"Holiday pala bukas," I said.
"Wala nang ulan!" Carmel replied. She seemed lost, only realizing what I said later. "Kayo ang may holiday!"
"Actually before, optional siya," I explained. "Parang, you can go to work or not. Well, for tomorrow's holiday. I planned to go to work."
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9/30/2008
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9/28/2008
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If some of my friends are to be believed, then I'm surrounded by the wrong kind of people. Maybe I just feel this way, or it's really the case, but I've always felt like the odd one out in a group of people. Maybe it's my tendencies to let myself down - I've tried keeping tabs on them but they always come up - but, after so many years trying to look for that certain thing that'll really keep me happy, what else can I do?
Lately, whenever I go online, I hesitate double-clicking some names and starting a conversation. Never mind whether we've spent a considerable amount of time offline, but whenever the time comes, it doesn't always seem enough to warrant endless conversations about random things. Other priorities are one thing, like Issa begging off because of her thesis, which I sensed before she could. Technological breakdowns are another, like how Meebo apparently compromises crucial conversations. I can usually live with that, although there's no way for me to ever know. What's more telling is whether my attempts at a conversation will ever lead to anything.
Sure, I'm going ahead of myself. (Niko to Jackie: "Pinangungunahan ko [ang sarili ko] pero ayoko ring naiinis [for] the rest of the day.") But how can you work anything out if there's nothing to begin with? Sometimes I think I'm doing the closest thing to gatecrashing, with my suddenly frequent feelers towards a few people. Say, my frequent comments to Majet's blog entries, or my marathon conversations with Carmel, or the rare but crazy things that I end up discussing with either Alyssa or Adette. I can't always contain my surprise when things end up developing quite nicely, but you can't deny the fact that I'll end up looking just that - a gatecrasher. Each have their own cliques (a term I'm shamelessly borrowing from Asia) and their own lives, and it will take a lot more for me to make it in there. That means I'm three years too late.
Read more »
Lately, whenever I go online, I hesitate double-clicking some names and starting a conversation. Never mind whether we've spent a considerable amount of time offline, but whenever the time comes, it doesn't always seem enough to warrant endless conversations about random things. Other priorities are one thing, like Issa begging off because of her thesis, which I sensed before she could. Technological breakdowns are another, like how Meebo apparently compromises crucial conversations. I can usually live with that, although there's no way for me to ever know. What's more telling is whether my attempts at a conversation will ever lead to anything.
Sure, I'm going ahead of myself. (Niko to Jackie: "Pinangungunahan ko [ang sarili ko] pero ayoko ring naiinis [for] the rest of the day.") But how can you work anything out if there's nothing to begin with? Sometimes I think I'm doing the closest thing to gatecrashing, with my suddenly frequent feelers towards a few people. Say, my frequent comments to Majet's blog entries, or my marathon conversations with Carmel, or the rare but crazy things that I end up discussing with either Alyssa or Adette. I can't always contain my surprise when things end up developing quite nicely, but you can't deny the fact that I'll end up looking just that - a gatecrasher. Each have their own cliques (a term I'm shamelessly borrowing from Asia) and their own lives, and it will take a lot more for me to make it in there. That means I'm three years too late.
Read more »
9/27/2008
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Something struck me when I walked from the office to the transport terminal last night. Perhaps it's because I was asked to explain what the last blog entry meant; as much as I enjoy seeing people peel apart the things that I write, having to explain them has become boring and repetitive. I've gone through those emotions already, as I wrote them; why should I go through them a second time? Anyway, you can blame the longer nights for the thought bubble, but I realized that, at least for the past few months, I've been writing about insignificance.
I used to think that all I can write is either a rant about this unfair world, or an ode to somebody I find myself falling in love with. It's unavoidable, as I've been doing them whenever it strikes me, but everybody else is doing it now, so I'm actually straying away from it. Maybe I've got a reason to be thankful: these new experiences bring me something new to write about. Nothing beats a new perspective, and nothing beats an observation that's pondered on very well.
