#Philippine House for sale

[realtyhubph-blog]

Mekong 1430 Rent Friendship

Lot for Rent in Mekong Angeles City Korean Town

A commercial land that is a one-minute walk from Friendship Highway in Anunas, Angeles City is FOR LONG TERM LEASE PROPERTY FEATURES Total Area: 1430 sq.mVacant Lot, through lotIdeal for commercial purposes such as motels, hotels, retail stores, office building, and many more. NEARBY POINTS OF INTEREST IM Korean Mart, Yuganne 2, Friendship Bridge • Cafe Dia, Jung’s Kitchen, Jun-Jun’s BBQ •…

[littlestpersimmon]

Hey guys. Some of you guys would have heard by now that the philippines will face four typhoons consecutively. I'm currently in the middle of preparing, with the funds my partner gathered for me last month; only I've come across a couple of problems; firstly. That our fridge broke. We live in a wooden house, and when it rains, our walls are very damp due to my country's general humidity. I suppose it caused some short circuiting in some of the wires. I've had the fridge repaired, but it also spoiled 2-4 days worth of food. Secondly. My mom's wallet got stolen. It had around 150 usd in it, that was supposed to go to our groceries for the last leg of November. I've been unable to find work on twitter, as a dying platform. And I am somewhat late in fulfilling my October commissions.. I have not been able to make art as a hobby.. in almost 2 months. None of my social media is growing because I work 10 hours every day, and I'm too exhausted to draw afterward. I have around 3 jobs, and with dollar dramatically falling, while food prices continue to skyrocket.. I am drowning. I am the only person in our house who works. All my three family members are disabled. I pay for my sisters tuition fees, I'm pretty much her parents in all respects. Elon Musk destroyed one of the platforms where most of my clients come from. And my other work will only pay me once I deliver 200 pages of work. Humbly, again, asking for help, prayers. Anything.

There's a 15% off sale on inrprnt, please come pick up any print at all if you'd like.

My patreon is only a dollar a month. Ever since Apple chose to bill iPhone users 30% more, I've devastatingly lost almost 60 patrons.

You can send me a direct tip on ko-fi if you like and have the means. Everything goes to repairing our house, and food, and insulin.

Also have a PayPal here..

Prayers and reblogs appreciated. Thank you so much for looking out for me for almost the whole year now. I'm sorry again. I'm desperately trying to repay the favor with new art and free stories. I will do my best.

[propertylisting]

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗚 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗢 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧

𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸

[snugsodium]

What Are the Famous Houses in the Philippines?

Aside from going outside of your house and lot for sale and traveling around the Philippines to be immersed in our rich culture, reading credible Philippine history books, and hopping from one national museum after the other, what other things a Filipino can do in order to be in touch with their roots? Well, an underrated activity that you and your family must do during your kid's school vacation is to visit may it be in the richest of areas in Metro Manila, or as old as our Independence.

Here are a handful of the most famous homes in par, if not even more majestic if not historical, than Beverly Hills, you ought to take a visit. Who knows, this could inspire you to revamp and renovate your house and lot for sale.

[filipino-homes]

Welcome to your reliable and best real estate investment in philippines ! We understand that property investment is a significant decision, and we are here to make the process smooth, seamless, and rewarding for you. With years of industry experience, we pride ourselves on offering expert guidance and comprehensive solutions tailored to your unique needs.

Trusted real estate partner in the Philippines. Expert guidance, vast property selection, and personalized service for your dream investment. Contact us now!"

[houseandlot]

Beach front -500 sq.m titled lot 4 Sale -Cabarsican Bacnotan La Union👣 -With 1 small house & 1 big house -With 1 regular size of swimming pool.🤽‍♀️🏃‍♂️

[nochelleurboda]

FOR SALE ❗❕

Brand New House in Nova Tierra Subdivision, Lanang, Davao City, Philippines.

