I love passing by New Manila. I could never afford to live there but it doesn’t stop me from admiring the sprawl of old money mansions, and the modern townhouses which line its deserted streets. It doesn’t have the warmth of my neighborhood. I suppose many of those who live there would rather stay indoors in the air-conditioned splendor of their huge homes. But I live for the days when I pass through Gilmore, Broadway, or Balete, and alternating shafts of sunlight penetrate the tree-lined streets. These crepuscular rays never fail to delight me. They appear like fingers from the skies, stabbing the ground in some dusty fashion.