Whenever I'm alone at the office - that's right after the conundrum, when the four other writers have left and I'm at my happiest and sleepiest - I find myself reading my not-so-old blog entries. It still gives me a kick, realizing that I've written about what now seem to be very trivial things. I laugh at the things I said, or at the things they said (and I quoted), or maybe at the typographical error that I decide not to change because nobody will see it anyway. Then I pieced everything together.
Read more »
I used to think that all I can write is either a rant about this unfair world, or an ode to somebody I find myself falling in love with. It's unavoidable, as I've been doing them whenever it strikes me, but everybody else is doing it now, so I'm actually straying away from it. Maybe I've got a reason to be thankful: these new experiences bring me something new to write about. Nothing beats a new perspective, and nothing beats an observation that's pondered on very well.
Whenever I'm alone at the office - that's right after the conundrum, when the four other writers have left and I'm at my happiest and sleepiest - I find myself reading my not-so-old blog entries. It still gives me a kick, realizing that I've written about what now seem to be very trivial things. I laugh at the things I said, or at the things they said (and I quoted), or maybe at the typographical error that I decide not to change because nobody will see it anyway. Then I pieced everything together.
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9/26/2008
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They were five people, huddled around a table for ten, talking boisterously about whatever it is they decide to talk about. Nobody notices Angela coming by, but she didn't really have to make her presence known.
"Angela!" Jessica, the group's mysterious type, exclaimed.
"Jess!" Angela replied.
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"Angela!" Jessica, the group's mysterious type, exclaimed.
"Jess!" Angela replied.
Read more »
9/24/2008
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I went to work by myself yesterday, which meant I had to endure a cramped illegal (of sorts) vehicle and try to get some shut-eye while everybody else shakes with the road craters. The least you can get is some room to stretch, and perhaps some room for me to make sure no artist gets repeated on my iPod - that's how fussy I am. But it's the morning trips, and they're usually packed to the brim, and you can only imagine my exasperation when this guy came in and rounded off the row of seats where I was.
It usually takes four people to fill a seat, theoretically, but this guy is big. Don't get me wrong - I haven't got anything against big people. I just remember the feeling of getting a bit squeezed by this package of earphones, presumably fake Lacoste shirt and more than some pounds. Quite inevitably, as I'm in the middle of the row, I'd have slightly better peripheral vision, and that meant I can see what that guy, scruffy hair and all, was texting.
Now, my father taught me not to look at what others are texting others. I remember nine years ago, back when Shopwise was newly-opened and the Nokia 7110 was the newest mobile there is. I was looking at this guy's shoulder, but only to see that phone at work, with its scrolling wheel and wider screen. Ten years later, I still remember what the guy was texting: "happy father's day!"
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It usually takes four people to fill a seat, theoretically, but this guy is big. Don't get me wrong - I haven't got anything against big people. I just remember the feeling of getting a bit squeezed by this package of earphones, presumably fake Lacoste shirt and more than some pounds. Quite inevitably, as I'm in the middle of the row, I'd have slightly better peripheral vision, and that meant I can see what that guy, scruffy hair and all, was texting.
Now, my father taught me not to look at what others are texting others. I remember nine years ago, back when Shopwise was newly-opened and the Nokia 7110 was the newest mobile there is. I was looking at this guy's shoulder, but only to see that phone at work, with its scrolling wheel and wider screen. Ten years later, I still remember what the guy was texting: "happy father's day!"
Read more »
9/22/2008
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"Huwag kang magpapadala," I told myself as I got out of the elevator and entered the office. I flicked for a ballpen, timed in, and got to my excuse for a desk. I turned on the PC, not forgetting to pull out the network cable before I log in, and not forgetting to plug it back in, else I won't be able to do my work for the entire day, which would be a very stupid thing. I put on my headphones, "turned on" the radio, and started doing what I usually do.
