And she smiles in your head

It's been twenty minutes after I clicked on "new post" and I haven't written anything. In fact, the preparations for tomorrow's Hong Kong trip have already gotten in the way, and I have failed inspiration. Nothing's coming out.

I remember complaining about idleness frequently during past term breaks. I guess it comes with coming of age - not to say I have, but maturity is something nobody can measure, or understand for that matter - but idle time used to mean badly-triggered daydreams, and now it rarely happens. I came here knowing I'm supposed to write something about this, and I still couldn't. My mind can't get around to triggering a single image.

Has anyone wondered about what the word fantasy actually means? If you've been living under a rock, you wouldn't know that the fantasy films have appeared on the cinemas again, in yet another contest for who gets the most tickets sold. It might mean something else for other people, though - Joyce Jimenez wasn't called "pantasya ng bayan" for nothing. Suddenly, for the conservative among us, fantasy has taken on a negative meaning.

Most say it's there to put us in situations - good ones, of course - that we wouldn't see ourselves doing in real life. Say, a kid can imagine himself flying in the sky and helping those in need, because she knows she couldn't possibly be a Powerpuff girl. Older people get more grounded in reality, which is ironic because they themselves know it wouldn't happen, at least for the foreseeable future. As for me, well, it's still a mix of both, but there's nothing of the cartoonish sort. The ideas are just plain ridiculous.

I'd rather not elaborate, sadly. I think I'm too distracted to think of a way to even write them.

As a coping mechanism, it doesn't really work. Well, for me at least. Surely it provides a distraction from the reality we'd all escape from, but most usually it haunts us. We've seen it on television so many times, or it's a plot line I just conjured - one sees the object of his fantasies, goes in a trance while thinking of what to do, and you can predict the rest. It really isn't that twisted in my case, but I find myself stopping on my tracks for a split-second and reorienting myself. (But please don't think I'm such a loser. Pleeease.)

It's been almost forty-five minutes after I clicked on "new post" and, yes, I still can't get around to anything. Before I clicked on it, I told myself I will write something about someone, certainly because I'm somehow suffering a bout of half-jealousy and half-insecurity, at how close some things are and how much closer irony can be. If I can only imagine myself doing stuff with that one, well, that's the point. Fantasy, as a coping mechanism, doesn't really work. As Piyar managed to put it, better get "sense-ual" - or, as I'd like to think of it, get real and get working on it.

The preparations really have gotten in the way. I might as well imagine a meet-up in Kowloon Park.

And your responses...

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