I was itching to go home. At the eleventh floor lobby, I waited for the elevator.
The elevator door opened; in it was three people. As I stepped in, I thought how perfect it is now we’re four. In the few seconds we were in that rectangular metal box, I imagined we each had our corner for ourselves. Four corners of the oblate spheroid world ruled by the four people in the elevator.
At a loss for… thoughts. Is that possible?
Surrealism is poetic. Poetry is surreal.
Traffic is congested on Dona Soledad. But mother has to bear with the consequences of being late (for 4 more years, I’m sorry in advance).
I hope, with all my heart and soul and body, that this will all pay-off in the future.
This routine is still so temporary. Given I will live a full life, I will switch jobs, have a boyfriend, get married, have kids, retire. So this– this– every morning routine will be fleeting.
I just saw the Makati skyline again. It gave me goosebumps as I realize this beautiful landscape visited daily won’t be forever.
Today I rode a jeep to work. I was able to discover a new route that made me daydream about the conveniences of the future. No lates ever again!
But I’m stuck in Buendia traffic.
A lady looks at me intently. She must be in her 50s. Bobbed hair. Must have been real pretty when she was young. She is wearing a sleeveless striped top with colors of subdued Christmas.
Her brows wrinkle.
She saw me write. I wonder what she is thinking about.
Very near ayala at 8:50am.
Why are we so compelled to think about the future? Logically, because we want to minimize stress by being prepared. Why are we sometimes stuck thinking about the past? Because… I can’t think of anything logical. Thus, I shouldn’t. This explains my subconsciously dysfunctional memory.
Why should we think about the past? Question of the day. No BS answers please.
And here we are on Ayala at 8:54am.