By that, I mean the usual things. I check my work mail and my personal mail, check what I shouldn't check, and start opening the articles for rewriting. I wondered about the Emmys, and how I used to watch it when I had the time - obviously, not at this time, since I'm at work, although ironically I was rewriting an article about some Emmy nominees. (Turns out The Colbert Report and The Daily Show, my before-I-go-to-bed routine, got one award each.) A little under an hour later, I started writing my profiles. Eighteen, as usual.
Today was slightly different, however. It's not that I was too engrossed on what I was listening to, since it's still repetitively bad for my attention span. It's not that I was decidedly peeled in front of the computer monitor, although that helped. I guess it came to the point when I got annoyed at the idea that I'm no longer alone again. I felt a sense of frustration when Glenn walked in, and I thought, here we go again.
Read more »
By that, I mean the usual things. I check my work mail and my personal mail, check what I shouldn't check, and start opening the articles for rewriting. I wondered about the Emmys, and how I used to watch it when I had the time - obviously, not at this time, since I'm at work, although ironically I was rewriting an article about some Emmy nominees. (Turns out The Colbert Report and The Daily Show, my before-I-go-to-bed routine, got one award each.) A little under an hour later, I started writing my profiles. Eighteen, as usual.
Today was slightly different, however. It's not that I was too engrossed on what I was listening to, since it's still repetitively bad for my attention span. It's not that I was decidedly peeled in front of the computer monitor, although that helped. I guess it came to the point when I got annoyed at the idea that I'm no longer alone again. I felt a sense of frustration when Glenn walked in, and I thought, here we go again.
Read more »
9/21/2008
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My first brush with the supposedly fabled La Salle-Ateneo rivalry - I had to write it that way, for that sheds obvious light on where I'm speaking from - came when I was but an innocent high school boy. I'd see one of my older cousins, Alvin, endlessly root for the Archers despite him being a student of nearby CSB. Well, that still counts, since the Archers and the Blazers are sibling teams, and whenever a UAAP game is happening during a visit to the paternal side of the family, you can expect everybody to rally around the cramped living area of my grandparents' house and watch the action unfold.
I watched intermittently, blissfully unaware of what the rivalry is all about (or whether it actually existed at all). I only remember now watching entire games because the temperature in the first floor can get so hot because everybody's there watching television. It seemed a bit funny to think, then, that I'd end up as a Lasallian student myself - something my mother was proud of, as she occasionally made light of Alvin's weirdly-placed support for DLSU.
But the rivalry was never on the top of my list. For me, it was just one of those things that spiced up university life, and provided one the opportunity to have something to talk about. I was surprised, then, after this little exchange during LPEP's first day.
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I watched intermittently, blissfully unaware of what the rivalry is all about (or whether it actually existed at all). I only remember now watching entire games because the temperature in the first floor can get so hot because everybody's there watching television. It seemed a bit funny to think, then, that I'd end up as a Lasallian student myself - something my mother was proud of, as she occasionally made light of Alvin's weirdly-placed support for DLSU.
But the rivalry was never on the top of my list. For me, it was just one of those things that spiced up university life, and provided one the opportunity to have something to talk about. I was surprised, then, after this little exchange during LPEP's first day.
Read more »
9/20/2008
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"Dapat pala hiniram ko na sa'yo yung libro kahapon," I told my sister when she woke up at her usually very late hour. "Nung nagpunta ako sa LTO."
"Anong book?" she answered, flipping her hair in front of the big mirror hanging in the dining room.
"Yung yellow," I answered, not remembering the title.
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"Anong book?" she answered, flipping her hair in front of the big mirror hanging in the dining room.
"Yung yellow," I answered, not remembering the title.
Read more »
9/19/2008
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"It's another case of character assassination," politicians would usually say, and then you'd wonder whether they're actually saying the right thing. One can say that the insinuations are just utter lies, lovingly crafted and sequenced to put the person in a bad light. One can also say that the same insinuations are actually true. Well-hidden, sure, but still lovingly crafted and sequenced to put the person in a bad light.
