There are mentors and there are mentors. There are tormentors too. If if one is lucky enough, he or she can have both in one package.
I was not meant to be a doctor. I wanted something more glamorous like interior designing, museum and art curating like my friend Maj, antique fabric restoration, going into archeology or astrophysics like my friend Luca or majoring in Medieval Literature like my friend Kate. Anything, anything that has something to do with ancient and outside of the confines of my thirty square meter of clinic space which makes me claustrophobic.
But then my parents were too poor to send me to a course I wanted we had no choice but to go to medical school. It is ironic I know. But that is the story.
After having graduated from high school, I took a scholarship exam and an entrance exam to the country’s premier state university known for its quality education and some covert but palpable intellectual conceit. As far as my husband is concerned, there is only one premier university in the country – his. The same one that produced both heroes and villains, dictator and victims, politicians screaming like banshees and fools with their cache of arms and gold. And there were desaparecidos too. The searching and the grieving continue until now.
I passed both tests.
So my Mama and my spinster Aunt took a flight to Manila to accompany me in enrolling to the university. They thought it was the most prudent thing to do. I was just out of high school and came from a small time, small town background – the big city would not be kind to a naive, waif of a woman like me.
Like the fate of all poorer relations, we were housed by richer relations in an upscale village where some movie stars lived. He was a General in the intelligence agency of the ruling regime. When my Uncle the General learned about the purpose of my trip, he was averse to the idea. He opposed with vehemence that must have sent my Mama and Aunt quaking in their seats.
‘That place is not meant for a young woman like her’, he said, as he put down his pipe, his resolute gaze thrown towards my Mama and my Aunt.
As they were talking, I busied my eyes looking awed at the chandeliers over high ceilings, the faux damask covered Louis XIV armchair and equally faux Louis XIV armoire in the study and the art works hanging on the wall and the antique Persian rug on the floor. Whenever I heard a faint voice of protest, I bowed down my head and twiddled with my thumbs.
‘There’s so much unrest. All those protests. All those indignation rallies. All those street parliamentarians! All those radicals! All those LEFTISTS!’ He uttered each word in careful staccato, reserving the last word for the harshest fortissimo. It was grating to the ears.
Suddenly my Uncle asked me to leave the room and I left the three of them and their murmurings to themselves.
I would conjecture what they might have talked about. I might get pregnant. I might be indoctrinated. I might join a sorority. I might go to the mountains, join a revolutionary movement and be named Comrade Barbie . If I did not die in the armed struggle, my dossier could become as thick as wads of cash stashed by the dictator in a Swiss bank and would certainly be even thicker if I survived the water torture.
Whatever it was, I knew it was not good news for me. My Mama trusted that my Uncle the General was an insider into the underpinnings of a decaying and dying dictatorship. We packed our bags the following day and went back home. It was an excruciatingly painful journey for me.
Instead, I went to a private university ran by Jesuits.
Just like the premier state university, this was also a premier private university, along with its brother university in Manila, only that I cannot enumerate what had become of their graduates because my husband teaches in the College of Law and one of the rules he has for me is to never bite the hand that feeds him.
Unlike my well to do and more comfortable classmates, I did not have extra to allow me to traipse occasionally to the cinema, so I became a regular in the library where I would surreptitiously sneak in carrot sticks for lunch, my mouth, my chewing and my esophagus swallowing concealed by hard covers of huge art books.
The library, in the prehistoric era of the internet, was the whole wide world to me. It was like my web and I was the tenacious spider. I was such a regular that student assistants trusted me enough with lending reserved books and beyond the ten books allotted at any given time. I always returned books on time because I wouldn’t want to pay the fines.
There I would devour books on economics that explained what brought developmental debacle to our country, books from Amnesty International chronicling which regimes and long running dictatorships condoned all forms of unimaginable torture to extract information from prisoners and captives and was puzzled why the Philippines was not on the list. I read Kant, Simone de Beauvoir, Marcel Proust, St. Augustine, St. Anselm and St. Antoine De Exupery. My reading menu was varied. I could endure Plath and Plato, struggle over low intensity conflict, Liberation Theology and Lumen Gentium.
I also scanned, countless times all the art books from Boticelli to Titian, from baroque to modern. And some appreciation for not so mainstream Frida Kahlo and her mono-brow, Diego Garcia and Jackson Pollock.
