Tipsy. Yet I still managed to indicate the timestamp. Perfunctorily. It’s officially a habit.
Had a drink with Joan in Cantina. I feel inebriated. Weird. Feeling. I feel like a puppet, the half-pitcher of margarita in-control of my strings.
Cool beans. I miss Denise. I miss Bates.
The bag which fell from my lap, is it an indication that I’m drunk? Yes? No? Vehicles, speeding before my eyes, are just part of this exaggerated illusion.
My watch reads 7:04pm. I stand near the intersection of Dian and Buendia as I wait for the next jeepney. The city’s hustle and bustle stir my senses. I see traffic lights, buses speeding by; hear a honk, somewhere; get a whiff of urban smoke. I become hyper-sensual, that I cannot take them all down on paper. My mind is still soaked with physics, space, time, relativity… All thanks to Stephen Hawking and the great philosophers and physicists. I AM DRUNK WITH A BOOK.
Never in my life have I felt this relaxed. The intersection of Dian and Buendia is a seemingly uncomfortable place, but standing here beats curling up in bed on a rainy Sunday morning. I don’t know why. I could shed happy tears… now. Now. Now. As I re-realize the endless possibilities of life, and of the world.
I feel like the universe is truly my home.
Oh, those minutes were divine. I don’t know what struck me. I could only look back and wonder…