[image from The Story of the Other Wise Man from Project Gutenberg]
The Story of the Other Wise Man was part of my usual holiday reading in my younger years. Along with The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry, they imparted lessons of what pure love is. That the noblest of intentions shine even though the best of efforts fall short.
As I review the past year of lost things and found treasures, I remember my real treasures.
My mother whose light always shone bright in the wee hours of the morning. Her day starts before ours have begun. I remember her fondly with the aroma of her kitchen cooking, whether it be fried daing, fried chicken, or the best bulalo nobody could ever duplicate.
The 3 Princesses
My eldest sister Estrellita, our little star. I remember fondly always bringing home a pasalubong of cooked dishes or dessert she picked up along the way or received as a present from a colleague, to supplement whatever dinner Nanay had prepared.
My second sister Beatriz. Incidentally, her name means “voyager”. She voyaged beyond her comfort zone, far from home and made a home for herself in a far land. Yet, no matter how far away she is, we know her heart is never far from ours.
My youngest sister Julie. Our moments of mirth are many. And we have created so many new words because of so many shared experiences. She had sacrificed much, caring for The Lady and the First Princess during the last years of their lives.
On the feast day of the Epiphany, or the Three Kings, I remember my Four Ladies, each with a gift for me, my life and my soul.
And I love them forever.