he had to say was of serious importance as it would mark a
climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, but a thought came to him that his father might refuse to
consider it. His father was a silent hardworking farmer, who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to do from his
mother, Dodong’s grandmother.

He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework.

I will tell him. I will tell it to him.

The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft
worm emerged from the further rows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm
marched blindly to Dodong’s foot and crawled clammilu over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the
worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where into the air, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said
to himself he was not young anymore.

Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and fave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look at
him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He
placed bundles of grass before it and the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interest.

Dodong started homeward thinking how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did.
He was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, then down on his upper lip was dark-these meant he was no longer
a boy. He was growing into a man – he was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it, although he
was by nature low in stature.

Thinking himself man – grown, Dodong felt he could do anything.

He walked faster, prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he dismissed it
cursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown, he thought
wild young dreams of himself and Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes and straight
glossy hair. How desirable she was to him. She made him want to touch her, to hold her. She made him dream even
during the day.

Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscle of his arms. Dirty. This fieldwork was healthy invigorating, but
it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a creek.

Must you marry, Dodong?”

Dodong resented his father’s question; his father himself had married early.

Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray under shirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. Then he
went into the water, wet his body over and rubbed at it vigorously. He was not long in bathing, then he marched
homeward again. The bath made him feel cool.

It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling was already lighted and the low
unvarnished square table was set for supper. He and his parents sat down on the floor around the table to eat.
They had fried freshwater fish, and rice, but did not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one
held the,, they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of caked sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and
ate it. He got another piece and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder for his parent.

Dodong’s mother removed the dishes when they were through, and went with slow careful steps and Dodong
wanted to help her carry the dishes out. But he was tired and now, feld lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he
had a sister who could help his mother in the housework. He pitied her, doing all the housework alone.

His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him, again. Dodong knew, Dodong had
told him often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to
Dodong, but Dodong guessed it. Afterward, Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth, he would be
afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder than his father.

Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what we had to say, and
over which he head said it without any effort at all and without self-consciousness. Dodong felt relived and looked
at his father expectantly. A decresent moon outside shed its feebled light into the window, graying the still black
temples of his father. His father look old now.

“I am going to marry Teang,” Dodong said.

His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth, The silenece became intense and cruel, and
Dodong was uncomfortable and then became very angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering
anything.

“I will marry Teang,” Dodong repeated. “I will marry Teang.”

His father kept gazing at him in flexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat.

I asked her last night to marry me and she said… “Yes. I want your permission… I… want… it…” There was an
impatient clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at his coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father
sourly. He cracked his knuckles one by one, and the little sound it made broke dully the night stillness.
“Must you marry, Dodong?”

Dodong resented his father’s question; his father himself had married early. Dodong made a quick impassioned
essay in his mind about selfishness, but later, he got confused.

“You are very young, Dodong.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“That’s very young to get married at.”

“I… I want to marry… Teang’s a good girl…

“Tell your mother,” his father said.

“You tell her, Tatay.”

“Dodong, you tell your Inay.”

“You tell her.”

“All right, Dodong.”

“All right, Dodong.”

“You will let me marry Teang?”

“Son, if that is your wish… of course…” There was a strange helpless light in his father’s eyes. Dodong did not read
it. Too absorbed was he in himself.

Dodong was immensely glad he has asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father, for a while, he even felt
sorry for him about the pain I his tooth. Then he confined his mind dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young
dreams…

***

Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely so that his camiseta was damp. He was still like a
tree and his thoughts were confused. His mother had told him not to leave the house, but he had left. He wanted
to get out of it without clear reason at all. He was afraid, he felt afraid of the house. It had seemingly caged him, to
compress his thoughts with severe tyranny. He was also afraid of Teang who was giving birth in the house; she face
screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that. He began to wonder madly if the process of
childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth, did not cry.

In a few moments he would be a father. “Father, father,” he whispered the word with awe, with strangeness. He
was young, he realized now contradicting himself of nine months ago. He was very young… He felt queer, troubled,
uncomfortable.

