My Home by Dr. Jose Rizal Essay

I had nine sisters and one buddy.My father,a model of fathers,had abandoned us an education in affinity to our modest means.By dint of frugality,he was able to build a stone signboard,to buy another,and to raise a sm completely told nipa hut in the midst of a grove we had,under the shede of banana and other trees. There the delicious atis displayed its gossamer fruit and lowered its branches as if to pull through me the trouble of reachich step to the fore for them.The sweet santol,the angelic and mellow tampoy,the pink makopa vied for my favor.Father away,the plum tree,the biting but flavorous casuy,and the beatiful tamarind delight the eye as much as they delighted the palate.Here the papaya streatched out its broad leaves and tempted the birds with its enermous fruitthere the nangka,the coffee,and the orangish trees perfumed the air with the aroma of their flowers.On this posture the iba,the balimbing,the pomegrante with its abundant foliage and its lovely flowers c aptivate the senseswhile here and there lift elegant and majestic trees loaded with abundant nuts,swaying thier proud tops and gracefull baranches,queens of the forests.I should never end were I to number all our trees and amuse my self in identifying them. In the twilight innumerable birds gathered from every where and I,a child of three years at most,amused my self watching them with wonder and joy.The yellowness kuliawan,the maya in all the varieties,the kulae,the Maria kapra,the martin,all the species of meadowlark joined the pleasant harmony and raised(a) in varied chorus a farewell hymn to the sun as it vanished behind the tall mountains of my town. Then the clouds,through a capris of nature,combined in a thousand shapes,which would on the spur of the moment dissolve even as those bewitching days were also to dissolve,living me only the slightest recollections.Even now,when I look out of the window of our house at the splendid panorama of twilight,thoughts that arelong s ince gone renew themselves with nostalgic eagerness.Came then the night to unfold her mantle,somber at times,for all its stars,when the shay Diana failed to coures trought the sky in pursuit of her brother Apollo.But when she appeared,a vague brightness was to be dis-cerned in the cloudsthen seemingly they would crumbleand little(a) she was to be seen,lovely,grave,and silent,rising like an immense ball which an invisible and omnipotent hand draw through space. At such times my mother gathered us all together to say the rosary.Afterward we would go to the azotea or to some window from where the corn liquor could be seen,and my ayah would tell us stories,sometimes sorrowful and at other times gay.In which skeletons and bury treasures and trees that bloomed with diamonds were mingled in confusion,all of them born on an resource wholly Oriental.Sometimes she told us that men lived on the moon,or that the markings which we could percieve on it were nothing else than a charwoman who was forever weaving.