One day, you will stare out in a pair of binoculars before realizing what you are looking for is already inside your pocket. Wants always urge us to keep seeking, but Needs make us content, and happy, and most of the times, they were just there, sitting prettily in a corner where we last left them, never beckoning for attention, never distracting our daily routines, never piping, “I’m here, I’m what you wanted!” Maybe because they knew, all along, that they weren’t Wants. They’re a different, more pertinent league.

And with that, folks, I am able to save money. Money, by the way, which has not been converted to our currency and is therefore inaccessible to me.

This week, I queried. This week, I wrote. This week, I stayed indoors and breathed moldy air while I sat in my room, in my favorite desk, rereading my old work and realizing, for the love of God and Rouen’s Diary, that I still liked it. This is it. This is my easing, my passing of tide. My manuscript hardly demanded for changes except for a few grammatical errors and some sentence restructuring. The extra chapter, which is one of my most favorite parts, may not be necessarily needed unless asked for. All 84k words of them are ready to be inhaled. And hopefully, loved.

There’s another story I wrote this week – on a weekend, to be exact, when I lay on my bed daydreaming of things, of rain and water, of pollution and romance, of horror and happiness, and a plot came through. I had double thoughts because I have never written something so terrifying and gross before, but it called to me, and on Saturday, in two hours or three, I typed at least 6,000 words into it, a weaving of things that are soft and slimy and scary. And, if there’s something to be proud of, it’s got Filipino elements screaming in every section.


On Saturday eve, the phone call with my dad ended with the line, “If there’s still flood by tomorrow, you have the option not to go here at church (which was a town away).” And so, come Sunday morning, on a 6 am ring, I sighted the water still hanging out outside our house, much less receding, and I made the no-go decision. My brother slept until 7 am. At least, he had 2 full days spent to his repose.

It’s nice to be able to sit down on a Sunday morning, eat my jam and crackers, and just realize the tiny bits of good from the cracks. At the same time as he would every day, whatever the weather, Manong Taho waded through the flood, beckoning with his loud, “TAHOOOOOOO!” and carried his burdens, I mean his buckets of soy and vanilla, and offered a warm, sweet breakfast alternative to those who would respond. I thought for a while, and I realized this:

Faithfulness, dear friend, is what makes you unforgotten.

After a few minutes, the sun shyly peeked through the clouds. It was, however, momentary.

Late in the morning, about 9 am, the rain started pouring again, which means more flood, which means no way to go out. And so, me, my brother, and my watchful dog who loves cats Chiba, stayed and chilled, in the most literal way, as it was cold. By 12 pm, after a small pause and a prayer, I went back to finish a hanging story. It ended in less than 7k words.

The mango jam my mother left this early Friday was half-finished thanks to my gluttony for sweets, as there are no other sweet things in the house other than my dad’s ice cream and my brother’s strawberry yogurt Ritter Sport. I spend half of the day introspecting. This other half, I’m waiting for pizza.

Right now, pizza would be the best thing ever to happen this week. That, and getting paid. x