Near SM Lanang

Near offices, Dusit Thani Hotel, Insular Hotel and other businesses establishments

Near Schools

Lot Area: 150 sqm

Gross Floor Area: 120 sqm

Interior Floor Area: 82 sqm

Selling Price: P9,500,000

Reservation Fee: P200,000

Downpayment payable in 1 yr: P300,000/month

Balance Bank Financing @ 8% interest per annum

15 yrs- P54,472/month

10 yrs-P69,156/month

5 yrs-P115,575/month

Note: Reservation Fee is deductible from the Downpayment

Please send Viber +639958860488 to inquire.

#houseandlotforsalephilippines

[thoughtsafterdark]

Hospitals and Airports are the closest modernity can come to reaching the Divine

Have you noticed how some places seem immune to time and social conventions. Like airports, those monoliths of now. Harsh lights burning and souls criss-crossing, tongues melting together into a writhing throng of humanity, a steaming cesspit of consciousness. Steeped in camaraderie yet drenched in isolation. The electric blue arrivals sign glares with neon brightness at 3am, a beacon that signals the end of the road.

Here comes a family of 4 on their way home, crossing through automatic doors into the balmy drizzle of a British night, carrying their loot of straw hats and cheap pendants, tan lines and peeling red lobster skin. A girl no older than 5 limps after her parents and older brother. She lugs her bright pink unicorn behind her and hugs the hood of lilac pyjamas close, rubs the sleep out of her eyes whilst her mother shouts at her to hurry. Soon she’ll tuck herself into bed, in the attic of their ordinary red brick London row house, and she’ll watch the sun peak over the trees in the back garden for the first time in her life. It will become a core memory she will think fondly back on for years to come.

By the first class lounge they hurried past, a man in an impeccable suit (Sheep’s wool, the finest money can buy. The grey colour of the Thames on an early morning) paces back and forth restlessly, briefcase in hand, phone in another. Gold amber eyes like a hawk, close cropped black hair and neatly trimmed beard, square pocket matching the deep tan of his shoes (authentic leather). He is barking orders to someone in Arabic, closing deals, building empires. A bloodied napkin he used to stop a nosebleed earlier falls out of his pocket and winks up at the scaffolding exposed ceiling, high and arching like the dome of a cathedral. He’ll make the sale, then visit the airport bathroom again before hailing a cab to the closest 5 star. In the morning, the maid who took the job to send money to her ailing mother in the Philippines will find his cold stiff body and scream. She’ll call the police and be taken in for questioning. She never signed up for this.

At the hospital coffee shop – two streets and half a lifetime away - a 4th year med students sips on a cortado like her life depends on it. Caffeine surges through her veins, bracing her for the day ahead. Unbelievable how exhausting trying to take up as little space as possible can be. She hates the spiel, it’s the same every time. A new dawn, a new face, a new team. The introductions, the smiling, the grovelling, the headache. She’s 5ft flat with bright orange hair, aspirations for Neurosurgery and a bright pink notebook, so why would they take her seriously.

It’s 8:30, and she’s scheduled for 9am clinic, so she has time for a hurried breakfast today. (Eating any earlier makes her gag). Small mercies. The off-red stained scrubs she nicked from the theatre changing rooms cling to her like a second skin preparing to moult. She squirms in them, the comfort undeniable. They make her feel like she belongs. They make her feel like an imposter.

Her table – she comes here so often; she thinks of it as hers - sits right by large windows overlooking the main entrance and staircase. She sees it all from here, her quiet unassuming throne. The doctors and nurses, physios and pharmacists. Rushing rushing, running, stressing. Wishing, hoping, waiting, waiting, waiting. For the shift to end, for the time for bed. For this rotation to change, for the exam to pass. We’ll go on that holiday next month, next year. When money isn’t tight, when things are more settled.  Before they know it they’ve wished their lives away.

