Writing this post, I am listening to Duran Duran's "Ordinary World". If I don't allow myself a kind of centeredness, I am certain that there's a part of me that is about to collapse. I hate to think of my life in Manila again. The typhoons that ravaged recently, nonchalant people, the wetness in the streets. I am counting the days when I can come home again to the province, take Julienne with me and enough with this five-stair-flights climbing and descending everyday- now that my daughter is getting heavier and bigger. There is a kind of ennui building up, a kind of boredom... that too many events no longer seem interesting, but another circumstance where I need to dress up and show up. Am I getting older? Or am I in that stage where I had to be like a clay and mold up to the demands of life? I guess, if I were single, Manila is fine. But I am getting older and I wanna lay back and breathe some fresh air.
Or shoot cows, like I did last summer.
Or shoot flowers on the road side. Like I did last summer.
Magnolia blooms hiding in the foliage.
When will life become poetry again?
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