THE OTHER ZITA: THE ONE HE NEVER WROTE ABOUT
and yet loved.
Four years ago, I bought my first digital camera and named it Zita after the young girl in Arturo Rotor’s splendid short story about loss and letters. (It is still my favorite Filipino short story; I may even like it more than Dead Stars.)
Most people forget that there are two Zitas in the story, and I am naming this typewriter after the Zita that they never saw or spoke of. Not a sentence in the story described her (was she pale? was she tall? was she shy or musical or cunning or beautiful at all?), and yet without her there would have been no story.
Tonight, I replaced Zita’s ribbon so that I may begin to give and give away.
* * *
And hello from my comfortable orange couch. The TV, which I move around as necessary, is obstructing one of my bookshelves. And then, my little kitchen.
Sometimes, small spaces are the best places to live in. Everywhere you go feels snug and tight, like your home is giving you a hug.