It depends, perhaps, on proximity. If one starts talking trash about somebody obviously bigger - and no, not that kind of big - then there's a possibility that it's just an insinuation based on appearances. What with the ubiquity of the written word? One can say "I don't trust her because she's capable of killing everybody" and make sure the whole world reads it. That just worsens the situation, but the affected subjects can simply go, "that's sheer character assassination."
But such statements get drowned out when the person attacking, for lack of a better term, can prove the insinuations, or at least prove the possibility of the statements being valid. Recent American politics, for one, has seen so many books released, attacking the current administration; the more scathing the remarks are - depending, at least, on how the publishers and the media spin it - the more cries of below-the-belt attacks are heard. If it's explosive, and if it seems valid, someone's going to cry wolf - and many won't believe.
Read more »
It depends, perhaps, on proximity. If one starts talking trash about somebody obviously bigger - and no, not that kind of big - then there's a possibility that it's just an insinuation based on appearances. What with the ubiquity of the written word? One can say "I don't trust her because she's capable of killing everybody" and make sure the whole world reads it. That just worsens the situation, but the affected subjects can simply go, "that's sheer character assassination."
But such statements get drowned out when the person attacking, for lack of a better term, can prove the insinuations, or at least prove the possibility of the statements being valid. Recent American politics, for one, has seen so many books released, attacking the current administration; the more scathing the remarks are - depending, at least, on how the publishers and the media spin it - the more cries of below-the-belt attacks are heard. If it's explosive, and if it seems valid, someone's going to cry wolf - and many won't believe.
Read more »
9/17/2008
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I've had enough of the euphemisms. I've made the wrong decisions, and already it's wrecking havoc.
It seems everybody has asked me, at one point or another, to think positive. As much as I've gotten tired of that, I have actually been doing it, perhaps unwittingly. I was very much apprehensive after the examinations, and when I got the job offer, my heart sank, because I didn't want to take the job anymore. I took the chance anyway, thinking that I'll be in it for the experience, and that I can get out after six months, which is the only time I can freely do so.
When I began working, I took joy in the fact that I have a broadband Internet connection, that I can listen to stuff I can't listen to at home, and that I am basically free, and in an actual city setting at that. I took joy at my most mundane of articles, at the few profiles that don't read like timelines, at the feedback I get from my bosses in Seattle, and at photos I uncover for the articles that require them. I found the way I seemingly automate my fingers' movements on the keyboard amusing. Overall, it should be going pretty well.
Read more »
It seems everybody has asked me, at one point or another, to think positive. As much as I've gotten tired of that, I have actually been doing it, perhaps unwittingly. I was very much apprehensive after the examinations, and when I got the job offer, my heart sank, because I didn't want to take the job anymore. I took the chance anyway, thinking that I'll be in it for the experience, and that I can get out after six months, which is the only time I can freely do so.
When I began working, I took joy in the fact that I have a broadband Internet connection, that I can listen to stuff I can't listen to at home, and that I am basically free, and in an actual city setting at that. I took joy at my most mundane of articles, at the few profiles that don't read like timelines, at the feedback I get from my bosses in Seattle, and at photos I uncover for the articles that require them. I found the way I seemingly automate my fingers' movements on the keyboard amusing. Overall, it should be going pretty well.
Read more »
9/16/2008
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Turns out there are eleven poles in this planet. There are two geographical poles, technically the North Pole and the South Pole; two magnetic poles, (which is a bit closer to the geographical poles; two geo-magnetic poles, whatever that means; two celestial poles, (which is determined by the way the planet tilts in space, for lack of initiative to explain; a ceremonial South Pole, solely for photo opportunities; and two poles of inaccessibility.
Now, the thing with poles of inaccessibility is that it's not achieved by whichever amount of lines cartographers construct, or how the planet tilts, or how the planet's magnetic fields work out. Apparently, it's simply a spot on the planet that's just so hard to get into, because it's so far away from any geographical feature that could enable someone to get to that point.
