September 1990,
My grandfather operated a trucking business "SALVO LINES" and during his drive in around the town, to nearby Garcia Hernandez and Jagna, I would tag along during weekends to be with my grandfather. I used to sit next to him.
Lolo would always have a towel around his neck to wipe his sweat, and with him was a bag where he collected all the fees for the ride. My cousin Joseph used to sit with me and during breaks--we would run to the nearby 'merkado' and buy for our Lolo a bottle of Coke, fresh suman, and a bag of pandesal for us to share. We were so small then--probably 4-5 years old.
Lolo would wait in the back of the truck and picked us boys up to his trick. All three of us would sit on the passenger seats and eat. Drink. Talk.
As Lolo Ciano ate, he would look to the passing cars and gaze outwards. Unbenownst to him was the fact that I was looking at him, looking at his thick and work-ridden hands, his black shoes, which he neatly kept in order, his polo shirt, and his jeans that he always wore. I noticed how he ate his pandesal, and wiped his sweat from his forehead. Lolo Ciano.
I miss those days. Those simple days.
I want to eat pandesal with him again.
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