Rantsicle 1, MV

Wednesday, the 26th of August 2009, 3:40 PM, PST

I'm not really into blogging. This is sort of a sorry attempt to start one. I've decided to make this kinda like May Sinclair's stream-of-consciousness writing, which frankly is just another dead metaphor so to speak. Or this could even be a journal of sorts, documenting certain events in my life, from the mundane to the odd, whatever the case maybe.

Why I've decided to start this voyeuristic endeavour is somewhat beyond me. I hate to think I'm giving in to my voyeuristic tendencies 'cause I'm not sure if I even have one. Suffice it to say I guess that I'm bored, early to work by an hour or two, missing Maiah Viara like hell, and I still don't have a file to work on. In any case, I'm usually early for work. I guess as they say, the early worm becomes a bird, or something akin to that.

So here I am staring at my computer screen for like about 30 seconds already, thinking of so many things to write about but really not knowing where to begin or how to say it. Ah! Writing. And suddenly, epiphany.

I will write to show the world how crazy I am. Well, that's certainly a beginning. Better than nothing I guess. Crazy, hmm...but then again, crazy is very general. I don't wanna run the gamut of the whole crazy universe. A certain woman senator can certainly do that for me. I don't even know why she's still in the Senate, angrily pointing fingers at the upcoming powers that be. Ha! Thinking about the current situation of this country, I'd say my university professor was right. The country is inevitably going to the dogs. Alas! Enough about the country. I could give you so many what's-wrong-in-this-country litanies you'd rather peel potatoes to feed the whole Chinese population...worldwide.

It's 3:59 and still no file. This is gonna be a long wait. I'm really starting to hate coming to work early. All I've been hearing for the past few minutes is the typists' frenzied hammering of their respective computer keyboards, trying to meet their daily quota. Kinda reminds me of a symphony, a percussive one at that. Come to think of it, I haven't really heard an orchestra of just percussive instruments. Well, that's...gonna be boring. Like peeling potatoes to feed China and India during tourist season. (I don't know why I'm sort of obsessed with potatoes lately. Hmm...)

The constant percussive staccato's not so bad really. A fitting backdrop to my hopefully worthwhile endeavour. I'm even half-asleep, just typing with one eye open. Right.

Maiah's gotta be halfway to Dumaguete by now. She boarded a Ceres bus earlier. Ah, Maiah. Ever the Piscean. Imaginative, sensitive, intuitive, idealistic, and escapist. I wonder why, but she reminds me of home and of my late mom, god rest her soul. My mom passed away when I was just five. The only memory of her that I have is, she's buttoning my polo shirt on a Saturday morning in preparation for church worship. Her hands smelled of spices, as she was also cooking something at that time. That's my mom, at least what's left of her. Ah, I miss her. Enough already.

Maiah. I never thought the sentence "Ask me Again." would redefine my life in an instant. Those three words will never be the same for me again. They have become flesh and blood, palpable, concrete, palpitating with Life's energy, a vibrant entity born of hope and sacrifice. It has become synonymous with Fate and Destiny, their three-worded sibling. You will never know the implications of what you have become to me, Viara. Nor will I deign to clothe those implications in words for they have been rendered inadequate. Pisces meets Scorpio.

My shift really begins at 5:00 PM and it's 4:41. A match-made friend texts me. I don't reply. Too late. Status: Maiah-infested Area. (",)