I'm so lazy to sharpen my pencils

 Try again next time, Mr. Fagin.

Growing Rainbow in a pot

 

I'm growing the Rainbow tree in a pot in one corner of the terrace. I'm growing Rainbow in a pot. The pot with the growing Rainbow is in my terrace. I go there everyday--in the morning to water it and later, in the midst of my editing works, when I could no longer bear the tangle of verbs and nouns and phrases and feel I would suffocate, I'd knock at Sean's room to let me go to the terrace to see the Rainbow plant growing there. At different times of day, I invent excuses to go to the terrace to see the Rainbow tree growing. I'd like to bring it to my room so that I could sleep with it near my bed, if the Rainbow could take so much stress of being carried to my room inside the pot, its stem and leaves swaying before I could finally put it down on the floor. 

Self vs Self

Reading remains to be an ultimate source of pleasure to me so, I'm surprised to see here that I've not been writing about it. But why?! 

It's because you're always working, stupid, and only sneak some time to read!  

Hey, hey, hey! You promised not to address me in that tone anymore. Don't break your promise!

What's wrong?

You're self-blaming me again. Take the word stupid.

Oh, am I? Okay, how do I do that?

Write it's because you're always working and only sneak some time to read!

It's because you're always working and only sneak some time to read!

Feeling like Rip Van Winkle

As soon as the air cooled, I went out of the hotel and walked towards Osmeña Boulevard, where I took the jeepney that had Santo Niño on its signboard. I asked the driver what route would take me to San Jose and he said, this one, pointing to his manibela. So, after winding down through--was it Sanciangko or P. del Rosario Streets?--the jeepney finally went to my old street and dropped me near the gate. I immediately followed the walk that led to the chapel because that's what had always been on my mind--to find that chapel and see what it looks like now.

They call the walkway leading to it the Paseo Recoletos now, although I could not remember if we ever used that name before. To us, this was simply the way towards the chapel, you would meet so many people here, usually carrying things, baggages, sometimes sacks from the nearby Carbon market. Today, I met this woman hurrying towards somewhere, carrying at least three bags and dragging a child. Another man followed, this time, carrying a--what was that--a sewing machine?! Why do they have to manually carry a sewing machine? A beggar,  covered with soot, lie sleeping on the paseo's floor.  An obnoxious smell of dried urine assailed ones nose.

I was surprised to find the chapel's entry on the ground floor sealed but I could hear church music upstairs. Two opposite stairways led to the second floor. I chose one and heard someone--a priest?!--leading the novena. It's a novena, we're starting the novena, a woman told me. I did not know why she had to explain that to me.  I went down and asked the security guard how long had he been working there because I wanted to know when did they move the chapel to the second floor. But he said he was only working there for four years and it had been that way since he arrived.

I fell silent. I was gone thirty-three years!

Things that fascinate me

NOTES FROM MY JOURNAL
September 13, 2012 

What did photographer Nick Onken say in his book “photo trekking?” 

Choose the subjects that interest you. 

Don’t only photograph subjects just because you are paid to do it  but explore also those that naturally fascinate you and attract you for some reasons.

This is how you develop your style, he wrote. 

Just a bit like writing, I think. But what are the things that really fascinate me? 

Alleyways. Skies (although I just found  how their colors change at different hours of day, as Ja used to point out to me). Mirrors. Doors. Windows. Labyrinth. Churches. Buildings. People. Roads. Shapes. Sillhouettes. Books. Shadows. Ceramics. Jugs and Jars.  Signs and writings on the walls. Cats.

Roads. Especially roads.

Rivers.

I discover this journal because I was looking for traces of Pa among the things I wrote before.