That was how I survived my very spartan four years in college.
Going to medical school became the least of my problems. A German Jesuit priest, bless his soul, had heard of my story from the parishioners where he said Sunday mass in my village and told me to apply for a scholarship for medical school, with his endorsement.
I faced the stoic, stone faced, selection committee who pored over every document I submitted, doubted its authenticity and probed the authenticity of my intellect. That was the easy part. The more difficult one for them was how to spot rich bright people pretending to be poor. Unlike cheetahs, they wear no spots.
That’s the story how a poor girl ended up in medical school.
That was how I met Alex.
He was a legend. Long before I stepped into medical school his life and story along with his eccentricities like utter disregard if he forgot to zip his fly were the staple of medical students who went to our college library to study. I was not eavesdropping but I couldn’t help but overhear. My interest was piqued.
Alex was our professor in Anatomy and Histology. He had a commanding presence about him, tall, dark, Jack Nicholson wickedness meets Anthony Hopkins sensibility kind of look, old school, nearing seventy and smoked like the cliched chimney. He could have consumed a whole pack of Champion in one class. He was an icon we revered.
We were a class of seventy three. He started each class with a roll call and his basso profundo would send some inattentive classmate jolting and would be wilting from his look of derision or disdain. Either which one was not a good thing. The student had been ‘marked’. He would be called during class recitation where he, along with us would be collectively castigated for our, his favorite words, ‘abysmal ignorance’. ‘Seventy three people. So quiet. I’d drop a coin into your heads and it wouldn’t make a sound. You know why? Because there’s nothing there!’ And he would either grin or chuckle, the kind that would resonate in the room and then light a cigarette and ask at random those sitting on the front row to erase the black board.
And always his question would be ‘What do you see?’
I was in medical school in the era of projectors and transparency acetates. Now it’s different. I stumbled upon my Powerpoint Presentation in the internet uploaded by one enterprising student he and must be earning dimes and nickels from the paid ad sites.
Alex however never used technology. He only had his cigarettes and spectacles with him when he entered the auditorium. The class president made sure there were enough white and yellow chalks in boxes, and red, yellow, blue and green chalks that were tossed on an abaca tray.
Alex never brought along his notes. Everything he illustrated and lectured was from memory. He must have been eating textbooks for breakfast and made pillows out of books and all the texts diffused into his senses by morning.
He would illustrate the heart and its chambers using the colored chalks. Blue for the right ventricle, red for the left ventricle and yellow for coronary arteries that surround it. He did the same color coded illustrations for his class in histology. Yellow for the signet ring adipose tissue, gray and white for the liquefactive necrosis, flaming red for skeletal muscles. After each drawing, he would call on someone from class and ask ‘What do you see?’
In spite of his stiff demeanor in the classroom, he was voluble outside of it. Whenever he would see me and my room mate walking the dirt road going up the little slope in the Medical School Drive, he would give us a ride. Never mind that his old maroon Toyota Corolla reeked of smoke that stung and stuck to our hair and uniforms. He was kind enough to open the windows to let off the stink and the mosquitoes.
Once the class had a Christmas party and he was invited as guest. It was held in the house of the brightest and prettiest girl in class who sang Anita Baker’s ‘Sweet Love or Rapture, I couldn’t remember now.When Alex was called to say a few words, he started with a roll call. This time we were laughing. He narrated to us the story of the early part of his career, how as a surgeon he saved lives when he was stationed at a remote town east of our city. He talked about opera. He talked about his near misses in the operating room and on the operating table. He emphasized bedside manners. And that no amount of technology could ever replace a good history taking and physical examination. He talked about patients paying him in kind like eggs, chicken, piglets, and vegetables in a basket. He took them all. He never turned down a patient, paying or otherwise. He was a great man. He was a renaissance man.
I was a medical resident when I heard of Alex’s confinement in the ICU because of a heart attack. The story that circulated was that when he was relieved of the chest pain, the recidivist and incorrigible smoker in him asked for a light for the stick of cigarette already between his lips.
And then there was the story of his self medicating for tuberculosis which turned out to be lung cancer. He died soon after.
I am not writing this as an anti-smoking campaign. I won’t even stop anyone reading this from smoking if you feel alluded to. It’s your life. I’m basically live and let live.
I write this because this is one of those days when I was stalled in traffic. In the back seat I look back when I was a girl out of high school, with my head down, twiddling with my thumb. I make an inventory of people who matter from that time since.
