Monday, February 11, 2008

Maroe Michiko Bandalan Coloma

She is my dearest, most beloved, and only sister - the bunso in the family. And she celebrated her 16th birthday last week. This is my tribute to my one and only sister, Mikee.

She was the cutest little kid. Here she is at 3 years old when I took her with me to a class outing in Laguna. Summer of '95.

Yup, that wiry, goofy guy beside her - that's me. Wahahaha!

Fun, fun, fun!

I hope this doesn't embarass her. Hehe. That's not me, of course. One of my classmates playing daddy to Mikee. Hahaha!

At her graduation from grade school.

Now, she's all grown up and has turned into a feisty,



and sensitive young woman.

But she will always be Kuya's Little Bunso. Hehe.

Here's the video from last year's celebration.

From last week's dinner and after dinner gimmick.

With Ate Elai. Go girls!

With Kuya Ian and Ate Elai.

With Ate Jay at Bar Uno.

With the hosts of Bar Uno, Twinkle, Vanessa Kirei and Hershey.

Hope you had a grand time. Happy birthday, bunso! I love you!


  1. oh maaan! how come i don't get that from my bro? I want brothers like the ones on the video? ay, kayo ba yun? hahaha. mikee is one lucky girl! you guys are all SWEETNESS! mwahs.

    ang ganda pala ng tunay na name ni mikee. michiko na tawag ko sa kanya.

  2. wEeEeEe!!! kakatuwa naman... haha! akalain mo un??!! ung pic q nung 3 yrs old ako meron pa... wahahahaha!!! ayan.. napaluha n nmn aq... hahaha!! tenkyu kuya... tenkyu tenkyu! mwah!!! love you!!


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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.


Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda