So you wake up and realize there’s this bottomless pit inside you that’s eating your morning, or perhaps your entire life, away. Something you cannot fill. Something you cannot touch. But it’s there. Burrowing. Hurting. Gripping you. Plus, it doesn’t help when you have Iron and Wine strumming about stoned hearts and other inevitable sorrows of the human soul, at such a nostalgia-infested moment.
You’re missing everything. Everyone. You miss the past. You miss the future. And you’re even missing the present.
Two nights ago, you learned that you have a new ticket to deathville. And god, this little thing right here, it’s not even about that (ticket). It’s not even about anything. Or that’s what you’re telling yourself.
Haidee’s gramps died yesterday. Kuya Vince is trapped in Bangkok. There’s this guy you can’t get enough of. Your abdomen has gone ecstaticly in haywire. Fought with your mom because you were both scared and pressured over the ticket (which could be nothing big a deal, really). Watched Gael Garcia Bernal in one of your recently seen weird films (The Science of Sleep) and cried for some outrageously weird reason. Your grades are depressingly disappointing. You’ve gone distant to a close friend because you’re an occasional asshole.
What else is there? Something else is there. And you can’t really just decide to tell everything about your recent life.
But right now, all you want to say is that people should be allowed to mourn over unnamed things. And that you don’t have to kill them asking for reasons why. Because life can simply be a semi-bitch just like that.
Current Mood: Nostalgic
Princess Orange
(This is also part of my Sinulog adventure set. She’s so pretty, in person and in the camera’s eyes). @_@
Pinay in fuming orange and yellow, looking like a princess with a feathered crown. 
With the little niňo.
Personally, I find Sinulog exhausting. It’s practically like War of the Worlds every time. EVERY time. Two days ago, like every other Sinulog, it was again nothing short to Independence Day chaos. Plus it rained at around 2 pm. Very sweet. But I get to have some good stuff under a very piercing sun. This girl, I forgot from which city they’re representing, smiled at the camera ever so candidly. I thanked her with a smile (too) that spelled of erased exhaustion. @_@
For the past few months I’ve been trying to capture frozen moments of unsullied smiles, honest sorrows, naked fearlessness and candid yearnings. Here are a few of them that I am (finally) not shy to share.
Thinking
My grandfather locked in his thoughts. Wherever that is, the look he makes of it is somehow gripping.
Soaked
Beaches are popular during the new year (or at least from where I grew up, it is). My family have spent new years and new years (and some new years more) of good food, sands and uninhibited karaokiing on a beach house. They say the water symbolizes an act of cleansing. I’m not much of a fan on these things, but hey, there’s nothing frolicly ill with the idea of cleansing yourself as you brace yourself for another year.
This is my six-year old cousin Christian caught soaked and tanned during our new year getaway.
Hands in Love
I delight with an overwhelmed heart capturing this. Christmas day, my 83-year old lola’s hand holding my 86-year old lolo’s hand. And I hear people say love is extinct at this nameless age and time. I guess they must mean to say it is rare.
Fixed in Red
Two syllables. Tatum. She looks candidly aweless here, you wouldn’t have a single clue how this girl wrecks havoc when she starts pulling her mad strings for comedy. ^^
Blown Away
Eunice looking effortlessly fabulous even with her hair flying all over.
People tell you stories through furrowed brows, age lines, crooked smiles and fearless eyes. They don’t even have to say anything. You look at them and they speak to you through these stock-still moments.
