Back at my grandparents' place, decades ago, this was the source of news, music, entertainment and even messages (much like voicemail except everyone can hear it).
This box would be with us when planting corn, harvesting rice, or making copra. And just before lunch, the whole village would pay extra attention to the program where people from the city would take turns at broadcasting their messages to family, relatives and friends for urgent concerns like money, weddings, deaths, or even a forgotten red towel because baths had not been fulfilling without it.
This was our company at siesta, with music from the 70's, or at dusk while waiting for rice and dried fish to be ready for dinner. We'd listen to how Ramini, Ang Batang Bronse, would ride the whirlwind to distant lands.
Sometimes, at night, when the wind is soft and cool, and crickets seem to give voice to the dark but sparkly sky, grandma would let us listen to a bit more music. She would turn down the sound to almost nothing. It would never take long for us to slumber and dream about the hills, our carabao ride to the river and the trees we climbed all summer.
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