Also known as the “It’s about time” post.
The rain came in the middle of El Niño. Do not trust the forecasts. I think seasons love playing tricks on us. Life is a game. It feels good when you’re winning. That’s not always the case.
I started to write the third draft for my novel. Things are at the tip of my tongue but I grit my teeth and not let them fall down. Not yet. Not until I get to the other end. That final dot. Hang on there.
I did. April meant rest for me. Rest from plotting and characterizing and so on. May was different. May meant working and writing at the same. Work was kind. Words were kinder.
Yesterday was Nanay’s first death anniversary. We went to her grave. No more hard feelings. At least from my innards. I also got to jog. There were many joggers around the cemetery, would you believe that? The Legacy Park is alive during the daytime.
When was the last time I played piano on my own? The twinkling sound of RAY was delicious. I missed singing in my little room. My favorite piece would still be Isaiah. I feel bad for the songs we have not recorded.
Last night, I drank bad milk. I will never drink milk that has been opened for more than 5 days. My stomach churned. A bomb exploded. Not a good feeling.
Today, we had a guest at the mission site. There were many people than the usual. Kids made hearts. They wanted to put it on the wall. After church, I saw paper hearts torn, scattered on the concrete ground. Such a sad fate.
Jasmine and I sat under the cereza tree. She held on to the rat-eaten paper that contained the chord set she liked. She said she will practice guitar. I promised to bring her the book. There was a boy who brushed the golden hair of his doll. Two girls were up the tree, plucking the little red fruits.
I was supposed to write my story at this moment. I didn’t. If I was, I wouldn’t be making this post. I need things to look back to. I need people to find my traces. This is one of them. More to come. Don’t make a smug face. I sound monotonous, don’t I? I am a narrator.