- I have a hard time disambiguating my previous article. It’s possible, for a writer to get lost in his thoughts, if this occurs, says my former professor, two things happen, he either becomes an utter failure as a writer and is ought to be castrated or he becomes a philosopher.
- There’s something offensive about sitting in a beanbag-like couch in the living room, taking pictures of unvarying angles of a pair of well-worn All Star canvas; the acts violate the supposed mores and sensibilities of a reasonable, hard-working urban dweller. Both signify nothing short of bumming.
- If only I could extend this week and make it longer than a week but still retaining its one-week character, I would.
- That graduate school entrance exam was like the essay tests I took during my undergrad, not difficult at all, only that, I presume, required answers needed more breadth, definitely a lot more complex (and circuitous) thoughts, and a language that puts to shame the speech writer of the president of the republic.
- My first time to organize a mini-reunion of college block mates. Odd because I deign reunions as somewhere in between pretentious and ostentatious. I’ll hold fast on sobriety.
- On my way to school this time. That was quick, there are only three weeks left before this semester ends. Grades will have to follow.