last night, i was supposed to head straight to the gym after i got out from work. i already had my rubbershoes and extra shirt packed in my bag, and all i gotta do was alight at the shaw station of the MRT, eat dinner and make a dash for the gym after, ignoring the pitter patter of rain falling on the pavement. somewhere along the mrt line, a short bit before reaching shaw station, i suddenly had a craving for yoshinoya's beef gyudon bowl. it was so great a craving that i ended up at sm megamall instead, vowing to myself that i'd just walk to shaw after satisfying my tummy. after dinner, i had the urge to browse for a couple of minutes at the adjacent powerbooks, looking at, and browsing a few pages of the new titles on display. i somehow got carried away, sashaying through the shelves, that when the recorded announcement played out stating that its 10 minutes to closing time, i was brought to the present, a bit alarmed that i had a workout to catch.
the bookshop employees who were already readying to leave, made casual remark of the harsh rains that were already making tiny rivers in front of the shop. i took a casual glance of the situation through the glass doors and decided its best if i just head home, and reschedule my workout the following day. i water-splashed my way from megamall to shangrila, holding onto my wind-battered umbrella like there's no tomorrow. reaching the long staircase going up the mrt station at shaw, i decided to go for it rather than cross the street to wait for buses that would carry me the opposite direction. i reckon that i'll be incurring more splashings and teribble winds if i stay that course, and it'll be a lot faster going home, riding the MRT.
as i was lining up for the ticket booth, i saw from afar, to my right, the still-busy street of shaw boulevard, going to my gym's direction. for a bit i was tempted to go down the opposite staircase, brave a few short bursts of wind and water to the jeepney terminal that would carry me to the gym's doorstep. it was well within reach. but then reason triumphed over impulse this time, and i was on my way home.
on board the train, i didn't do the usual stuff of hating myself for the wrong turns i took. it all just happened. i simply took it as events making up a bizaare, stormy night.
9.08.2009
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30 minutes to 7
Its 6:30 in the evening. I am just winding down from the work done during the day. The boss’ television has just been turned on to TV Patrol, her favorite news program. The big bosses have just finished their work, talking and debating among themselves for a good three hours and a half, crafting policies that would be beneficial for everyone’s good. I have just made my exit from my database work, and 7 o’clock seem far away, just waiting for it; so I decided that this entry will make it in time before I log out of the office premises.
I often whine and complain about a thousand and one things, gargantuan and mundane, relating to work—about how things do not seem to get better, and work just seems to pile up—but I’ve also realized that engaging in all these makes me feel most alive. Listening to the bosses’ banter while encoding the first quarter issuances of the other department mostly relating to holidays and call centers, actually make my blood rise with excitement. I like being in the center of things. i thrive with stress but at the same time despise it. whatever, I realize I love my work, and though it is riddled with mountainous hurdles, I will not exchange it for anything else. Intrigues and politics be damned!
I often whine and complain about a thousand and one things, gargantuan and mundane, relating to work—about how things do not seem to get better, and work just seems to pile up—but I’ve also realized that engaging in all these makes me feel most alive. Listening to the bosses’ banter while encoding the first quarter issuances of the other department mostly relating to holidays and call centers, actually make my blood rise with excitement. I like being in the center of things. i thrive with stress but at the same time despise it. whatever, I realize I love my work, and though it is riddled with mountainous hurdles, I will not exchange it for anything else. Intrigues and politics be damned!
9.07.2009
mirror, mirror
Saturday. Its one of those days when I don’t have to do anything, especially when I’m home in the province; not busting my gut out trying to exercise to look like Akihiro Sato in the Penshoppe Guadalupe billboard. I can wake up as late as i want, and luxuriate in the cold water of the shower without worrying that I’d be late for work. I’m a shower freak. I linger in the shower, not content at having lathered and rinsed my body in one go; I’d linger some more minutes just to make sure that my face, neck, armpits and singit have been given the proper attention they deserve, scrubbing them with my soft palms; making sure that cleansing, purifying water run its course over my entire body.
I go out of the shower area, feeling refreshed and energized, just like any other saturday before that. Only this time, I manage to catch a reflection of my face in the oval mirror adjacent to the shower door. Its not that I don’t look at my face, ever. Even those who renounce and shun narcissism are bound to look at their faces even for once, in a week's time. And I’m a child of narcissus. Hehehe. Though that might be the case, I am still surprised to see that the face staring back at me no longer exudes that youthful air I fiercely held onto say, a good two or three years. The face is a lot sterner now, and lines around the forehead, however faint they may be, are already showing--if you squint hard enough, they’re there, staring right back.
Coupled with my bulking body, I no longer resembled that strapping youth that the mirror fell head-over-heals with, six years ago; that mirror, which tatay himself installed when our house was newly-built, and was the current toast of our place for its daring bold colors and imposing rock façade.
