Read this in The Manila Times digital edition.
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YEARS — many years — later, I was trying to survive my first winter in Scotland as a postgraduate student in publishing studies when one night, I dreamed about my ninong, my godfather. He lived a few houses away from us at Basa Air Base in Pampanga. In my dream, I seemed to be in a room shaped like a box. The room had an open roof, and my ninong was peering from the roof. His eyes were sad. The next morning, I got a letter from my father. He also attached a newspaper obituary about my ninong's death. I wrote to my ninang, my godmother, and told her about my dream. She answered that my ninong had died peacefully in his sleep.
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