it’s not just old houses with their generations of stories, or ancient limestones bonded with egg whites and piled high on top of each other to form majestic cathedrals. i am fascinated with doors too.

to many people, these doors might be just another one of those interesting, conversational pieces to talk about while dining at nando’s somewhere in chapel street. but for some reason, these doors speak a lot to me.

about summers spent at my grandmother’s house in bohol. stealing ice candy from her fridge knowing she wouldn’t really mind. watching fireflies twinkle against the light of the provincial lamp post, breathing in the cool night air. friends and cousins punctuating the quietness of the neighborhood with boisterous laughter.

how quickly time flies. now the house is deserted, as most of the grandchildren are all grown. and besides, lola has already passed away.

the house is silent.