Time indeed has passed, and as Old Rose in the movie Titanic was bound to say, “reflections changed a bit”.
I go out of the shower area, feeling refreshed and energized, just like any other saturday before that. Only this time, I manage to catch a reflection of my face in the oval mirror adjacent to the shower door. Its not that I don’t look at my face, ever. Even those who renounce and shun narcissism are bound to look at their faces even for once, in a week's time. And I’m a child of narcissus. Hehehe. Though that might be the case, I am still surprised to see that the face staring back at me no longer exudes that youthful air I fiercely held onto say, a good two or three years. The face is a lot sterner now, and lines around the forehead, however faint they may be, are already showing--if you squint hard enough, they’re there, staring right back.
Coupled with my bulking body, I no longer resembled that strapping youth that the mirror fell head-over-heals with, six years ago; that mirror, which tatay himself installed when our house was newly-built, and was the current toast of our place for its daring bold colors and imposing rock façade.
Time indeed has passed, and as Old Rose in the movie Titanic was bound to say, “reflections changed a bit”.
9.02.2009
several hundreds lighter
Last Monday I splurged on two hardbound books. I bought the vampire-themed Twilight and Pullman’s The Golden Compass. I’ve already read The Golden Compass on paperback and having loved the book on first read very much , I wanted to have a proper copy of it—a hardbound one. I immediately went to re-reading the book but because there’s so much to do and so little time, I have not really gone far as much as I would have wanted (I stopped at Lyra’s Jordan hehehe) ; besides, I still have my anime to cover, and a newly copied avi format of an art film to watch.
I actually bought Twilight on impulse. I originally planned of buying Pullman’s trilogy in one swoop but the unavailability of the hardbound edition for the next two volumes left me somewhat feeling dissatisfied. Determined to have another title before I leave the bookstore, I ended up browsing the pages of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight. I have had encounters with this book before, in other bookstores, and I must admit that it didn’t manage to catch my attention at first, mainly because the preliminary paragraphs didn’t hit it with me. But lo and behold : at Fullybooked, that Monday afternoon, Twilight’s first paragraph actually pulled me in. it might be the time of day, it might be the mindset, or the light, or the ventilation. But I was actually liking it, enough for me to make the purchase. And that sold me. I went home several hundreds light in the pocket.
I actually bought Twilight on impulse. I originally planned of buying Pullman’s trilogy in one swoop but the unavailability of the hardbound edition for the next two volumes left me somewhat feeling dissatisfied. Determined to have another title before I leave the bookstore, I ended up browsing the pages of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight. I have had encounters with this book before, in other bookstores, and I must admit that it didn’t manage to catch my attention at first, mainly because the preliminary paragraphs didn’t hit it with me. But lo and behold : at Fullybooked, that Monday afternoon, Twilight’s first paragraph actually pulled me in. it might be the time of day, it might be the mindset, or the light, or the ventilation. But I was actually liking it, enough for me to make the purchase. And that sold me. I went home several hundreds light in the pocket.
two men
There were two men talking across from where I was sitting in the steam room. from their looks, both of them are somewhere in their sixties, and from the ease of their conversation, it looks as though they’ve been long time friends. The younger-looking of the two asked how the other’s massage went, and went on to tell how he had his. The masseuse, he tells his friend, is an attractive young woman of perhaps twenty-four years. He was raving about how his erogenous zones were coming to life with just mere accidental brushes of fresh skin, but had a sudden drop of temperature in the room when the girl started calling him tatay, to ask if the pressure applied is okay. This elicited a guffaw from the other one, and a smile to my face. Old folks. Hehehe.
Their conversation carried over to their observation that no matter how hard they exercised, their sweat glands do not seem to produce as much sweat they used to when they were young. One of them jokingly pointed to it as “ang mapait na katotohanan” (the bitter truth). Sigh. The preoccupations of the old are not very different from ours.
Their conversation carried over to their observation that no matter how hard they exercised, their sweat glands do not seem to produce as much sweat they used to when they were young. One of them jokingly pointed to it as “ang mapait na katotohanan” (the bitter truth). Sigh. The preoccupations of the old are not very different from ours.
the great calm
It feels like I’m perpetually in a calm before the storm—the storm hovering at the periphery of my vision, never materializing, but still managing to make its presence known; like a shadow lurking at the corners of a dark street, or a lump at the back of my throat. (oops, am I making sense?) I feel like i'm floating, not being able to make a decision as to change this course I am in, right now. Or, I think the question I should be asking myself is, is it really time for me to be making the big decisions? Or should I wait it out until the right time comes along? Sigh. Such is the state of things right now. Like Harry Potter, I know I am still destined for great things. It’s just that circumstances conspire and compel me to act differently from what I really am underneath; compels me to be this eternally shushing librarian perpetually ignorant to the finer things in life, like going out for a late-night beer drinking party with friends, maybe?
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