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“Living BESIDE Ayala Alabang has its perks. You can see their matapobre fireworks every new year that’ll make your poor kwitis disappear. Happy 2010!” This is my Facebook status message last New Year’s Eve that was liked by at least 20 people. Living in our village is actually a free pass to a fireworks exhibition the rich kids have organized themselves. So what does a spectator like me needs to do? I got a digital camera and soon realized that it has a fireworks mode option. And these happened next.
After watching Mano Po 6 (Sharon Cuneta’s bulky package is the only thing I can remember, btw), I saw a children’s party at Jollibee. A Jollibee mascot was there, entertaining the kids the juvenile way. I stopped and stared at the happy bee and saw myself joining the kids’ crowd. I smiled and saw him smiling back at me. Well, he can’t frown anyway. But the jiffy moment I sang and dance in my mind made me realize how old I am now that prevented me to actualize those action thoughts. I’m 20, and I think I’m old.
After some good telephone conversation, I coerced myself to sleep. I got my pillow, dressed my cold body with some Christmas-weather-proof blanket and started formulating my sweet dreams. Apparently, during my sleep’s Rapid Eye Movement stage, I can still hear the telephone conversation I just had before raping my sleeping bed. I thought it was a not-so-good dream so I decided to wake up and ponder in silence–hoping to spell a better sleeping trick. Well, I think I can’t and, voila, I decided to blog.
About
Professional Everything who swags like a boss in his plaid boxers.
If you like an About Me like that of a matinée, go here to feel how I play with the grey.Treat me to coffee and doughnuts!
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