I was walking around the Calle Crisologo area one hot afternoon. After checking out the Syquia Mansion, the ancestral house of Philippine president Elpidio Quirino, I noticed another old house at one corner. It seemed desolate but you could see the former grandeur, now sagging under the eaves, worn by time and battered by the weather. What stories it harbors in its crannies? What events it has witnessed. The windows looked out to the neighborhood. The eaves protruded to the sky, the sheets of roofing almost falling from their shingles. The picture is nostalgic. Sad but at the same time hopeful. Just like Vigan.