Sun and Llosa

Whenever I’m free, on a Sunday  usually, I often find myself sitting on a wooden bench I painted orange reading a book I had been meaning to read but never found the time under the heat of a 2pm sun. I am beginning to love sunning. I’d apply a generous amount of tanning oil on my chest, back, and thighs, then let the sun do its job. I chug a liter or two of water in the process. I do not leave my place until I feel my dermis has been burned crisp and my shoulders charred dark brown.

But what I love most about it is that I can be alone reading a nice book in my quiet balcony, enjoying the afternoon sun, knowing that it’ll soon kill me, but understanding that we’ll all eventually die anyway. Kidding.



I’m picking one by one coins that got mixed up with shards from a broken glass container that used to hold my loose coins. The transparent glass container used to be the home of my fighting fish I named Hachiko. Do I miss that little creature? Yes I do. I regretted leaving it in that room in Mandaluyong that is hardly reached by the rays of the sun. I’m imagining how my fish must have wanted to see a little light. Hachiko died eight months after it was given to me as a birthday gift.

It’s a dangerous task, but I need to do it because my sister has already complained how the paper bag that contains the broken pieces of glass and coins mixture keeps her from completely shutting the cupboard door. To appease her, I am undertaking this perilous job.

And after sometime doing this, it occurs to me that I can’t go on hurting like this forever.


Endless bus rides

I  used to hate riding buses. But I have, though I do not know how to describe this feeling exactly, fallen for them and have accorded them much respect now. I take them every day to Bulacan, Cavite, Pampanga, to Batangas soon, and maybe Tarlac.

Their seats upholstered in faux leather, plastic, or sometimes shabby rubberized textile, provide me something the bed in my room has not given me for a long time — sleep.

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