A heart-shaped wreath from Ate Neneth
When I go to Tagaytay, I usually have only one thing in my agenda: Sonya’s Garden. Sonya is a dear friend. I call her Mother. She must know how much of me is frittered away by city life because when I arrive at her garden, she always, always has me fed straightaway, as if there’s a hole in me that needs filling. And she must be right because when I get there, I am always, always ravenous.
