4I spent New Year’s Eve in the flat next door. Just before midnight, everyone began to count down: ‘Ten, nine, eight . . . three, two, one.’
The sky outside filled with fireworks and lights and noise. Car horns playing various tunes sang for joy. In the room, coloured paper streamers flew through the air. They sang in English and Filipino. People started the new year by wishing each other a Happy New Year and making resolutions to themselves that they hoped to keep. The flat where they had the party was a piece of my mother’s country: the faces, the language, the clapping and singing, the pictures on the television screen, the plates of adobo and white rice, the pastries, the sweets and glasses of home-made alcohol, the topics of conversation and the wishes, the friendly atmosphere . . .