Today I happen to look back to my days in medical school and I remember the greatest mentor that school could possibly have had in its history, in my lifetime or the next. He will go down in memory as the greatest mentor who ever lived. He was my mentor.
His name was Alex.
NC Coot said:
Wonderful to read this and learn about you, your life in the middle of history, while studying the past, and shaping your future. What an accomplished person you are!
(I think Frida Kahlo once had two eyebrows, but she plucked the top one.)
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thank you NC. As cliche as this may sound, I’m still a work in progress. But my life, I’m afraid, has become an open book.
Thanks for reading. I did see photos of Frida with eyebrows slightly parted but the unibrow, hideous as it looked became her signature.
Now I have come to a part where I am starting to fear I may already run out of topics to write for my posts. Sigh!
Irene "ing-ing" said:
I was so dumbfounded by your revealing story Ate Eva especially the part about Alex, the mentor you had, who also became our mentor. It was indeed well-portrayed. I envy you so much gorgeous Ate Evs because I wish I could be as witty as you are 🙂
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thanks Irene! I replied on Facebook. Best regards to you, Vic and the kids!
Mila S. Precioso said:
A beautiful tribute to your mentor. Congrats, Doc, for writing about your mentor.He must be smiling wherever he is now.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Ate Mila, thanks for your comment. In general, I am grateful to most of my mentors. But then again, among the many, one stood out. His name was Alex.
Binet said:
I think I know who this great mentor is. He was my mentor,too. He wrote his message for our yearbook in just 30 minutes, but the message is still with me, very clear in my mind and kept it.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Doc Binet,
Don’t we all love him even if he also sent us quaking in out seats?
Best,
Eva
frangipani said:
I enjoyed reading about your life in school and can just “see” your mentor, Alex. Thank you for sharing!
In my life, I have had a series of mentors. There are just some personalities who loom huge, and it is our good fortune to take the best of what they do, and try to emulate them.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thanks for finding your way to my blog. Like you, I’ve had mentors from all over but Alex is a league of his own. His unassuming ways in spite of his brilliance and genius made us lesser mortals. There are so many things worth emulating in ‘Alex’, the smoking not included.
morezennow said:
This was a wonderful tribute to some fond (and not so fond?) memories of your (tor)mentor. And a marvelous portrait of yourself as a young lady. I’m glad I stopped by.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
morezennow,
Thank you for finding your way to my blog and for the comment. Back then, Alex seemed like the tormentor. In retrospect, many of the things he said about the academe, culture and everything in between have wormed their way into my existence. I hope I have become a better person because of this. And then the realization how brilliant a mentor he was to me and to those before and after me.
sarsm said:
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. Thank you for sharing a little bit of your mentor with us – a fabulous tribute!
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Sarah,
Thanks you so much! I’m so honored to have you commenting on my post. I think Alex, for all he had done and all he had given to the school deserved all the superlatives. The school though honored him by naming the state of the art theater and lecture hall after him. I thought that was a good start. Maybe a bust or statue will come next.
gravitasbaby said:
This is simultaneously witty and touching. You’re a thoughtful writer. It’s always reassuring to run into a doctor whose interests go well beyond the examining room.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thanks for finding your way to my blog. Thank you for the kind words. About having other interests outside of the clinic, I’m trying.
Paul J. Stam said:
Thank you so much for liking my piece about Words That Invade My Mind.
I read yours about “His name was Alex.” Loved it.
I too had a mentor who didn’t help me become a doctor, but he did help me a little with my writing and more than anything he helped me become what I am; myself and no one else. You have inspired me to write about him. Maybe soon.
Thanks again.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thanks Paul. You are most kind. Don’t we just love people who make huge sacrifices in exchange for so little (as we all know teaching does not pay much)? I’d say my greatest ‘unpaid’ mentors will always be my parents. And in school, in loco parentis, our mentors. Among the many, one will stand out and leave an indelible imprint like Dr. Alex did. I hope you write yours too, soon.
wingeyes said:
Wow… that had an unexpected turn, Beautifully written this really touched me and inspired me. Thanks for sharing.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thank you very much! I enjoyed reading your post too!
Marie Taylor said:
Nicely told and a great tribute to Alex.
londonraghu said:
Very good read, I especially liked the photograph of the library – very evocative.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thank you!
