The one that got away
I used to frown over the Friday the 13th curse, thus I did find paraskevidekatriaphobia ridiculous. On the 13th of January 2012, however, around 8:40 on a Friday evening I lost my phone. I was dropping off a cab at a nearby milk tea shop on Katipunan. As soon as I stepped out, I groped my pockets only to realize that my phone had vanished. I rummaged my bag. Nothing. I turned around, and the cab was whooshing. ( Read more… )
If it really IS the end of the world…
Then that’s fine. Should we respect the prediction of the Mayans (and Jay Sean’s), then we really ought to party with a blast. This 2012, I only have three that could count as really sensible New Year’s “resolutions.” One, invest in smart equipment as these surely come useful long-term. Two, achieve a sexy form not just because of its superficial effects in ~character*~. And lastly, drop the attitude and absorb positive, healthy energy instead.
I get sentimental on New Year’s Eve
As much as I enjoy Christmas—evident on how I’d always wind up straight to the table to help myself when I’m “hungry”—I see New Year’s as a more meaningful event. First, there’s no compulsory gift-giving. Secondly, almost everyone from all religions ~celebrate*~ altogether, for once.
True, I maybe branded as a killjoy for avoiding those dangerous, startling pyrotechnics hurled by brainless brats on the streets. However, I’d make up on this nonconformity by loving fireworks. Just staring at the sky to watch those colorful fireworks shoot, explode, disintegrate. Ahhh.
Staring at fireworks, especially with a captivated mob, enlivens a communal longing for beauty—a kind of beauty that’s not touched but can only be seen from afar. There’s a shared feeling that we’re all just puny and powerless. It reminds us that we’re all equal, whose dreams fling beyond the stars.
When people start asking, “How much do you earn?”
“Maybe you’re too angst-y,” said a college orgmate after I’d shower him with my endless rants. It was the night of Bonifacio Day—a holiday of which we were both at “work”; to make it more pathetic, he and I were discussing what’s up at work. Our brief chat covered the most usually-interesting topics of a proletariat’s life: Digging money out of work, then building life out of that money, and finally shaping a future out of that life. ( Read more… )