To better illustrate this, there's this place called Point Nemo. It's the exact spot in the Pacific Ocean that's farthest from land. Technically, each continent and each ocean has one pole of inaccessibility, but that's not counted, at least by that episode of QI which I watched on YouTube.
Read more »
Now, the thing with poles of inaccessibility is that it's not achieved by whichever amount of lines cartographers construct, or how the planet tilts, or how the planet's magnetic fields work out. Apparently, it's simply a spot on the planet that's just so hard to get into, because it's so far away from any geographical feature that could enable someone to get to that point.
To better illustrate this, there's this place called Point Nemo. It's the exact spot in the Pacific Ocean that's farthest from land. Technically, each continent and each ocean has one pole of inaccessibility, but that's not counted, at least by that episode of QI which I watched on YouTube.
Read more »
9/15/2008
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My alarm was supposed to ring at five in the morning, but as always, things haven't gone the right way. I woke up to my mother banging the window outside our room, and to boot, I woke up to my sister's alarm, which never worked anyway.
"Oh no," I told myself. "Monday na naman."
I was irritable on the breakfast table, actually having the gall to argue with my mother over the way she woke me up. Perhaps it's because I was in the middle of a nightmare, segueing to a phone call to someone who probably despises me for my know-it-all attitude, but it was clear to me that it's because of something else.
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"Oh no," I told myself. "Monday na naman."
I was irritable on the breakfast table, actually having the gall to argue with my mother over the way she woke me up. Perhaps it's because I was in the middle of a nightmare, segueing to a phone call to someone who probably despises me for my know-it-all attitude, but it was clear to me that it's because of something else.
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9/12/2008
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I had a benign realization during one of those idle moments on the shuttle home: I'm fond of creating settings.
My childhood, in a way, is pretty weird. Some might already know that I had a notoriety for creating newspapers from scratch, writing everything by hand - "photos" and "news articles" and "advertisements" - and making up stories along the way. The time will soon come when I'd actually write about my classmates and my crushes, but back in the innocent days, I'd write about swearing mayors and Pokémon being raised in captivity. (Come to think of it, the former's come close to new Orleans mayor Ray Nagin and his "let's fix the biggest god damn crisis in the history of this country" line.)
I think it was my desire to be actually out and about. My childhood was pretty sheltered, which can probably be the reason for my social anxiety. I remember being envious of my aunts and uncles because they were able to eat lunch at 7-11, while my only choice whenever we're out is Jollibee. Perhaps it was me and my fascination with urban settings, more specifically with the way they looked. Do you know anybody else who drew gas stations on scratch paper during their childhood?
Read more »
My childhood, in a way, is pretty weird. Some might already know that I had a notoriety for creating newspapers from scratch, writing everything by hand - "photos" and "news articles" and "advertisements" - and making up stories along the way. The time will soon come when I'd actually write about my classmates and my crushes, but back in the innocent days, I'd write about swearing mayors and Pokémon being raised in captivity. (Come to think of it, the former's come close to new Orleans mayor Ray Nagin and his "let's fix the biggest god damn crisis in the history of this country" line.)
I think it was my desire to be actually out and about. My childhood was pretty sheltered, which can probably be the reason for my social anxiety. I remember being envious of my aunts and uncles because they were able to eat lunch at 7-11, while my only choice whenever we're out is Jollibee. Perhaps it was me and my fascination with urban settings, more specifically with the way they looked. Do you know anybody else who drew gas stations on scratch paper during their childhood?
Read more »
9/09/2008
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In a fit of impulsiveness, I decided not to reply to Issa's text message. Instead, I was calling her, out of an aching curiosity about how she sounds like. Sure, she's already described her voice as being lower than usual, but surely it isn't that low, right? What more can you ask from someone who's got a name as sweet-sounding as Issa? Or is it my tendency to polarize between two extremes?
