David Haldane writes: Less than a week before Thanksgiving–the quintessential American holiday during which families and friends gather to feast and give thanks–California experienced an unprecedented coronavirus spike; nearly 11,000 new infections per day. In just two weeks the number had doubled, surpassing even the summer’s peak.
David Haldane writes: A man with high blood pressure is apt to wonder how it got that way. What cause would it have to remain within normal bounds on the northern coast of Mindanao, only to become devilishly troublesome on the western coast of America? Contrary to all appearances, this is actually a question both complex and profound, so let me begin with the most obvious answer.
David Haldane writes: The year was 1988, and Ted Ngoy had a remarkable story to tell. A native of Cambodia, he had arrived in the US as a penniless refugee just a few years before. Now he was the multimillionaire owner of a chain of doughnut shops stretching up and down the state. And the hundreds of relatives and countrymen he’d set up in shops of their own had transformed California’s doughnut trade into one completely dominated by Cambodians.
David Haldane writes: The meeting was awkward. It involved three grown men standing on the sidewalk of a public park. One of them was me; the other two were long-time friends. The occasion was a reunion we’d planned in the Northern California city of Concord, to which one of us had recently moved. But there was a hang-up; the guy who lived there felt too much fear to meet inside.
David Haldane writes: The pictures are hard to look at. Posted by a friend in Dalaguete, Cebu, they show a lovely young girl lying dead as her shrieking mother looks on. The child, we are told, was a local elementary student braving the pandemic at home with the help of so-called self-learning modules. What happened next is unthinkable; in need of some academic help she couldn’t find, the youngster apparently hanged herself, fueling a family horror sure to survive her by decades.
David Haldane writes: For anyone growing up in Southern California, as I did, the name was synonymous with fun in the sun. Like most peers of my generation and geography, I enjoyed surfing through the summers of my youth. In my case, those flings never matured into marriage. Yet, even for me, Surfer magazine occupied a position of reverence.
This website uses cookies to improve your experience. We'll assume you're ok with this, but you can opt-out if you wish.AcceptRejectRead More
Privacy & Cookies Policy
Privacy Overview
This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may affect your browsing experience.
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
