thoughts about lunch time while at the lunch table

Some norms we take for granted are actually man-made constructs, ex: the concept of lunch/ dinner. No one really mandated that the middle of the day is the correct time to eat, and quench thirst/ hunger. Did the Mayans had lunch? Was there a communal time for eating? We even impose this artificial sense of time control over animals. We feed them during lunch and dinner time.

What is the relevance of this insight? WALA. I just thought about it. And I’m sure a handful of 6 billion people in this globalwarming-stricken planet thought of this thought already. How original. BUT I wonder how many of the handful thought of people thinking about this thought… I win!

Timestamp placement purports a future-oriented mindset. I know it will be entertaining to look back and glimpse at my 21-year old thoughts, but wouldn’t it be better to contextualize the ideas using timestamps, or at least daystamps.

Forgive the tasteless word vomit.

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a slow cursive for mindful thinking

October 21, 2009, past 8am.

I took the non-air conditioned bus to work, because the two-peso variance from riding air conditioned bus is still two pesos. Thirty thousand monthly house amortization nagged at the back of my head, throbbed like an open wound. Dalawang piso rin ito. And I much prefer the slightly polluted Makati breeze than artificial cold air.

So there I was, alone on a three-seater, God of Small Things perched on my palms.
[As I typed the last sentence, I imagined God perched on my palms, waving his cute hands.]

At 8:29, two boys entered the bus. Their clothes grubby, cheeks concaved. I figured they probably worked for the Sindicate. The older one carried a makeshift bongos; he slumped at the two-stepped stair near the bus entrance… and drummed away a la Bob Marley. The younger one dragged himself to each and every bus seat, distributing white envelopes creased… At the back of the envelope was a message, which read:

“Kuya/Ate,
Maawa na po kayo sa mga Badjao.”

That time I was at my second to the last page of Chapter 1, the part where Arundhati was giving us a glimpse of Sophie Mol’s murder. I was on the verge of crying… but not for Sophie Mol or Estha or Rahel. The boys, oh, the boys rattled, confronted my fictional reverie.

But my empathy is useless. It can’t wipe out this inhumane phenomenon.
I felt all the more helpless. Hey, Jude.

dream about hiding underneath a two-legged dining table

Trying to remember from fragments…

I was with my “team”. We all slept in the same room, and dreamt the same dream. Typical dreaming in a dream type of dream. I expressed my astonishment (re: strange same-dream phenomenon), but was dismissed with nonchalance. I flirted with Drummer Boy who wore thick make-up. Minay and Aries snickered behind my back. I hid under our two-legged dining table, then a carpenter showed me an empty sardines can with tuna bits inside.

I wonder if Drummer Boy, Aries, Minay and the carpenter who looked like our messenger had the same dream as mine.

thoughts while in-transit

I am running late. But I don’t care anymore. I feel as if I were that guy from Eternal Sunshine hunched over his journal whispering lead sweetnothings on paper.
Az’s text renders me speechless.
We are but chemical proceses shuffling about.

Fuck. Thinking about the magnificence of this chance makes me cry.

Beautiful chance.
It just so happened that the random interaction of molecules brought about something as precious as life. That now has evolved.

Aren’t we fleeting.
No matter how hard we try, we will be relegated into oblivion in the future.
Even ideas aren’t immortal.
Concrete example: If the sun crashes into earth (or earth crash unto sun), everything will be lost.
The universe will again wait for this right condition, right atom interaction.

I write for leisure.

Physicist x philosopher = mind of God.
Mind x heart = mind x heart