My Name is Manila
A Día de Manila reflection, written at Arroceros Park This city isn’t just a place on the map. It’s blood memory. This is where my family used to live. My great-grandmother in Quiapo. My great-grandparents in Bangkusay, Tondo. They walked these streets long before I did—Echague, Escolta, Juan Luna, Ronquillo, Azcárraga. Calle Escolta Manila is already ingrained into who I am. And I’ve come to enjoy the adventures I have in this city—not just as a visitor, but as someone slowly uncovering where she comes from. As I learn more about this proud, complicated city of my ancestors, I find myself learning more about me too. What I can give, what I can receive. What I can hold. What I can let go. Pasig River I see myself in Manila. Maybe that is why I’m drawn to her—her flaws, her tricks, her peace in the eye of chaos. Her wisdom. Her rich past and the future she still dares to dream of. Kartilya ng Katipunan I am Manila. And as I sit in this quiet, breezy corner of Arroceros Park...