"Hello?"
Golly, it is low.
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"Hello?"
Golly, it is low.
Read more »
9/08/2008
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"So, January pa lang, winish ko nang may magbigay sa akin ng flowers," Ariane said on the bus ride home. "Sabi ko sa sarili ko, sige nga, gawin nating small experiment, tignan natin kung magkatotoo."
I was playing with one of my earphones, and the other was plugged into my ear, playing something soulful.
"So, one day, nag-uusap kaming mga taga-GMG, tapos may nagtanong sakin kung gusto ko ba ng flowers for Valentine's day. Sabi ko, sige."
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I was playing with one of my earphones, and the other was plugged into my ear, playing something soulful.
"So, one day, nag-uusap kaming mga taga-GMG, tapos may nagtanong sakin kung gusto ko ba ng flowers for Valentine's day. Sabi ko, sige."
Read more »
9/06/2008
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"You could use some old familiar faces."
With that, I found myself waiting impatiently at the shuttle terminal for another text message. It was the afternoon after the lunch out, and things have gone quite differently than anticipated. I found myself alone on the sixth floor, and consequently on the long escalators, expecting to leave an hour earlier because I technically had the afternoon off. Instead, I decided to forego with saving my supposed lunch money and went to Makati.
The lunch out went smoothly, although for the first part I found myself tight-lipped and walking slower than expected. I even had three fingers in each of my back pockets just to make the task easier. I was quiet at the waiting counter, quiet at the table, and quiet at the chewing process, until I started fiddling with the chopsticks and found an opening. I guess it's the apple-spiked tea, which elicited something close to a did you just order that? look from Kris. I guess it's the running joke with Neobie's dessert, and how her turtle cake - or, as I called it, eight brownies with walnuts - became a test of willpower. I guess it's Glenn's friend Matt, who dropped by and volunteered to become the "comedy bar," and how my artsy tendencies came out with a discussion on a screenplay he's writing. That felt like college.
Read more »
With that, I found myself waiting impatiently at the shuttle terminal for another text message. It was the afternoon after the lunch out, and things have gone quite differently than anticipated. I found myself alone on the sixth floor, and consequently on the long escalators, expecting to leave an hour earlier because I technically had the afternoon off. Instead, I decided to forego with saving my supposed lunch money and went to Makati.
The lunch out went smoothly, although for the first part I found myself tight-lipped and walking slower than expected. I even had three fingers in each of my back pockets just to make the task easier. I was quiet at the waiting counter, quiet at the table, and quiet at the chewing process, until I started fiddling with the chopsticks and found an opening. I guess it's the apple-spiked tea, which elicited something close to a did you just order that? look from Kris. I guess it's the running joke with Neobie's dessert, and how her turtle cake - or, as I called it, eight brownies with walnuts - became a test of willpower. I guess it's Glenn's friend Matt, who dropped by and volunteered to become the "comedy bar," and how my artsy tendencies came out with a discussion on a screenplay he's writing. That felt like college.
Read more »
9/05/2008
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What exactly is the difference between sleepiness and loneliness?
I don't really know. All I can say is, I think of my loneliest thoughts when I'm going home from the office, tired after hours of writing profiles for celebrities I wouldn't probably care about, and just bent on getting home and falling asleep, only to see everything happen all over again.
It's a funny thing, really. Going home after a long day's work is supposedly a cause for celebration. You're a day closer to the paycheck, a day closer to the weekend, and a day closer to whatever dreams you're fueling with your hard-earned cash. Maybe I'm just too tired to think about it, though. What else do you get from doing nothing but stare in front of an LCD monitor for nine-odd hours, figuring out how to hit that 300-word mark, and wondering whether you should be doing something else?
Read more »
I don't really know. All I can say is, I think of my loneliest thoughts when I'm going home from the office, tired after hours of writing profiles for celebrities I wouldn't probably care about, and just bent on getting home and falling asleep, only to see everything happen all over again.
