Simon's Playground

We walk out of the walls of Intramuros to look at it. It’s essentially a white tower on a red brick base. On the tower, gold and baby blue ornaments can be seen.

Dark lettering spell out SIMON DE ANDA. We try not to look down but we already see what we don’t want to. We walk with our breaths held, avoiding the inhaling of what smells like shit.

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Around the red brick is what used to be a pond. Now the water is gone, replaced by scraps of paper, old shorts, and large jagged pieces of a black ceramic-like substance. The surrounding courtyard sees more of the black stuff, scattered all around dry grass and thirsty soil.

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Two young boys, in ragged clothing, skin burnt to a brownish oil walk by with jellylike legs, one of them holding a plastic, the other an amber bottle of thick guck as they stagger by the supposed monument.

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Photos taken, Monday 22 January, when Gin, Cindy, and I visited the place.