+ Follow TARSILA Tag
TARSILA
Array
(
[results] => Array
(
[0] => Array
(
[ArticleID] => 423393
[Title] => Ang iyang uyab nahimong iring
[Summary] => Duol na si Isyot sa payag nilang Tarsila ug naghinamhinam na siya nga magakos niya kini, kay nagsabot man god sila nga kun wala sa balay ang tatay ug nanay niini, adtoon niya kini ug aron sab makalugar siya sa pagpakigromansa sa dalaga.
[DatePublished] => 2008-12-14 00:00:00
[ColumnID] => 135786
[Focus] => 0
[AuthorID] =>
[AuthorName] =>
[SectionName] => Banat Kalingawan
[SectionUrl] => kalingawan
[URL] =>
)
[1] => Array
(
[ArticleID] => 323431
[Title] => Wisdom of the aged
[Summary] => This is one of those emails that I’m glad I didn’t delete, especially since it came on a day when one friend was complaining about a return bout of hot flushes and another was totally distressed over the death of her dog. Accepting both–and much more–is a grace that comes with age. Thanks then to my friend Tarsila for thinking of me and sending me this email.
[DatePublished] => 2006-02-26 00:00:00
[ColumnID] => 135045
[Focus] => 0
[AuthorID] => 1632939
[AuthorName] => NOTES FROM THE EDITOR By Singkit
[SectionName] => Starweek Magazine
[SectionUrl] => starweek-magazine
[URL] =>
)
[2] => Array
(
[ArticleID] => 267258
[Title] => In times of crisis
[Summary] => One day last week my friend Tarsila and her six-year-old son Eman cleaned out their closets. Clothes outgrown and outmoded were put into boxes, and Tarsila told her son that these were going to be donated to the typhoon victims in Aurora and Quezon provinces. Eman went into a panic. "Mommy, wala na akong damit!" he screamed, when he saw his clothes in boxes about to be given away.
[DatePublished] => 2004-12-12 00:00:00
[ColumnID] => 135045
[Focus] => 0
[AuthorID] => 1632939
[AuthorName] => NOTES FROM THE EDITOR By Singkit
[SectionName] => Starweek Magazine
[SectionUrl] => starweek-magazine
[URL] =>
)
[3] => Array
(
[ArticleID] => 257199
[Title] => Sex, glasses and the spice of life
[Summary] => Greenbelt on a Friday night is not where I would normally go, but I could not pass on the chance to have dinner with seven of my high school classmates, one of them visiting from Italy (the dinner’s "guest of horror"), another soon to fly off to the US, and the rest of us in for the laughter and the food (and good too–at the restaurant that used to be called a store but, because of the confusion, is now called Global Cafe).
[DatePublished] => 2004-07-11 00:00:00
[ColumnID] => 135045
[Focus] => 0
[AuthorID] => 1632939
[AuthorName] => NOTES FROM THE EDITOR By Singkit
[SectionName] => Starweek Magazine
[SectionUrl] => starweek-magazine
[URL] =>
)
)
)
abtest
December 14, 2008 - 12:00am
