She lives and works from her laptop on a little paradise island in the Philippines. She's a writer, graphic artist, and mountaineer. During rainy days she loves to sleep and oversleep and dream and daydream and then write. More »
+ Anaïs Walsdorf
+ Andy Macalino
+ Carlos Quijon
+ Chingbee Cruz
+ Christine Lao
+ Clara Buenconsejo
+ Dana Delgado
+ Eva Gubat
+ Glenn Diaz
+ Jeffrey Javier
+ Joel Toledo
+ Jordan Carnice
+ Kristine Reynaldo
+ Lyza Taguilaso
+ Oscar Sequina
+ Peachy Paderna
+ Pia Benosa
+ Raffy Recalde
+ Vlad Gonzales
I'm at one end of the dining table and my mother is eating lunch on the other end. She slices her chicken leg with her spoon, spears a slice of papaya with her fork, scoops them all together with rice, and shovels them into her mouth. She chews a bit and shoves another half spoonful of rice into her mouth. She chews deep in thought, looking out the window, and swallows audibly. Outside are houses and buildings with galvanized iron roofs reflecting the blinding sunlight. She looks at me and there's a brief uncomfortable silence--our eyes transfixed to each other's, reading each other's thoughts, deciphering each other's facial expressions. "I want to go to school next semester," I break the silence. "You're not in the condition to go to school," she replies, putting another spoonful into her mouth. "But my burns will be healed in a month or two, I can manage." "No, you can't." "Why not?" "You can't be left alone, you can't go to school, and you still have to finish your psychotherapy." Pfffffffffttt.
I'm bored.
My medications have sort of gotten rid of my neuroses.
I had another fit of hallucinations this morning. It was as if a pair of earphones was plugged into my ears, playing a deafening cacophony of staccato electric guitar. Nothing suicidal happened though.XP