It's a funny thing, really. Going home after a long day's work is supposedly a cause for celebration. You're a day closer to the paycheck, a day closer to the weekend, and a day closer to whatever dreams you're fueling with your hard-earned cash. Maybe I'm just too tired to think about it, though. What else do you get from doing nothing but stare in front of an LCD monitor for nine-odd hours, figuring out how to hit that 300-word mark, and wondering whether you should be doing something else?
Read more »
9/04/2008
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Five-forty-ish, and there's only one person on the third row of computers, headphones and personal effects. And I've gotten used to it, really, and since that's the case I don't have to push the fact that I'm always the last one to leave because my shift's the last to end. That's how I wanted it to be, because that's the most convenient for me, considering that I live more kilometers south than the rest of them.
And I can afford myself some luxuries, perhaps writing stuff, like what I'm doing right now. I don't really have to care about walking so fast or having an illicit relationship with my keyboard, and nobody will have to wonder about why I'm so... quirky. And quirky's got a pretty straightforward definition: "strikingly unconventional," and that always depends on what is considered conventional.
It's always around five-ish when I wave goodbye to at most four people, depending on my mood swings, my work load, or my (dis)engagement. Nevertheless I never bother anymore with finding out why third attempts ever happen, or why I can act so weird when I feel extraordinarily lonely. And I've complained about that loneliness, and I've never done anything about that loneliness, choosing instead to just stand up and walk in my usual manner, saying, "I hate to leave you alone."
Read more »
And I can afford myself some luxuries, perhaps writing stuff, like what I'm doing right now. I don't really have to care about walking so fast or having an illicit relationship with my keyboard, and nobody will have to wonder about why I'm so... quirky. And quirky's got a pretty straightforward definition: "strikingly unconventional," and that always depends on what is considered conventional.
It's always around five-ish when I wave goodbye to at most four people, depending on my mood swings, my work load, or my (dis)engagement. Nevertheless I never bother anymore with finding out why third attempts ever happen, or why I can act so weird when I feel extraordinarily lonely. And I've complained about that loneliness, and I've never done anything about that loneliness, choosing instead to just stand up and walk in my usual manner, saying, "I hate to leave you alone."
Read more »
9/02/2008
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I sometimes think I'm so lucky to be so scared.
I mean, I can obviously daydream. I can think up of things that I want to do, perhaps make sure that the plan's big enough and wild enough, and imagine everybody's reaction. Grinning, perhaps. A lot of murmurs about how stupid I am, or a lot of applause because it's something quite incredible, whatever incredible means nowadays.
But that's all that I'll do. I'll only daydream, make it part of a story, but never do anything about it even if I actually want to. It'll just stay as a fragment of my imagination.
Read more »
I mean, I can obviously daydream. I can think up of things that I want to do, perhaps make sure that the plan's big enough and wild enough, and imagine everybody's reaction. Grinning, perhaps. A lot of murmurs about how stupid I am, or a lot of applause because it's something quite incredible, whatever incredible means nowadays.
But that's all that I'll do. I'll only daydream, make it part of a story, but never do anything about it even if I actually want to. It'll just stay as a fragment of my imagination.
Read more »
9/01/2008
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"Let's change topic," Ariane said early yesterday morning. "Nakakapunta ka ba sa mga mall?"
"Shangri-la," I answered. "Kapag umuuwi mag-isa." I realized I might've hinted at my supposed problems, but whatever.
"Sosyal," she answered, perhaps forgetting that we went there together at one point in our college lives. Then she went on with her observation. "Ang daming sale!"
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"Shangri-la," I answered. "Kapag umuuwi mag-isa." I realized I might've hinted at my supposed problems, but whatever.
"Sosyal," she answered, perhaps forgetting that we went there together at one point in our college lives. Then she went on with her observation. "Ang daming sale!"
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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Some photographs have been edited using post-production curves from Shalla Yu.
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