Currently...
Reading
I'm reading Tess Stimson's Who Loves You Best, one of the books I bought from the 20-peso book sale. I think I might finish it this week because I sat with it on a 1.5-hour bus ride along EDSA on a Friday night, so now I'm 3/4 way to the end. I love getting sucked in by a book. If not for it, I would have been out of my mind because of traffic.
I'm actually outreading myself on this one-book-per-month challenge. Last month, I've read two books, one of which is June Casagrande's It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences. With it, I have learned one of the best life lessons one could get out of a grammar book (well, besides the actual grammar lessons):
I'm actually outreading myself on this one-book-per-month challenge. Last month, I've read two books, one of which is June Casagrande's It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences. With it, I have learned one of the best life lessons one could get out of a grammar book (well, besides the actual grammar lessons):
For one thing, if you're going to swear, fucking swear already.
Yes, Ma'am.
Writing
A lot, quite surprisingly. I found myself writing on one of my journals twice the other day. I said one of my journals, if you missed that. When did I become the jot-everything-down person?
But I'm enjoying this person, to be honest. I'm more open to my journals now than I've ever been on any written form/material. Something is really going down in me.
But I'm enjoying this person, to be honest. I'm more open to my journals now than I've ever been on any written form/material. Something is really going down in me.
Listening
Nothing.
Thinking
It truly is beginning to dawn on me, that *WELP* I really might not get married someday. There, I said it! For the longest time, I was never resolved to say it out loud, here or anywhere, in my own words, but there it is. I just told my mum this, too, and I think I got her worried? Haha.
(Oh, but I know that if my 40-year old self is going to read this, she would laugh and cringe at the pettiness of this concern.)
(Oh, but I know that if my 40-year old self is going to read this, she would laugh and cringe at the pettiness of this concern.)
Smelling
Nothing.
Nothing.
Wishing
It's been bugging me for a while: I want to re-read Harry Potter. But when I do so, I wish to read my own copy of the series (because I only borrowed from my college friends back then). And I'd like the books to be the non-Scholastic ones. I really do have a set of specifications for this one, apparently :D
Hoping
I was assigned to do the quarterly presentations next week, and I just hope that I don't embarrass myself too much this time. I'm too old to feel like a newbie!
I tried to practice the whole thing and I got sooo tired from talking. How do people do these things for a living?!
I tried to practice the whole thing and I got sooo tired from talking. How do people do these things for a living?!
Wearing
The usual pambahay.
Loving
Every relaxing moment I can get for myself these days. Like this morning, I woke up and indulged on missed Aldub episodes (hahaha yes), and then I tucked myself in again with some Mama Lou's left overs, a cup of teh tarik and a book. I love feeling snug, basically.
Wanting
Just to pay the rest of the bills so I could start saving money, like, for real.
Needing
I don't know what I exactly need these days, I'm just pensive. I completely have no idea where this comes from. All I know is that if I could escape being an adult right now and not actively participate in life, then where do I sign up? Ahhh, maybe I need something to look forward to. That.
Feeling
Mmmlahh.
Clicking
- This beautiful meditation on the elusive nature of joy by Anais Nin. HOMERUN.
Over and over again I sail towards joy, which is never in the room with me, but always near me, across the way, like those rooms full of gayety one sees from the street, or the gayety in the street one sees from a window. Will I ever reach joy? It hides behind the turning merry-go-round of the traveling circus. As soon as I approach it, it is no longer joy. Joy is a foam, an illumination. I am poorer and hungrier for the want of it. When I am in the dance, joy is outside in the elusive garden. When I am in the garden, I hear it exploding from the house. When I am traveling, joy settles like an aurora borealis over the land I leave. When I stand on the shore I see it bloom on the flag of a departing ship. What joy? Have I not possessed it? I want the joy of simple colors, street organs, ribbons, flags, not a joy that takes my breath away and throws me into space alone where no one else can breathe with me, not the joy that comes from a lonely drunkenness. There are so many joys, but I have only known the ones that come like a miracle, touching everything with light.
- I'm not yet in mid-life, but this. I also shared the article on my Facebook because I felt like my singlehood has been on the spotlight for the past week, and I want to kind of let them know. Don't you want to knock people off their high horse sometimes? With a baseball bat? Embellished with spikes? Let me share a line from the article that I relate myself with so much:
Tracy is lucky to have a travel companion but she gets grief for that: "My best friend and I have been accused of being lesbians because we don't date, we take vacations together, and spend a lot of time together. I don't get it. We enjoy each other's company -- who else are we supposed to spend time with?"