Their patients understand, all too well and all too late. The same father with the IV drip and the metal stand comes down here every morning to see his daughters. They run up to him, he holds them close and beams. But his grip is getting weaker, smile is getting thinner. He doesn’t answer when they ask when he’s coming home. It’s funny what we can’t hear when we’re too busy wearing stethoscopes. Next month she (I) will be stationed on the Psych ward. We’ll have to do it all again, but maybe they’ll hear me this time. Maybe it’ll get easier.

Between them all and among them, if you squint and unfocus your eyes during one of those ungodly hours at the Starbacks across from Boots and WHSmith, leaning against a grey white pillar you might see him.

He is the spectre that haunts airport lounges and waiting rooms alike, the handsome stranger with the black snapback and the beats headphones and the khaki shorts. The one who lives out of a rucksack and wears a travel pillow like a crown. With the kind eyes and crows feet, and honey chestnut curls. He is that boy from your high school everyone liked, with a kind word for everyone; the one with a charmers smile and the charisma to bullshit his way through anything. The one who – when pressed for future plans, would laugh and shake his head, looking down bashfully. “I just want to travel for now, see where it takes me. I want to see the world”, he’d say, eyes twinkling with the possibilities. On someone else, the words would likely merit a telling off, they’d be seen as the paper thin excuse to fuck around and get high. But he seemed so genuine, and his teeth were such a dazzling shade of brilliant white when he smiled, even the strictest careers advisers couldn’t resist.

He lives in those moments, the liminal fabric between worlds that’s so hard to put your finger on. Blink and you’ll miss him in the old alleys of Rome, the spark of his cigarette lighter blending amongst the city lights.

You’ll find him among the most remote hiking trails of the Peloponnese, laughing with local shepherds and German tourists alike, sitting on jutting rocky cliffs and admiring the blue Mediterranean below. If you really pay attention, you’ll see his staff isn’t like the others. Something suspiciously like a pair of snake slithers up and down. You could swear you heard them whispering just now, but when you look again it’s just a wooden stick.

He is the patron of us wanderers and travellers, those of us with movement in our blood and restlessness in our hearts. The ones who beget the will of changing winds and shifting tides. The ones who can’t allow themselves to sit still, lest the dust settle and the coffee get cold. The mortifying ordeal of being seen and known. Or the ones that carry a hearth with them, in the bottom of a suitcase, in the heart of a trailer. The ones who move and weave through the Earth not because they are running but because they are coming home. He dances and jokes with the kids amongst campfires, always welcome, always a pleasure. And if he helps them pick the odd lock, swearing solemnly to secrecy, who are we to judge.

His bronze skin smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, vanilla and cedar and a thousand other spices. He reeks of incense and market stalls, moles and freckles tell the story of trading routes and old silk roads, of cotton shawls from Alexandria and silk from Pekking. His fingers and eyes twinkle with the good-natured mischief of petty thieves and sleight-of-hand magicians, tricksters and circus performers. He picks apples from behind ears, presents jewel necklaces to his lovers.

She sees him now, amongst the patients. He helps an old lady up the steps, pulls a balloon out of his back pocket to the delight of a sick child. She locks eyes with him and they nod at one another She has been seen now, and known. Perhaps she’ll find him again one day, if either stop running.

[scouped]

Hello, Tumblr friends! I am hosting a fundraising event to help Amina (a fellow Carat!) and her family evacuate. Her GFM page has been getting very little to no interactions lately and we need all the help we can get!!!

If you're in the Philippines (or not, you can still help by spreading this!), join us on September 29 at Mabuhay Tea House (2 to 6pm)! We will have an art market full of local Carat artists (sales will be donated to Amina’s campaign), a Going Seventeen Quiz Bee, a live donation pool, a Stamp Rally, and a Raffle! Register here: https://bit.ly/GoingTogetherGR

Please help spread the word about this event to reach as many people as possible. Especially Amina's campaign - she is studying to be a pharmacist and she needs to evacuate along with her 5 family members while also trying to finish her studies. Please help us bring her family to safety.

