Chapter FiveFried Tuyo
salty dried fish
an upset brother
I wake up to the smell of tuyo, sinangag, and fresh coffee in the morning. That means one thing: Mama’s awake earlier than usual on a Sunday.
I wear my slippers, brush my long wavy hair at least ten times, and tie it in a loose bun before going straight to the dining room, wary of the ticking time bomb that is my brother. Seated at the head of the table, Kuya’s already digging in, reading the newspaper between bites. Mama in her flowery robe is gleefully eating with her hands, deboning the tuyo with gusto, licking her fingers clean. As soon as Mama sees me, she motions to me to sit across from her.
“I was craving some,” she says, with a big smile.
She doesn’t have a hangover. She must have had a fun night.
I sit across from he