McLerranMD said:
A beautifully written tribute to a mentor who meant something. Thank you for sharing such intense personal memories with us.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thank you so much! Oh, this sentiment has been fermenting inside of me for years.
tskraghu said:
Poignant. Many times it is a pity that we don’t convey our sentiments to the face of the object of our reverence. I’ve reasons to regret…
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
You’re so right! I’ve always hold my mentors in high esteem, some higher than others. I reserve the highest ones for my parents, my husband and Alex. Thanks for dropping by!
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thanks for dropping by and making this comment. I concur with you. Dr. Alex was bigger than life and I was intimidated by him despite my unbridled respect and affection for him. I hope this post makes up for it.
Best,
Eva
villagepeasant said:
Like you I too came from a poor family. I am not ashamed of that, nor are you. Important is to know that poor children given the chance can become educated and successful. You became a medical doctor. I became a clergyman. It is my hope that many other poor children will be given similar opportunity that was granted us. There is so much hidden talent among them.
Thank you for stopping by at my blog and liking my poem about the odd fellow and Old Yellow, enough, to give it the thumbs up.
Tales and Travels of the Tin Man said:
What a beautiful story, thank you for remembering Alex. I had a smile on my face and tears streaming down my cheeks at the same time. How very, very beautiful.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thank you! I never realized Alex’s story would have universal appeal. I guess it was his commitment to make doctors out of nervous students with abysmal ignorance that makes his legacy unforgettable.
Best,
Eva
Marcia Clarke said:
The best mentors are those teachers that had us quacking in our feet. Their manner of instructing may have been firm but it etched them in our psyches. Great post!
themesanddeviations said:
A beautiful piece and a reminder of my own mentors. Sometimes they pick us and sometimes we pick them but they are the proof that nobody is self made. Acknowledged or not there is always someone who helped us find our way.
standingoutinmyfield said:
What a story!
Carla Saunders said:
Thank you for that story
Zen and Genki said:
Beautiful tribute. Thank you so much for sharing 🙂
anne
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thanks for the kind words Anne! And thanks for visiting.
Best,
Eva
Modmissy said:
Truly a beautiful story. Thank you for sharing.
wheresmytbackandotherstories said:
Thank you Missy. Thanks for dropping by!
Anita Mac said:
Wow, what an amazing story.
Eva said:
Thank you Anita!
nomaddness said:
An eloquent tribute. You write deliciously! 🙂
RedRoadDiaries said:
Thank you for liking my post on our travels in Nova Scotia. I read your tribute to Alex and it brought to mind the many people who have shaped my life and helped with the many decisions and directions that made me who I am today. A nice morning reflection.
Eva said:
Thank you Judith! Will be watching out for more of your adventures!
silvachiqa said:
I’ll bet all mentors wish they had gracious people like you to remember them for all they do.
Eva said:
Oh, thank you Bobbi!
Best,
Eva
kissimmeeonthego said:
What a beautiful tribute to Alex and to all those people that have influenced our lives
Eva said:
Thank you so much!
Grammie Travels said:
Very touching piece. You are very brave to take such a leap into the medical field when you wanted the Arts. Perhaps you can still blend the two with your patients and “patience.”
Eva said:
You’re so right. I just have to want what I have if I cannot have what I want. I’m happy and blessed where I am. Thanks for the kind words about this post.
Best,
Eva
tess guillen said:
thank you for this beautiful story. i hope my former students will remember me the way you did alex. and oh, isn’t it enviable that you now have the best of two worlds – art and medicine?
Eva said:
Hi Tess
In regard to teachers, my hubby Ted has this to say (from Montessori) – ten years of studying is nothing compared to one day with a brilliant teacher.
Best,
Eva
Inky said:
It was a very touching story and so beautifully written. I didn’t expect the ending to be so tragic, but you had my attention until the very end. Thank you for sharing.
Eva said:
Thank you Teara. I know it was a tragic ending, sigh. He could have influenced more students. But he died at a ripe old age and lived a full life.
castl23 said:
Warmly human.
polloplayer said:
Thanks for visiting Polloplayer. This story is fascinating – I look forward to reading more from your blog.
Eva said:
Thank you Polloplayer!
Madoqua said:
What a wonderful tribute to a deeply caring person. Alex was obviously a powerful teacher and a positive influence on so many lives. I enjoyed reading this post.
