EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

STALKERISM

STALKER.ISM

STALKER.IS.M

STALKER.IS.ME

===> ganyan na ba talaga kasaklap ang tadhana ngayon?

Books, Apartments and Sore Feet

I went apartment hunting with my friend yesterday. It was completely out of the blue that I went with her since her other friends who are going to share the apartment with her can’t make it yesterday. So it was just the two of us (we had another friend with us at first but she has to go home early) scouring the city for a place they could crash in for the school year.

It. Was. Tough. Work.

I hadn’t felt my legs burn so much since forever (haha, exaggeration much?). After a month and a half of sitting down talking to foreigners over the line, I could say I had neglected keeping my body in shape. I have never actually kept my body in shape, I confess, but this line of thought was always in my mind before. But for the past month and so, I’ve buried the thought in a pile of self-motivation and positiveness so I could finish my summer job and. not. quit.

After a couple of jeepney rides (hey, there’s a LOT of footwork involved) and when streelights were already dusting the way with their summer glow, we finally called it quits. We didn’t come home empty-handed though. We found a couple of prospects and hopefully, her other friends will agree to check these locations out. When I went home, boy, did my legs hurt. And today, as my body’s compensation, I slept most of the daylight off. 

Before all of the apartment hunting mania though, my friends and I went to Booksale at a local mall. Regrettably, I didn’t buy any books though I was eyeing a couple of paperbacks while we were inside the shop. I just finished How to Be Good last Monday. It took me more than a month to finish a novel, and it wasn’t a specially thick one or anything, so I backed out of buying something thicker. Now, after sleeping the day away because of lack of domestic activity on my part, I think I made a poor decision. I should have bought something! 

Tomorrow. I will make up for it tomorrow. I’ve set a date with a dear friend tomorrow and somehow I’ll squeeze in the time to visit Booksale and look for said paperbacks. It doesn’t matter if it takes me over a month to finish them. It doesn’t take away the feeling of having a new story in your hands.

Nagsimula ang lahat sa isang salita. Isang maliit na bagay lamang ang kinailangan para maiba ang takbo ng aking pulso. At sa bandang huli, mga salita din pala ang tatapos ng lahat. Bakit mo pa kasi ako kinausap kung aalis at bibitaw ka rin?

Do you know where tomorrows come from?

They come from hope.

I feel that I can still hope.

We’re too young not to see sunsets in the sky anymore.

I

Bangs. Fringes. They’re childish, especially those cut bluntly in line with your eyebrows. They itch when you’re not used to them and poke the skin around your eyes. They might look cute and adorable at times but when you sweat, they stick to your forehead in clumps and make you look like a mop has been unceremoniously plastered on your head. And most often than not, behind the curtain of glossy tresses lies an outbreak of lumpy matter expelled by man’s natural clothing, the skin. Terrifying, shudder-inducing images. 

I disliked fringes so much when I was a child (I let mine grow out as soon as I got command of my own hairstyle). I don’t understand why there’s a need to hide the planes and contours of a person’s visage under all the mess we call hair. What do you look at when you see a person’s face? Some get drawn by the eyes (of course, they do tell the most intriguing stories after all) or by the mouth (it’s imperative that you smile well) or by the nose (if you have nowhere else to look at, it’s right smack at the middle of the face) but somehow I could not just zoom in on these details alone. It’s really vain and a bad habit of mine, but I look at the whole picture, to see if the details fit together. And I’m really quick at classifying who’s pretty or not and I swiftly store away these observations in a little file cabinet in my head. But I couldn’t scrutinize, inspect, observe nor conceptualize if a veil of natural dimensions was covering what I’m trying to see, could I? So my dislike was born.

Yet, the corners of my eyes alternately itches from time to time.

My hand comes to swipe an obscuring obstacle away everyday.

And ultimately, when I see my reflection, I take note of the mass of dark brown locks grazing my eyes.

I couldn’t hold on to my dislike after all.

Isn’t it always like this for us? It’s so easy to let words fall from our mouths like slicing a hot knife through butter. When we say them, it feels like we mean it. But then, our resolve crumbles. The words come right back to our mouths to be churned and dissected by tender but experienced hands in a vast expandable room filled with medicine cabinets and supplies (there’s also a self-replenishing bottle of lotion stashed away somewhere). And when the words are fixed and altered, they come out into the light again. Truer and more free than before. But for a select few, there’s a different path they go to. Instead of revealing their new self to the public, sometimes, the words are swallowed and enter little houses called cells scattered throughout the living being. They become supplementary vitamins for the self who doubts, is confused and vulnerable.

There’s a certain kind of confidence in brewing a secret with yourself. After all, not everything needs to be explained to the public. Sadly, not everything can be understood and not everyone can spare the time to understand.

I am so tinatamad.

So I’m just gonna go and read something.