"Balut!" every night.

Every night in my room, at exactly 8 PM, I would hear a man's voice from outside shout, "Balut!" 

Without any misses, at that exact time, I'd hear that voice and that same word. I'd always carelessly think, "Oh, there's Manong Mag-babalut again." 

Mag-babalut was how we'd call anyone selling balut, which Wikipedia would go on and define as a developing bird embryo, which would be boiled and eaten in Southeast Asian countries, especially the Philippines.

I never really bothered. In fact, I didn't like balut. Every night I would hear the call for anyone who would like to buy some balut, and the man's distinct voice calling out, "Balut!" Just the same, every night, I would ignore him.

Except tonight.

Tonight, I went out with Hazel Hive account@travelingmercies for dinner. It had been a while since we'd seen each other, so we decided to eat out to catch up with each other, too. Time flew really quickly, and after a quick meal and conversations, we bade each other good-bye.

Walking back to the boarding house, I heard Manong Mag-babalut.

"Balut!"

I was surprised. It must have been 8 in the evening already.

I looked around, but couldn't seem to pinpoint who he was in the crowded area. What I noticed, though, was the old woman walking a few meters in front of me. From where I stood, I could see her hair tied up in a messy bun, and her eyeglasses nearly slipping from her nose bridge.

She looked so old and weary, but I could see the determination too. The woman was carrying a lot of things. A lot. There was this huge plastic basket she had in her arms, and a couple of prepacked fish crackers hanging off from the basket.

"Balut!"

There it was again. 

But this time, it felt nearer. That was when it hit me.

Walking beside the woman was an old man wearing a worn-out jacket and a baseball cap. He was leaning on a tall umbrella for support; he could hardly pull his feet to walk.

From behind them, I stopped and watched them.

Time to time, the old woman would stop and wait for the man -- who I assumed was her husband -- to catch up to her, and they would walk together, at the old man's pace. The man would call out for any possible customers with his loud and clear "Balut!" and each time, my heart swelled.

And together, they continued on.

Today is the 18th day of 2018, and from an old couple selling balut in the streets, I saw love.

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Aira's notes: I'm sorry about the shitty timelapse. I was so overwhelmed tonight that, despite immense headache, I forced myself to come up with at least this cheap timelapse illustration. I was itching to get this out, so please excuse me.

I promise to come up with something better this weekend when I feel better; the two of them took my heart with them and deserve something more than this. 💕