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The Turnpikes of Blissfulness
LONG BEFORE I MOVED TO FLORIDA, before I became a highly intelligent
clarinetist, I was baptized and Christened in a church somewhere outside of
Passaic County. That county holds the realm of my birthplace: Clifton, the city,
unlike countless others in New Jersey, who cares. As I was anticipating the
school bus on my first day of school, I waved to everyone in my family: Ophelia
(my mother), Isaias (my father), and my grandmother, Rosario Lime.
On my second birthday, most of the Filipino relatives threw a party in a
catering hole, which I guessed it was courtesy of Holiday Inn. I was thrilled
about the happening located exactly in the state of New Jersey that I felt more
excitement rush through my veins as a gaily imposing figure entered the hole. It
was a goofy being, most typical of many children's parties: a clown. After he
did a profoundly ludicrous show, the party animals sang "Happy Birthday," helped
ourselves to cake, and danced in an unusually astonishing way. I had that
bizarre feeling in my mind because the party music was the Oldies, A style of
music that only senior citizens can tune their ears to.
Several months later, my parents and I embarked on a vacation to Washington and
Florida. In Washington, near Seattle, we went to a national park, which I myself
didn't even recognize its name. As we careened up one of the mountains via a ski
lift ride, I felt a cowardly feeling in my abdomen and quaked. I felt exactly
the same old thing when we came down and I convinced Ophelia that it would build
up speed. She told me gently not to worry because if the lift would go hasty, we
would be in immense peril.
After a scenic, but frightening trip to the Cascades, we then entered the fair.
As I approached it, it seems to me that most of the rides looked droll,
cheerful, and jolly, but the Ferris wheel was a true terror. As our cabin
ascended, I was extremely horrified. The ride rotated in the opposite direction,
carrying my screaming and weeping self in it. After those horrific experiences,
the fear drained away as we boarded the plane to Orlando, Florida.
Our plane landed in Dallas, Texas, where our flight to Orlando was delayed, I
was wondering around the waiting area like a stray fox in Tampa, Florida.
Opheiia catches me and wiggles her fingers in contact to my body, which made me
laugh as the vigorous part in "Es ist Vollbracht" from Bach's Passion According
to St. John. Then she played a game with Isaias called "Locod, Locod," a game in
which a person crawls the fingers from head to toe. After all the frantic
vitality, we boarded the next plane, en route to the Sunshine State.
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