Twelve degrees and a hug

Here we go. Another debut, this time slated on the date that marks a year after a wasted ticket to Zsa Zsa Zaturnnah. Piyar just told me about hers, this early, and the first thing that comes to mind is another wardrobe problem. The theme, apparently, is that of a music award ceremony, probably something like what's always shown on the television. And I'm at a loss for ideas.

Black outfits? Hrmmm. I'll need some of that sort for my Baguio trip tomorrow. I'm hearing that temperatures are as low as twelve degrees. But I decided instead to bring thicker shirts - none of those from yesterday's present haul - and none of them are black.

Issa will also be in Baguio tomorrow, surprisingly. If before I whine at the thought of her being there, but not really - it's either I'm stuck in class or I'm on my way home when she happens to be in the DLSU area - now I'm shocked at the sheer coincidence things are going. And my dreams last night are saying something similarly.

Simply, though, within the next four days, this one, that one, and that other one will be quiet. I'll be out shivering, or enjoying the vegetables, or taking a lot of photos while making sense out of the radio stations in the city. And my message hasn't sent itself to Issa - I thought she was up to something, again. Weird, my paranoia still works, after all these terms - probably like, at least what I think, about Piyar claiming to be chubby and all that, when I think she isn't after the many meet-ups we've had. Or maybe it's because she somehow kept on wearing black.

Black outfits? Hrmmm. The news is blaring out four disasters, including that firecracker fire in Ormoc I first heard in CNN. That's where black comes in. Death, negativity, and stuff.

Paranoia comes into the picture one more time.

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