This is my unforgettable summer eons ago.
I could not take it anymore. We were wading/walking in a shallow rivulet somewhere in a coastal area in Luzon.
My stomach was rumbling as if Manny Pacquiao was defending his championship against Clottey.
It must be the oyster. I finished a few blanched-with-hot-water-and-squeezed-with lemon-newly-gathered oysters from the farm. Oyster farm, that is according to the karinderia where we had our lunch on our way to the barrio where we would have our immersion in culture of indigenous people and at the same time reforest the …