Photos on a Sunday afternoon

I spent the whole afternoon taking pictures using my very old phone. Not bad, I think. But I’m not venturing into photoblogging yet.

Bumbilya (Light bulb)

Tuktukon nga Grills (Rusty Grills)

Newsweek

Kimpit (Clips)

Gripo (Faucet)

Choco (My landlady’s dog)

Havaianas

Kalawakan (Sky)

Sementado nga Pader (Concrete walls)

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In and on love: delirious ramblings written on the eve of Valentine’s

I love as if it is my last day alive. I am never scared to risk it all for love. I love to love because the act of loving is more than a reason to fall in love and to remain in love. I am confident that all the people I loved in the past and the person I love now never complained and will never complain that I lacked passion, that I did not love them with fiery intensity, only the opposite, that I loved them too much. Love propels me to reach for higher grounds, to do things beyond my human abilities. Love may have caused my past follies as to write the most prosaic of poetry, but my best prose was made poetic by love.

I am the happiest when I am in love. I walk with insouciance, almost flying; I defy gravity. When I am in love, all the food I eat taste like my mother’s specialty dish; I finish all the books I read; a ‘hard read’ isn’t true; I write in the most fluid of manner, unblocking my constant writer’s block; I lift the heaviest of weights, run the longest mile, and swim the most laps; I hug the tightest. I kiss the wettest.

When I am in love, my hypothalamus hypertrophies to a size bigger than my skull, my heart beats so powerfully that I fear it’ll rip my ribcage from inside, that member stands most proudly (its hardness and length rival that of my femur).

When I am in love, this one without any attempt on exaggeration, I become a better version of myself.

I don’t stutter when I am in love. I am calm when I am in love (like a cold gush of wind from an evening breeze). I chew my food slowly when I am in love. I imagine I look good when I am in love. I listen more, talk less when I am, of course, in love.

When I am in love, I quit being sarcastic. I cut on my acrid remarks, dramatically doing away with my often sardonic way of laughing when I think that the world has become hyperbolically un-clever. I become nice, even nicer than a nice cup of tea. I knowingly leave my stiff upper-lip on a train to Stratford-upon-Avon and from there totally forget about it. I become warm, warm enough to boil water 24,000 ft above sea level.

I am not irritable when it’s Valentine’s Day. I look forward to it like how I did for Christmas when I was seven, that is, if I am in love. Like today.

I want to remain in love, to love until the world gets fed up and decides to burn me in stake because of this love. There’s no sweeter reason for dying than to die for love.

And no better reason for living than to live for love and the person I love.