Achievement for the day. Finished sharpening two sets of pencils. Neural computer just won’t function. The things we do to feel productive.
I’ll never be too busy for you.
In the past two days, you mentioned that repeatedly. Unsure if you’re keeping me from my work., you just have to keep asking that. You are not keeping me from my work. And even if you are, it’s a welcome distraction.
I’ll never be too busy for you.
In the past two days, you mentioned that repeatedly, unsure if you’re keeping me from my work. You just have to keep asking that. You are not keeping me from my work. And even if you are, it’s a welcome distraction.
It’s not every day that I get to see you. Heck, it’s been more than a year since I last saw you. I’d drop everything in a second just to have a conversation with you. If you’d just stop asking if I’m too busy for you. Again, I’ll never be too busy for you.
I want to talk with you. I just do not know how to react without revealing too much. I cannot help thinking if I’m smiling too wide, looking more delighted than normal, blushing more than I should, talking excessively, or stunned into silence. There’s a lot of things I think about all at the same time whenever you’re around. Focus eludes me. It’s like being in a trance. Everything is happening in slow motion as if my mind is recording every microsecond of the moment I spend with you. And there I remain, an observer fixed in passivity.
And knowing me, I’ll be replaying these moments looped into eternity – or at least until another pleasant memory is recorded. It pains me to realize that the next days will be emptier. I know I’ll manage. But sometimes, it’s nice when you have something to look forward to. I do not know when I’ll see you again or if I will ever.
More uncertainties. They just keep on coming.
Perhaps it’s because of February
or just the cold
or perhaps the rain
or the stiff mattress I recently bought
or the habit of buying mugs, bowls, etc in pairs
or the sudden vastness of the closet in the room I transferred to
or perhaps because I’m twenty-two.
It dawned on me
I have been living alone on my own
for almost two years.
of having no one to come home to
of not having anyone to confide to
of watching DVDs
of eating breakfast
of waking up
So whenever I find myself with nothing to write on in one of those “writing moments” – this refers to that few seconds when a thought, usually in the form of a line or two, is formed in my mind. Then I start looking for a piece of paper to write it in. When I am bereft of paper, I just patiently key in the thoughts in my mobile phone – “text” it.
“Text” in the Philippines has become a verb meaning to key in short messages in your mobile phone. [Even when mocked and even if it is relatively more costly, I try to be grammatically sound when composing my text messages. It keeps my written English from dulling. I could rant on and share horror stories of students submitting papers with “u” instead of “you”.]
Going back to the topic, here are some of those text messages kept in my drafts folder.
Noise is everywhere
yet I find myself alone in a bubble of silence
– story of my life.
T here is the constant need for one
to confirm one’s existence.
There is also the constant struggle
to prove one’s life as better.
The first I can tolerate,
as for the second – I see that as self imposed torture.