Eva said:
He really was. Thank you Madoqua!
Best,
Eva
jimmyandcha said:
I love your wit. Your characters are so alive, they can practically step out of computer screen. I really enjoyed this piece about Alex. Your blog on Miriam was hilarious! Thanks for liking my blogs!
Keiki's Day Out said:
I totally agree about the characters. Even when you mentioned your “spinster aunt” the story was just so alive it felt like watching a movie.
Eva said:
Oh thank you! Story of my life.
jimmyandcha said:
Great description and story telling ability!
Eva said:
Thanks so much!
jimmyandcha said:
Welcome!
artblablablablog said:
Amazing and heartfelt story you have written here.
Eva said:
Thank you so much. For a very special person.
Best,
Eva
cafegirlchronicles said:
Thank you for visiting the Chronicles Eva because it gave me access to your wonderful blog! Cat
Eva said:
Hello Cat! Thank you too!
Keiki's Day Out said:
You are a beautiful writer, you must be a true renaissance woman. So glad I came across this.
Eva said:
Thank you once again. Renaissance woman – I am so flattered. I hope I deserve it. I keep trying.
Aloha,
Eva
Dugutigui said:
It’s been an incredible visual journey about yourself and past events that inevitably forge our future … An excellent insight that speaks volumes about you as a complete person through the stories of people who have surrounded you. A mini-biography that still leaves room to dream of what you must be, at least in the imagination of each one of us. You’re the best 🙂
D
gumiii said:
Beautiful article. We had a similar circumstance re: choosing which school to attend. I ended up going to that premier state uni. Only because I refused “help” from my rich relative and decided to support myself (the scholarship helped a lot).
Eva said:
Gumii
That’s true. I wouldn’t have made it without the scholarship. But you see, somehow you had the dignity of turning down the help of a rich relative and make it on your own. In my case no one wanted to help so I had to help myself. That’s where the scholarship came in most helpful. It was such a blessing.
Best,
Eva
Cindy Sullivan said:
Beautifully written!
Eva said:
Thank you Cindy!
jennysserendipity said:
Wow what a great story..thanks for stopping by or else I would have not known your wonderful blog..Mabuhay!
Eva said:
Thanks for reading this. This is about 1/4 of my life. Maraming-maraming salamat po!
Best,
Eva
jennysserendipity said:
Walang anuman! 😉
fgassette said:
Thank you for visiting my blog. Now I know who you are. I love your blog and the stories you tell.
BE ENCOURAGED! BE BLESSED!
Eva said:
Thank you! You’ve been most kind. I wish that you be blessed too!
Best,
Eva
amphinay said:
thanks for liking `tori gatesss` ….your post transported me to another world, love it 🙂
Eva said:
Thank you!
Best,
Eva
Toronto to New York City said:
This is a wonderful post and a wonderful blog — especially for someone like me who is just starting life hehe. Thanks so much for sharing your experiences 🙂
Eva said:
This is by far my favorite post. Thanks for finding some sense in this piece. May you find the discernment you seek and I wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
Eva
seascapesaus said:
A really engaging read. There are lots of moments and reactions which feel familiar in your writing. I am sure that’s why you have had so many comments! Thanks also for visiting and liking my recent post.
Eva said:
Thank you. I think anyone who has gone through some degree of struggle would find resonance in this piece somehow. Thank you for the kind words. I would guess you would be from Australia?
Best
Eva
seascapesaus said:
Yes Eva, I am from Adelaide. Pretty near to you I think? nice to meet you out here!
Eva said:
Nice meeting you too, Philippa!
Best,
Eva
craftcrazygran said:
Dear Eva, what a wonderful tribute to a fascinating, incorrigible man! 🙂
Eva said:
Thank you. He was one of a kind!
Best,
Eva
icelandpenny said:
This is wonderfully wise and compassionate, Eva. I think Alex would have been proud to read it, and to know that he had helped shape your insight. “What do you see?” That is perfect. So many look, or half-look, but don’t see. A dear friend of mine emerged from a small mining town in the Canadian north, all because she had a teacher/principal who did for those (largely) immigrant kids what Alex did for you. He, too, made them look… and see. Thank you for liking my latest post (and others). That is a big compliment.
Eva said:
Thanks for the kind words. And thanks for sharing your thoughts about your friend and her mentor. Sure thing, will be watching out for more.