Dodong felt tired of standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his calloused
toes. Then he thought, supposed he had ten children…

The journey of thought came to a halt when he heard his mother’s voice from the house.
Some how, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken
something not properly his.

“Come up, Dodong. It is over.”

Suddenly, he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful
paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he has taken something not properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended
to dust off his kundiman shorts.

“Dodong,” his mother called again. “Dodong.”

He turned to look again and this time, he saw his father beside his mother.

“It is a boy.” His father said. He beckoned Dodong to come up.

Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. His parent’s eyes seemed to pierce through him so he felt limp.
He wanted to hide or even run away from them.

“Dodong, you come up. You come up,” his mother said.

Dodong did not want to come up. He’d rather stayed in the sun.

“Dodong… Dodong.”

I’ll… come up.

Dodong traced the tremulous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart
pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parent’s eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not
see his face. He felt guilty and untru. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted to burst. He wanted
to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted somebody to punish him.

“Son,” his father said.

And his mother: “Dodong..”

How kind their voices were. They flowed into him, making him strong.

“Teanf?” Dodong said.

“She’s sleeping. But you go in…”

His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his wife, asleep on the paper with her soft black
hair around her face. He did not want her to look that pale.

Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips. But again that feeling of
embarrassment came over him, and before his parent, he did not want to be demonstrative.

The hilot was wrapping the child Dodong heard him cry. The thin voice touched his heart. He could not control the
swelling of happiness in him.

“You give him to me. You give him to me,” Dodong said.
***

Blas was not Dodong’s only child. Many more children came. For six successive years, a new child came along.
Dodong did not want any more children. But they came. It seemed that the coming of children could not helped.
Dodong got angry with himself sometimes.

Teang did not complain, but the bearing of children tolled on her. She was shapeless and thin even if she was
young. There was interminable work that kept her tied up. Cooking, laundering. The house. The children. She cried
sometimes, wishing she had no married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him to dislike her. Yet, she
wished she had not married. Not even Dodong whom she loved. There had neen another suitor, Lucio older than
Dodong by nine years and that wasw why she had chosen Dodong. Young Dodong who was only seventeen. Lucio
had married another. Lucio, she wondered, would she have born him children? Maybe not, either. That was a
better lot. But she loved Dodong… in the moonlight, tired and querulous. He wanted to ask questions and
somebody to answer him. He wanted to be wise about many thins.

Life did not fulfill all of Youth’s dreams.

Why must be so? Why one was forsaken… after love?

One of them was why life did not fulfill all of the youth’ dreams. Why it must be so. Why one was forsaken… after
love.

Dodong could not find the answer. Maybe the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth.
Youth must be dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet.

Dodong returned to the house, humiliated by himself. He had wanted to know little wisdom but was denied it.

When Blas was eighteen, he came home one night, very flustered and happy. Dodong heard Blas’ steps for he could
not sleep well at night. He watched Blass undress in the dark and lie down softly. Blas was restless on his mat and
could not sleep. Dodong called his name and asked why he did not sleep.

You better go to sleep. It is late,” Dodong said.

Life did not fulfill all of youth’s dreams. Why it must be so? Why one was forsaken after love?

“Itay..” Blas called softly.

Dodong stirred and asked him what it was.

“I’m going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight.

“Itay, you think its over.”

Dodong lay silent.

I loved Tona and… I want her.”

Dodong rose from his mat and told Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard where everything was still and
quiet.

The moonlight was cold and white.


“You want to marry Tona, Dodong said, although he did not want Blas to marry yet. Blas was very young. The life
that would follow marriage would be hard…

“Yes.”

“Must you marry?”

Blas’ voice was steeled with resentment. “I will mary Tona.”

“You have objection, Itay?” Blas asked acridly.

“Son… non…” But for Dodong, he do anything. Youth must triumph… now. Afterward… It will be life.

As long ago, Youth and Love did triumph for Dodong… and then life.

Dodong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.