I woke up today feeling like a zombie, my need for sleep unsated, my body aching, and red spots all over my body because I forgot to hang my mattresses under the sun when I arrived yesterday afternoon. Microscopic, creepy dust mites devoured my naked skin last night when I was too tired to care. And I am hungry; all my supplies gone when I had an all night pigging out on those instant stuff.

In an hour, I would be traveling back to the city with a week worth of clean shirts and jeans. The ‘unspectacular’ six-hour sleep I got is uncommensurate to the effort I had to go through carrying a big bag and being inside of an overstuffed public transportation for an hour of bumpy and dusty ride with the rest of the proletariat just to be here in Miagao. Just to have my needed peaceful night and not having it.

And so I’ll convince myself that I had a great night, that I was able to write and do important things (which I did not). It’s like having a so-so sex and telling myself over and over that it was the greatest I’ve had to keep myself from feeling bad for all the preparations I had to go through to get laid only to be disappointed.

It can be that aside from ability to utilize spoken and written language, this separates man from the rest of the animal kingdom: the ability to convince himself that things are not as bad as they feel or as they look to protect his vulnerable soul from being crushed by reality.

And so I’ll go on convincing myself that I am rejuvenated by that satisfying sleep; I was able to come up with writings that future generations will include on their list of canons, and my body does not feel itchy. Also, I am not starving.

A visit

I left the city this afternoon for Miagao because the city, its noise and grimes, had been too much to bear. I sought refuge in the quiet of the boondocks and the monotonous sound coming from my laptop while writing in my room on campus. I brought supplies with me because nothing is sold anywhere within a three-kilometer radius of the university. The campus is like a ghost town. One will have to walk for twenty-minutes to reach the highway and wait at the corner waiting shed for passing jeepneys. I have to leave for the city early tomorrow if I do not want to starve.

This time, however, I am binging on canned goods, instant noodles, and 3-in-1 coffee, hoping that I am able to store enough food energy to last until nine in the morning tomorrow.

I browsed the net for six hours straights, read the news, and watched some irrelevant videos on Youtube. A friend complained how my posts have been so full of angsts these days. According to him they were shorter, sadder, and abnormally full of rage (as I am an angry writer). I disagreed. But he might have been correct.

I heard somebody saying that during Christmas, all roads lead home, but not, I think, in my case. This is my second Christmas away from home. Last year, I was in Hanoi washing my dirty clothes on the eve of the 25th. This year, I have no idea where I shall be, but I hope I will not anymore be doing my laundry on that day.