You looked at me with yearning eyes, to my surprise, I found that deep hazel brown was the color of longing. I lowered my gaze to my toes. My mind began to stir, my head began to ache - reverberating like a drum, a gush of violent flow on still water - like a bad hangover, that shameful morning after, a five-year old’s tearful downward set eyes on the receiving end of a long scolding.
“There were some books that reached through the noise of life to grab you by the collar and speak only of the truest things.”
*Gasp* This blog is alive! (I need it to be, more than anything.) I have survived my first year in medicine school. For the first three days of my official summer break, I crossed out The House of Spirits (Allende, 1985), and The Interpretation of Murder (Rubenfeld, 2007) from my summer reading list. The first book I
stole rescued (How shameless, I know, but it was one of those cafes with a reading area and delighted as I am at reading nooks such as these, I knew from the beguiling call of the yellowed pages of the book that I would not be walking out of the establishment without it. Ah, but I rescued it you see - so I keep telling myself) while the second was from another Php 20.00 treasure hunt at the ever reliable Book Sale. On the photograph are this month’s haul from second hand bookstores all over the city. I realize that I’m hoarding again, but in my desperate pining for the written word , I truly cannot help myself.
I’ve been slaving under the glow of a lamp for quite a while now. Do you know how many shadows a shade can cast in one night? 136. Counted it twice, just to make sure. It’s a surge of visual trickery, I suppose, from staring into a worded sea. Once done long enough, dancing could be seen in the stillness of things.
(I have always wondered what it would be like to be the rustle of air beneath a wing in a flight of fancy.)
3:00 AM. The words are beginning to flow, spoken into consciousness like rain drops falling unto a particularly languid sea. They keep falling, in what almost seems like a taunt to those of us who are only capable of keeping still (Myself, marooned somewhere between its passage).
Perhaps it is time to sink - to move away from my thoughts, yet still drown in them; to disassociate from my fears, yet to exist beside myself with them; to accept that I am left alone, as well as to believe that I too, can also leave alone - to fear not the singular, but to consume its eventuality.
I am losing myself, once again, within the metaphors of my own mind. It is almost always night; and with it brings the tide.
It’s been a while.
Growing up Rockstar
Featuring my baby sister Nadine (again), and yes, I do think that she’s one of the coolest 11-year olds you’ll ever meet. I finally got to shoot again after a long hiatus and man, did that feel so incredibly splendid. These are the only two weeks I can spare without reverting back to my jaded self.
Look at this swagganaut.
I’m guessing we tried for a time to tap into our inner Taylor Swifts (her on the posing, while I on the post-processing), but then…
… We’re natural goof balls. I honestly do hope my little sister grows into something more balanced, unlike the volcano of sarcasm and morbid apathy that I have morphed into.
See? Such a sweetheart. Much better, if I do say so myself. :)
Definitely not Taylor Swift. :))
It feels great to be home.
Just when you think that you’re in control,just when you think that you’ve got a hold, just when you get on a roll, here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again.
… And the next thing I knew, I was in a different form of daylight as I had been when I started.
This is me on a free day because my professors gave us the afternoon off. Three months into medicine and I’ve got to say, days like these are best spent alone(ly).
There are a lot of things I miss and am missing out on. But this dream is so heavy, I feel it all over my skin. In and out of tissue, they go, just digging deeper, and deeper still, until all that’s left of my mind and my body is a makeshift graveyard.
This. This. This. This.
It’s the kind of waking after a nightmare, always at your toes, but so glad to have come out alive.