For local donations: Send to Maya (09159594169) For international donations: Send directly to her GFM linked above For event donations (Raffle prize/Donation pool): Send to Ko-fi

[spooky-bunnys]

Title: This is my honeymoon

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Pairing: South x Izana's little brother

Warnings: arguing, mention of dieing, and protective older brother Izana.

(Name) winced when he felt his fiancée's shoulder dig more into his stomach. "Honey Bear, you're starting to hurt my ribs with your shoulder." (Name) sighed in relief as he was moved into a bridal carry which made him snort. Considering he had just accepted his boyfriend of 3 ½ years marriage proposal.

(Name) moved his white bangs out of his face and stretched up. Lavender eyes met angry Lavender eyes and (Name) sighed. His brother and his gang members had tried sabotaging the proposal and that led to this moment.

"IZA-NII CALM DOWN!" (Name) called out to his older brother figure. Izana and Kakucho had instantly added (Name) into they're family when he arrived. Only to later find out (Name) technically is Izana's brother. Which made the older VERY protective of him.

"I'LL CALM DOWN WHEN HE'S DEAD!" (Name) frowned and wrapped his arms around his fiancée's neck. "Honey Bear you might want to speed up. Kaku is running full speed ahead." The taller male nodded and threw his head back with a laugh. "Groom running away with his bride coming through!"

~

(Name) smiled softly as he slow danced with his new husband. He leaned against the warm chest and sighed happily. Although, the happiness didn't last long, when his groom was ripped away from him. Izana took the others place as the music sped up. Curtesy of his new DJ Rindou. (Name) grumbled softly.

"Iza-nii you need to stop. I'm a grown and now married man! Besides South can protect me too you know!" Izana frowned and glared in the direction of the other groom. Not wanting to admit that his little brother actually married the man. "Well I just want to spend time with you before I can't anymore."

(Name)'s frown softened. He had almost completely forgot about that. (Name) was moving in with South and they had bought a new house on the other side of Japan. So (Name) wouldn't see his brother and their friends too often anymore.

Ran who was dancing with Kakucho behind them tapped Izana's shoulder. "I just found out from Kakucho here that the house was in fact for sale. So we had Kokonoi buy it." Izana perked up and smirked in the semi raging South's direction as (Name) groaned loudly. He really couldn't catch a break could he?

~BONUS~

(Name) happily leaned against South's chest. They were drinking champagne on the balcony of their Honeymoon sweet in the Philippines. Everything was perfect. Was is the keyword.

"WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?! OI MOVE YOUR HAND OFF HIS ASS YOU PERV!?" (Name) snapped his head to the hotel across the street and sure enough his older brother, Kakucho, and all their friends were standing on the balcony. Most were staring at him with binoculars.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" "WHY ARE YOU PANTLESS?!" "IT'S MY HONEYMOON?! WHY ELSE WOULD I BE PANTLESS IZANA!" The two siblings aruged across the street. Nobody noticing the marching Kakucho who had a new mission. 'Retrieve (Name) before its too late.'

(The others in Tenjiku while (Name) and Izana are arguing across hotels)

[realtyhubph-blog]

456 sqm Lot Clark Manor Mabalacat

Calling investors & builders! ️ Massive 456 sqm lot in Clark Manor awaits! Open space view, prime location & endless possibilities. Don't miss out! #JMListings PhP 8,664,000. Contact us for a viewing (3-day notice required).