Best,
Eva
onefloridacoder said:
What an experience. I was counting my mentors recently, I’m never sure if I found them or they found me. Thank you for sharing.
Eva said:
You’re welcome. And thanks for visiting.
Best,
Eva
Lissa Rabon said:
Thanks so much for your visit to my blog. Wow have you got a story! I loved reading it.
Eva said:
Thanks to you too, Lisa. May you have a delightful weekend.
Best,
Eva
Allan G. Smorra said:
Mentor or Tormentor? About 2 months ago I ran into a young man who was my apprentice for 3 days in 1998. After catching up on the where-are-you-now-what-are-you-doing conversation he started telling me what a good example I set for him and how it stayed with him for the last 14 years.
I had NO idea that I had made such an impact on him because that was never my intention. This has prompted me to review many instances of the past to see how my Mentor/Tormentor has affected me, or how I may have affected someone else as their M/T.
Thanks for this post. I will be following your blog.
Allan
Eva said:
Thank you Allan. I think when those who really know teach, and they teach from the heart, they leave an imprint, an indelible one. I myself have been teaching in the medical school for the past 17 years and I may have been both mentor and tormentor. Others may not appreciate it in the here and now but I hope one day, in retrospect, they realize that I made a good point or two somehow.
Happy Father’s Day!
Best,
Eva
The World Is My Cuttlefish said:
Lots to think about here. I like the notion of writing about who has been important in one’s life and how.
NYParrot said:
May Alex rest in peace. He obviously was a significant figure in yours and many other peoples’ lives. But I am also for a smoke-free environment. My girlfriend’s father died two years ago of lung cancer. He was absolutely fantastic man with a great sense of humor and a kind heart. He was also a heavy smoker. Ironically, my girlfriend (his daughter) is an oncology doctor, and she was treating him last three very tortuous months of his life…
Eva said:
Thanks so much for sharing this insight. I know that from Alex’ s time and now, a lot of things have been done about smoking cessation advocacy. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with us.
Best,
Eva
Lissa Rabon said:
Wonderful tribute to Alex. I can tell he was a life changing person for you. Wonderfully told story.
zeebradesigns said:
What a beautiful story. Thank you so much for sharing so much of your life. You are a gift to the world! Z
hope4theheart said:
Beautifully written! Your story touched my heart as it reminded me of my Father who was a urological surgeon and professor. The part were you mentioned he never needed notes especially reminded me of my Dad. He always told me you only every need to remember 4 things. That’s how he studied and taught. Every “point” had 3 things to remember about it. it made learning so much easier! You and I are literally a world a part geographically (U.S.) but your story made me feel our worlds are very similar. What a gift. Thank you for your like on my post “Perspective is Reality; Choose Wisely”. It gave me the opportunity to discover your blog.
Best regards!
Quimper Hitty said:
I am a Textile Conservator, working in a Museum. I learned most about my job from peaceful mentors, but most about myself from difficult ones. Thank you for the pearls of wisdom.
1oneworld said:
Great story about a great character. Very well written both touching and entertaining.
LubbyGirl said:
wow. what a gift you have for writing! I feel like he was one of my professors just by reading this.
Eva said:
Thank you so much LubbyGirl. You are most kind and I am flattered.
Best,
Eva
longunderwerman said:
Great blog. your writing and perspective on the issue is very well done
penmanila said:
I enjoyed reading this memoir, and look forward to more of your writing.
Eva said:
Thank you Butch.
We were on the same flight from Manila to KL on June 12! I wish I’d more time to write.
Best,
Eva
cindydyer said:
Wow. Simply WOW.
patoisbystebner said:
A great blog but a really fabulous first sentence. I never would have read the story without it.
Cheupe said:
Very rare to hear a lady say anything positive about Jack Nicholson. Great read by the way!
jaynezak said:
this is a book!
Caprice Cake said:
How astounding, that such a nice story should come to me through somebody who liked my humble WordPress post. 🙂
Reflective moments like these always make me feel truly human.
Shail Raghuvanshi said:
Hi Eva,
So sincerely, honestly and well written. Makes me feel connected….
All the best.
Shail
Margaret Lynette Sharp said:
Engagingly written: you can really make a difference!
mercifulwords said:
What a beautiful story, and beautifully written. Thanks for stopping by my site and liking what you saw.
managuagunnwashere said:
Very warm story. Thanks so much.