Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Narrow

bq

The streets are getting narrower- that I realized only recently when I was walking outside BQ Mall, particularly the area fronting the CPG entrance. It used to take me, say, three minutes to get from Mercury Drug to McDonald’s; now it takes me about double the time, sometimes longer.

Of course it has to do with all the street vendors that have, since I-don’t-know-when, claimed their respective spots on the sidewalk; the growing number of vendors who sell quite an assortment of street food—from corn, tempura, peanuts, mangoes and oranges, newspapers, blah blahs—is enough to drive me nuts. What with all the customers stopping to buy, there’s what one could call ‘human traffic’.

And of course, there are those people who don’t seem to care if they’re causing great annoyance, especially to those in hurry, by blocking the way. They just stand in the middle of the way to text, stare at the still-unfinished City Square, or talk to their friends (which annoys me the most). I am not certain if they’re even aware that they are in fact blocking other people’s way, or they just do it to spite those walking. And there are the tricycle drivers who sometimes create not only human traffic but noise pollution as well by shouting at random people, asking them if they’d want a ride.

And as if all the vendors, the thoughtless pedestrians who chat to their friends, and the tricycle drivers aren’t enough to cause a snail’s pace flow of people walking by, we have those who sell Sim Cards. What’s worse: they wave those tiny red and blue packages in front of people’s faces, shouting “Diyes lang, diyes lang. TM, Globe!”

Gawd.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Light Resentment

san mig

So since when did writing under the influence become an art? Since Neil Gaiman introduced it. Well, at least from what I know.

If you’re one of those select few who know me to the bones, you’d probably be a millionaire by now for guessing that I am writing under the influence. And what an influence, indeed!

I don’t want to ask for excuses for any error (grammatical) that this post may have. And hell, whoever said I could not make any errors lived outside this world. I am only human, and everyday I am learning that I am indeed one despite all the things these voices in my head tell me.

Whatever.

This should be deprecating. I like anything that’s deprecating- it makes someone human. Whatever. It proves one thing: nobody’s perfect.

So anyway, trust that this post (like most of the posts in this blog) is raw. Raw. Raw. To hell with errors, and to hell with people I may run over along the way (whatever that means).

I live without excuses. And so I write without excuses. So before my tired body—and my senses—abandon me, I’d like to begin this little (whatever one may call it).

It’s 10.38 on my PC’s clock. Minutes ago, I was knocking on my mom’s window, pretending that I was sober as the president of the Philippines giving a nation address.

Where was I?

So, a friend came home from a place far away—although not ‘oh so far away’—and we had dinner together. (Now the details are starting to escape my consciousness)

Whatever. I already vowed not to drink San Mig Light for it ruins my sanity—and my reputation (believe it, i still have a reputation to uphold!), but I know when to scratch the things I’ve written (so to speak, my friends). And well, honestly, Mike offered me the drink, and when it’s Mike, I wouldn’t dare decline. And yoy know what, good thing Mike doesn’t have a Friendster account (and if he did, I doubt he’d even be reading this- that man’s too busy with business, anyway). Where was I?

So, there. Two bottles became four. And it became five. Was it really five? But who was counting, right? Point is: I hate San mig light! I freaking hate it. But, like I said, I know when to scratch the thing I’ve written.

I don’t know what else to write. Like, I don’t know what else to write.