My Refference
Dahong Palay
Arturo B. Rotor The big ax sang its way through the large arc and then came down on the block of wood with a mighty crash. It neatly cleaved in two formidable mass, the pieces flying for along distance in opposite directions. Surveying his feat with glowing pride, Sebio felt a ripple run down the muscles of his arms, forearms, shoulders. He dropped the heavy ax and wiped the perspiration from his brows, from his bare brown arms, letting his fingers rest caressing lyon each muscle. Small were his muscles and flat and flabby when relaxed. But how hard and powerful they became when he tensed them! As hard as seasoned, knotted yantok! Triumphantly he raised his arms above his head and, facing the afternoon sun, he thrust out his chest and made every muscle of his body tense. He was quite tall, above the height of the ordinary native, but he had paid for this increased height in diminished breadth. His chest was flat, his neck long, and his legs thin. He was one of those boys who, the village people said “ grew too fast.”“He will become bigger and stouter when he reaches his twenty-fifth year,” his mother had always told solicitous friends and relatives. How deceptive his figure was, Sebio thought! No wonder those who knew him called him Sebiong Pasmado (Sebio the weakling) because of his slight figure, his spindle-shanks, his timidity. None of them would believe that he could lift two Socony cans full of water with either hand and raise them shoulder-high, or that he could carry three sacks of rice on those narrow shoulders. As he thought of them he snorted scornfully. The snake is the most slender, the most timid creature of the field, and yet people are afraid of it. “Sebio, what are you staring at?” a querulous voice came from the nipa hut.
“Nothing, Nanay. I was just stretching my cramped arms,” came the sheepish answer.
“Well, it is growing late. How do you expect me to cook rice without firewood?”
“Yes, yes, Nanay.”
With renewed vigor he
Arturo B. Rotor The big ax sang its way through the large arc and then came down on the block of wood with a mighty crash. It neatly cleaved in two formidable mass, the pieces flying for along distance in opposite directions. Surveying his feat with glowing pride, Sebio felt a ripple run down the muscles of his arms, forearms, shoulders. He dropped the heavy ax and wiped the perspiration from his brows, from his bare brown arms, letting his fingers rest caressing lyon each muscle. Small were his muscles and flat and flabby when relaxed. But how hard and powerful they became when he tensed them! As hard as seasoned, knotted yantok! Triumphantly he raised his arms above his head and, facing the afternoon sun, he thrust out his chest and made every muscle of his body tense. He was quite tall, above the height of the ordinary native, but he had paid for this increased height in diminished breadth. His chest was flat, his neck long, and his legs thin. He was one of those boys who, the village people said “ grew too fast.”“He will become bigger and stouter when he reaches his twenty-fifth year,” his mother had always told solicitous friends and relatives. How deceptive his figure was, Sebio thought! No wonder those who knew him called him Sebiong Pasmado (Sebio the weakling) because of his slight figure, his spindle-shanks, his timidity. None of them would believe that he could lift two Socony cans full of water with either hand and raise them shoulder-high, or that he could carry three sacks of rice on those narrow shoulders. As he thought of them he snorted scornfully. The snake is the most slender, the most timid creature of the field, and yet people are afraid of it. “Sebio, what are you staring at?” a querulous voice came from the nipa hut.
“Nothing, Nanay. I was just stretching my cramped arms,” came the sheepish answer.
“Well, it is growing late. How do you expect me to cook rice without firewood?”
“Yes, yes, Nanay.”
With renewed vigor he