A Day at the Ayala Museum
It was a fine Sunday afternoon and I was walking down the pavement across the avenue toward the museum where I will meet with my friends. I came earlier than the arranged time. So I took a seat in front of the museum cafe while the barista serves two foreigners their coffee and tobacco. To pass the time, I listened to the mellow, soothing sounds of jazz played by a jovial musician whose face was quite familiar to me though it might have been someone else that I have been thinking about. As I sat there, I contemplated on how beautiful life was. Though I have already thought so many times and are attested to by the myriad of beautiful scenery that are laid out for us on open fields, on meadows, on mountaintops, and even on top of the high-rise buildings in the splendor of a bustling, illustrious city. I saw a burly man whose skin was lightly toned walking with his wife dragging her feet behind him. He looked to her as if to ask her whether she would like to stop for a while but