📍 Clark Manor Residential Estates Mabalacat City, Pampanga Property Features TYPE: Lot📐 Lot: 456 square meters✅ In front of Open Space✅ Through lot, total of 4 lots NEARBY POINTS OF INTEREST NLEX Dau Exit • HMR Auction Services Inc. • S&R Membership Shopping, Mabalacat • Jumbo Jenra • Dau Terminal • Jose C. Feliciano College • San Lorenzo Ruiz Parish Church • Puregold Dau • Metro Clark…

[cr4yolaas]

mezzo forte — homesick v.2

track 8: non-confrontational | masterlist | track 10: ebb and flow

hajime sits on the couch of his childhood home listlessly. it's the same couch that he watched doraemon on at ten in the evening, and it still bears the same popsicle stains from blistering hot summers spent with his childhood friends. just like before, his nanay stands in the kitchen washing rice and chopping veggies, while his lola sits with her legs beneath the cheap kotatsu they found at a garage sale the year they moved from the philippines to japan. it should feel like home. but a warm, sticky feeling (either from the hot air or from overwhelming guilt, he'll never know) makes him feel like an intruder in a house that should be his.

the rice cooker plays a cheery melody as it begins to warm up, and his mom takes it as a signal to rest beside him. her weight, albeit much less than his, dips into the cushion and forces him to lean towards her ever so slightly. as if on instinct, her hands, still slightly damp from washing the rice, reach up to massage his head, worn fingers threading threading through each strand of hair with intent (it’s a little uncomfortable, given his significant height difference). he doesn't have the heart to tell her that he's grown out of it — that the gentle rubbing of her fingertips atop his scalp isn't as relaxing for him as it used to be, and instead, it leaves him feeling antsy.

a filipino talk show murmurs quietly on the television, the hosts giggling about their carefree lives with a cheesy laughing sound effect to accompany their discussion. none of them seem to be really watching it. the ministrations on his head fail to cease, even as his mom starts speaking to him.

"why hasn't yn been visiting?" she questions, and while she doesn't outwardly express it, he can tell she misses her.

hajime shifts awkwardly in his seat. "she's upset at me, ma-"

"maryosep," she interjects with irritation laced in her tones and a slight tug on his hair. he winces at the pull, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees his lola halt her knitting to listen in. "how did that happen, hm? did you do something stupid?"

his mother always asks despite already knowing the answer. she would ask him if he threw out the extra veggies he didn't want to eat, even if she already saw him dumping the contents of his plate into the trash. she would ask if he was keeping his grades up, even if his teacher already informed her of his inability to stay focused in class through a hastily typed email. it's a habit that she can't seem to rid herself of, and it makes itself painfully obvious here.

hajime's admiration for her planted itself into every crevice of his being the day they moved in. both his lola and nanay knew, even if he never shared it with them. they watched it grow in waves — from youth, when he would give her the advantage in all the games they played together; to his teenage years, when he would stay up late to listen to her fumble at guitar chords on the floor of his bedroom; to adulthood, in which he acts as a moon rotating around its beloved planet. he doesn't have to explain the story, nor does he have to detail any part of the conflict; his behaviors and routines have been engraved into each inch of bone in their bodies — the result of raising a child as hectic as he.

"kase, you have to be honest. walang scared, haji." her hand tears away from his hair and rests itself on her lap. he can't find it in himself to look at her. "you will only make it worse if you can't be direct with her."

he looks at the floorboards, tracing the patterns with his eyes and hoping he'll find an answer between the wooden lines. low hums from the air conditioning echo through his brain, and he wants nothing more than to escape the heavy gaze of his mother and the pressurizing air that his grandma exudes with each still breath. he hates that they know. that his vulnerability is no longer capable of being masked from them. that, in the end, he knows his mom is right.

"do you think you can really love her?" his lola asks as if it's a casual question. slowly, she resumes her knitting, but by no means does her attention stray from him.

"yes," he breathes out, with a smidge of confidence that has unfamiliar origins. "i want to," he whispers.

"then be straightforward." his cheeks squish up between his mother's palms. this time, he can't avoid her or her stare. "tell her you really, truly feel. then you can do that."

his chest burns beneath their combined stares. all he can muster up is a small nod; his body feels like it’d shrivel up if he tried to do anything else. she runs rampant in his mind. he can’t escape it.

