There are three seasons in the Philippines. Hot and sunny, hot and raining, or hot, sunny and raining, like a while ago, when the sky was so clear and then something came from the clouds and left the pavement wet. The smell of alimuom was on the air. My two kids were watching Dumbo. Somewhere out of sight, someone was playing a saxophone cover of Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline. The wind blew harder for a while, then subsided as the sky lightened. I know you don't care but I do have some sort of fascination with weather forecasting. Anyway, here's some music.
Most bags today look like they were produced by bored machines in a dimly lit factory. You can walk into any mall and find rows of identical leather (or “leather-like”) things, all claiming to express individuality. Ironically, though, they all look exactly the same. Then there’s Abby Verano . Her bags are not mere accessories; they’re declarations. Each one is hand-painted, touched by an actual human being with an imagination. Abby doesn’t just sell you something to put your wallet and smartphone in; she sells you a story, a vision, a little revolt against the tyranny of sameness. Her tools are simple — brushes, acrylic paint, bags made from pandan leaves, and creativity. No duplicates. No clones. Just one-of-a-kind art pieces you can carry.
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