Keeping The Sighs To A Minimum
From where I'm standing, everything is hazy. I squint my eyes to see clearer, but the sight is splendid as it is. It is a magnificent blur of colors, mostly dark but with scattered punctures of brightness. Everywhere are light streaks, yellow and red for the cars that pass by and don't give a shit, white for the occasional building. Everywhere is the orange glow of street lamps on a lonely night. It is late and I'm not yet home and I am alone, walking. A usual scene. I'm walking on the university's roads; sometimes straying left, sometimes staying right. I like having the freedom of the road; sidewalks are much too limiting. My hands, which I hold up to my face,are littered with colors and dirt. Lines of reds and greens, pools of browns and blacks stain them -- a nice souvenir from a five-hour drawing stint. I smile and I'm thinking, I like what I'm doing. But always, I remember everybody else. I sigh.
It was a nice night and the jeepneys are never full. I ride the first one to arrive, and I am on my way. The driver spews out profanity, and I don't really know what's going on. My headphones are on. I am on an express train going downer south. Going right, and left. Forward. Backward. I am on an express train and it's going everywhere, traversing Metro Manila and traversing my thoughts. I think nothing of all the smart-casual clad women not of my age with sad eyes and tired auras. And then, I am on the bus. I never sleep on them nowadays, you'll never what you'll wake up to. A different city, a thief, or a dirty man. I am steering away from Ayala. I think nothing of anything. I sigh.
Despite the haze, I can still feel that wind of familiarity pass on my cheeks. It's a re-acquaintance with a year I've so readily forgotten. Here it is again, another round. I'm thinking: "Fuck this. It's always like this." I always fall back to some memory and I relive it. I don't know what for, really. For posterity? Or sadism. Perhaps, I never really want to forget anything. Or perhaps, I'm always too much stuck on what has been and what will never be. I don't go as passionately for what I want, but what I am now should be sufficient. But, I don't know, I guess it is okay to an extent. I am okay to an extent (everyone is). We are all on the same street. I sigh.
It was a nice night and the jeepneys are never full. I ride the first one to arrive, and I am on my way. The driver spews out profanity, and I don't really know what's going on. My headphones are on. I am on an express train going downer south. Going right, and left. Forward. Backward. I am on an express train and it's going everywhere, traversing Metro Manila and traversing my thoughts. I think nothing of all the smart-casual clad women not of my age with sad eyes and tired auras. And then, I am on the bus. I never sleep on them nowadays, you'll never what you'll wake up to. A different city, a thief, or a dirty man. I am steering away from Ayala. I think nothing of anything. I sigh.
Despite the haze, I can still feel that wind of familiarity pass on my cheeks. It's a re-acquaintance with a year I've so readily forgotten. Here it is again, another round. I'm thinking: "Fuck this. It's always like this." I always fall back to some memory and I relive it. I don't know what for, really. For posterity? Or sadism. Perhaps, I never really want to forget anything. Or perhaps, I'm always too much stuck on what has been and what will never be. I don't go as passionately for what I want, but what I am now should be sufficient. But, I don't know, I guess it is okay to an extent. I am okay to an extent (everyone is). We are all on the same street. I sigh.
Comments
Post a Comment