“mahal ko, ‘kay?” his mother whispers before pressing a loving kiss to his forehead. hajime wants to sob.

——

everything passes by in a daze. an innumerable mass of photographers and actors and directors distribute themselves amongst her studio — her safe haven. it feels sticky on her skin. but it’s business.

she isn’t quite sure why they all have to be present. frankly, she isn’t quite sure about anything that she’s doing — it isn’t often that she does this type of work. her hands twitch here and there while she click, click, clicks away at her mouse and keys, arranging something that she hopes is up to standard, and at the same time, the coalescence of bumbling and shuffling fills the room a smidge too full. it’s overwhelming. it’s horrifying. she wants to escape.

“…is there any way you can turn up the strings there? i think it’d be cool since we kinda have, like, a huge impactful scene here,” suggests one woman who stands at the side of her desk. she presumes it’s an actor, given by the neat up-do of her hair and the way she taps at her phone and the outfit she bears, which is far from suitable for this kind of meeting.

her suggestion sparks annoyance from the director, who stands behind the desk. “no, no, then it’s too overwhelming. i’m going for something nicer here, like a- what is it- a wash of color,” he rambles.

another protests from another corner of the room, and then another, and then another. she decides it’s better to sit and wait in patience. her palm, sweaty and marred, pulls away from its position and falls to her side. she’s tired of being pulled into the bickering and arguments. all she wants to do is compose and call it a day.

however, even that is difficult when she can’t save her mind from drifting to where it shouldn’t be.

two weeks without contact.

the concept of time suffocates her. tempo is essential to establishing control and energy in music, an idea that’s strongly familiar to her, but when it comes to true time in the real world, she can’t grasp it. however, now that it’s so blatantly in front of her, she can’t run away.

exaggerated complaints and wails and arguments waft about. it's too loud, much too loud, and all she can focus on to distract herself is the couch that she sat on weeks ago, smushed between her two anchors and eating homemade sinigang to soak away the stress. she wonders if the rift would be any less apparent if she hadn't let herself get carried away.

she wonders if they'd still want to sit on her couch, with her in the middle, hajime on her left, and tooru on her right, just as they always had.

a heavy knock disrupts the flow (or rather, the lack thereof) of the conversation. everyone is watching, staring, anxiously awaiting for someone to do something so they can get back on track. she waits for one, two, three seconds before finally getting up to open the door.

no one is there — save for a familiar tupperware container sitting on the ground filled with arroz caldo, his favorite.

her entire body aches, starting with her head, down to her chest, until it finally reaches her legs, which seem to give out beneath her. it's beyond unprofessional. she isn't quite sure if they'd still be willing to work with her after this blatant display of vulnerability. but those worries are pushed away into a far, far corner of her mind when she lifts up the plastic bag and it smells like home.

♪ this smau ended up being sm more angsty than i thought it would be. whoops !

♪ shoyo is so dependent on iwa </3 he misses his mean, beefy, intelligent roommate who is also his coworker

♪ japan usually broadcasts anime episodes on tv pretty late at night (10 pm to 4 am) and i imagine iwa was the type of kid to sneak out of his bedroom to watch doraemon and whatnot

♪ he tried to sneak yn and tooru in to watch with him at some point when they were 8 and it backfired so horribly </3 it's one of his favorite memories though

♪ in comparison to yn and tooru he genuinely believes that nothing has really changed between them (hence his inability to see through yn's songs). whether its genuine blindness or just him clinging onto what once was, it makes him the most disconnected from the group bc he doesn't realize how far apart they are now

♪ yn ate the arroz caldo in tears btw the staff had to excuse themselves LOL

♪ idk i'm so exhausted and while band camp is over i still have practice every other weekday ... i just want to write the chapters in my head </3

taglist: @zumicho @causenessus @guitarstringed-scars @yuminako @chemiru @sunnyskiezzzz @httpsivy @itsdragonius @theycallmenanamisgirl @wyrcan @19calicos @hunnies4bunnies @mawenskiblue @diorzs @loverlunaire @mfcherry @solaqes @myromanempiree @brithedemonspawn @corvid007 @lilchubbyyy @hyenagoated

