5ONE SATURDAY, I woke up to the sound of the mosque. The chanting pierced right through the electromagnetic wall of haze in my brain. As if on cue, Dad rapped on my door. I
rolled off the bed and stumbled to the door. He was already dressed in his favorite jeans and Doctors Without Borders shirt. So loyal. So sartorially predictable. I leaned on the doorframe and
tried to clear my face of hair.
“You always make me look like I don’t care about things.”
Dad smirked at me, “You don’t.”
I told him to not be too punctual because that’s just messing up with Filipino tradition, but he just launched into a tirade about how we should change that perception. Sometimes, Dad
really couldn’t see a joke when it was right there pawing at his face. He of the Cedars of Lebanon notoriety. I trailed af
