in the meantime

i am now used to pushing the switch down to turn the lights on.

i no longer wonder what microsoft has to do with cleaning when asked "where's the powerpoint i can plug this vacuum into?"

i got the hang of riding a bus or a car and don't feel like crashing into other vehicles each time. i am especially proud that i now know which direction to look first when crossing the street.

i revel in the fact that i live with both the conveniences of a metropolis and a country home. i still find sydney beautiful, more so on a fine clear day and i enjoy the peace and quiet at nighttime. (yes, i can actually hear crickets like i used to, growing up in kidapawan and makilala.)

i am now used to people telling me my english is good but i still think i'm better off with my mouth shut: i still say "lag out" when i mean "log out" or "CrappingApp" for "CroppingApp".

i am still taxed as much as i was before but this time, i don't get taxed additionally for necessities but taxed heavily for luxuries. eating out, getting a haircut and feminine pads are taxed additionally. however, i get my thyroid meds for half the price i used to pay plus my regular visit to the doctor is free. i do not pay a premium for water, food and electricity but internet connection is a different story.

fruits abound and can be very sweet, but no mango here even comes close to the one i grew up with. i find the people kinder, (as, in my opinion, they fight lesser battles) but family and friends are still being missed.

a year has gone by and i am getting enough sleep.
God is indeed good.

just-because-i-don't-paint therapy

*

'one for the road', he'd say

as he was drinking from his cup of coffee,
he kept on seeing her.
as smoke was rising from the ashtray,
he knew he should stop.

the grass, fine and sparse, her hair
the clouds dance, her laughter
the feel of the paper cup, her unlotioned hand
the brown of the timber chair, her eyes
the coldness of the aluminum table, her goodbye

she left without turning back
not even to see the door slam behind her
she left with no trace of regret
not even for the early times they shared

he gathered the ashes that fell on the table
washed down the coffee with a cup of cold water
said his thank you to the staff
put on his bag on his shoulder then walked away
after lighting another cigarette

repeat.

eleven degrees

i am a sucker for melancholy.

i love stories that weigh much of sadness.
my choices almost always exclude stories with happy endings.

maybe because such dismal stories ring truer ---
as nothing lasts in this world.
happy endings are not really endings, they are beginnings.
but then again, despairing endings can also be seen as beginnings...

so, with nothing really settled, i still would opt for despondence.

crying brings such a relief that when a certain mood strikes me, i have 3 readily available movies i'd watch over and over:
1. The Royal Tenenbaums
2. Lost in Translation
3. 5 Centimeters Per Second
no, i don't watch them in a particular order, and definitely not watch them in one sitting.

i am reading again.

i visited one bookshop after my visit to the doctor and found J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey.
(even when i am not reading, i still enjoy going to bookshops. and if a book interests me, in one way or another, i'd buy it.)
i distinctively remember the staff, on getting my payment, telling me, "I just finished reading that one. A very good read, I'd say."

it turned out to be more than a good read:
i fell in love with the Glass family.
it somehow cast a spell on me and i'm back to reading ---
while waiting for the train, on the train, at home, even at my desk at work during lunch time.

today, on my way to work, i read "For Esmé – with Love and Squalor".
while reading it for the first time, i had the feeling of having read the story before. but i could not remember when, how, or if at all.
it moved me to melancholy as surely as eating marshmallows make me lose my appetite for a proper meal.