[littlestpersimmon]

Am caught in a death spiral my lieges. I don't feel entitled to anyone's time, effort or resources but I feel so beat down. I am disabled, I am working so much I genuinely developed a hunched back. I am alone responsible for my autistic sister, her parentified sibling, and my two parents who are disabled with extremely limited movement. I have three jobs. I can't ask for help on twitter because people I work for follow me there. My work requires me to draw every day, without a day off, ever. I have a "morality clause" which means if I or the author I work with are deemed to be acting in any way the company thinks inappropriate, we are immediately fired and would have to return every single cent we have made. I feel at my wits end. My employers are american- but I am not. I live in the global south- government assistance in the Philippines is *nonexistent*

Last week I asked for help to pay for electricity. The other week I asked for help with my sister who had to be rushed to the ER.

I doxxed myself and posted medical info to this blog, so many strangers know my address, my legal name, everything just for me to be able to seek mutual aid- Wallah I do not want to be this person, but if anyone could please, pick up a print from my inprnt, or subscribe to my patreon, I already have 300+ drawings up there and I upload thrice to four times a month, or if you could send direct tips it would make a world's difference. I will try to open commissions next week but as the world is being plunged into wherever it is we are headed, it's getting harder and harder to get clients.

Currently myself dealing with housing insecurity- we only have a year or two to fix our traditional filipino house as it is falling apart due to the philippine storms and termites- *please* help me and my disabled family of three. I feel I am rambling now bc there's so much on my mind, on my plate, I've asked friends and my partner for help, my sister and my cousins and my friends are all I have. My mom's side of the family cannot help as they are all extremely poor themselves, and my paternal side of the family have emotionally abused me and have members that committed routine csa on me. I do not take any of the help I receive here for granted, and I'm sorry. Reblogs are off as I am asking for help from followers as I feel very ashamed / embarrassed/ humiliated to still be stuck in this dark place . Sorry and thank you again

Inprnt is having a sale rn, everything is like at 40% off!

And my tipping jars:

Sorry and thank you again. If you can't donate or purchase its OK, just please please please include me in your prayers, make mi shebeirach for my health so I csn continue to work, or any prayers at all for me. Thank you

[propertylisting]

𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗢𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗔𝗟𝗘

📍Canlubang, Calamba, Laguna

Near Ayala Malls Solenad, Miriam College Nuvali

𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The ”Circular Sun House” in Phoenix, Arizona is the last house Frank Lloyd Wright designed. It was built in 1967, has 3bd. 3ba. and for sale for $8.950M.

This is one of only 14 circular homes that Wright designed.  Overlapping concentric circles create a flowing, open floor plan with every room featuring stunning views of Palm Canyon and the city below.

The interior features Philippine mahogany handcrafted throughout and comes with all the mid-century modern furnishings that you see in the photos.

Most of the home’s windows avoid direct sunlight, yet the interior is filled with light.

The library features a tribute to Frank Lloyd Wright.

Even the kitchen is circular. 

The long circular hallways have lots of storage cabinetry.

The main bd. is light-filled and spacious.

The en-suite bath is huge and circular.

Look at the copper colored mosaics. 

An additional home office.

This 2nd bd. is a good size and also has good natural light and an en-suite.

Stairs lead to this home office on the 2nd level. It kind of resembles a space ship.

The crescent-shaped pool is lined with mother-of-pearl!

The house sits on a 1.32 acre lot, but this is the entertaining space. 

The concrete block construction is meant to resemble the surrounding boulders.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/6836-N-36th-St_Phoenix_AZ_85018_M19456-23297

[filipino-homes]

ACRES Philippines safeguards licensed real estate agents, promoting professionalism and accountability. Learn how this organization supports and protects industry practitioners.