My grandfather had a best friend who died of drowning in the river. This friend was a fellow farmer and always taking his beloved carabao, who drowned too, to bathe in the river everyday. My grandpa had been greatly sad by the loss of his friend, his buddy since they were young.
One day, while fixing his fishnet on the river bank, he saw a man riding on a carabao, on the deep part of the river. It wasn't moving or trying to swim. He look closely then, recognized him as his dead friend, who has just buried that day. He is there, sitting on a carabao, waving his hand to grandpa like saying goodbye, while sinking slowly in the deep river. The carabao wasn't swimming, but gradually sinking deep, with my grandpa's friend. He doesn't stop swaying his arms to my grandfather, who didn't felt fear but happiness and tears of joy to see his old friend again, and giving a good goodbye. Grandpa waved his hand back to the man on the carabao, until it sank deep in the river.
One day, while fixing his fishnet on the river bank, he saw a man riding on a carabao, on the deep part of the river. It wasn't moving or trying to swim. He look closely then, recognized him as his dead friend, who has just buried that day. He is there, sitting on a carabao, waving his hand to grandpa like saying goodbye, while sinking slowly in the deep river. The carabao wasn't swimming, but gradually sinking deep, with my grandpa's friend. He doesn't stop swaying his arms to my grandfather, who didn't felt fear but happiness and tears of joy to see his old friend again, and giving a good goodbye. Grandpa waved his hand back to the man on the carabao, until it sank deep in the river.
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