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… )
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.