What Looks Like Crazy (on an Ordinary Day)

Stanza First

My work finished before 5 PM today.  Hurray!!!
Kuya Glen, my driver, dropped me off my hotel, in broad daylight :).
The rest of my nosy team decided to go swimming in OrmocVilla.
Lovely!
I was left alone in a small but pretty expensive hotel :)
Just like how i wanted it.
Left alone.  Yipee!
I was sooooo excited that I didn't care to change.
Sounded like a plan.
Gee, who cares if I didn't have lunch.
I run my way on my blue ballerina flats
Books and Coffee. Libro!
Perfect!

An impressive little door.
A tiny room full of strangers.
A red mug of blended chocolate.
Blueberry cheesecake.
My heaven!
Old books all for grabs!
Unpretentious art!
I got transported to my early days in Metropolitan Manila.
That side of Manila.
Where the artists, the poets,  the messed ups, the fucked ups convene.
Penguin Cafe.  Old Malate.  Malate of my time.
A sweet corner spot.
And just about the right amount of afternoon rain.
I always hug my mug.  Don't I.
My favorite John Legend song in the air.
Tonight, this night
 ... am thrashing my meds
Me gonna drink and smoke
Tonight, this night!
This writer is gonna write again.

well, that's my spot over there.  i jusz miszed the big glass window :(

my bonus treats for the day 

Prelude to Stanza Next

I fixed all my papers.
Submitted my report.
Packed my luggage.
I have the whole morning tomorrow to wait for my flight.
I skipped dinner.
I charged my beer to my tab.
I promised to finish just a half pack of Marlboro lights.
My airconditioning breathing hard.
I walk in cold wooden floors
What remains of my playlist is good enough for me to survive the night.
I have been writing in my head the whole time.
My friends must be reading this.
The downside of writing.
And the reasons why.

Stanza Second

A writer struggles.
Why she always leave.
Traces.
And refuses to explain.
Why I traded my social skills for silence.
Is it what.
I chose to write than speak.
Not to talk to anyone but myself.
May be I got tired of my stories.
And so I thought everyone got disinterested.
Or stopped caring.
And I was too strong not to be able to handle that on my own terms.
So they thought.
And i said.  I'd rather be left alone.
And so what was left of me, I will just write about.
I talk to myself.  And will not respond.
I put words together.  And just read them aloud.
I will ask questions.  I will answer in my head.
I will break truths into pieces.
And i will be quiet.
And there are secrets too many
I will bring them to my grave.

Chorus

solitude.



(repeat)
(reverberates)

i hear my own footsteps fading away ...