Danielle Florendo

I used to hear the hustle and bustle of the people walking through my streets. I remember hearing the muffled yet loud chatter of the freshest gossip among the neighbors, the children taunting each other in play and the vendors hollering at the top of their lungs accompanied by the relentless ringing of their handbells and horns.

I still hear them, but now echoing from the walls of their homes. Though the streets remain empty, the resonating narratives of the people inside their nests broadcasted through my neighborhood. I listen to the houses speak in times of isolation.