my laptop is warm (getting warmer) and cozy

Playing: Air - Sexy Boy

Currently: Sleepy

There’s something about Manila... that makes me want to... burst. There’s something about blue-gold shadows pooling underneath dancing, leafy trees. There’s something about wooden houses rotting in mold, houses which still manage to stand erect in grandiose, pompous pride. There’s something about rolling, teeming crowds, masses of people walkingrunninggliding, eating up distance like sodden gray oatmeal. There’s something about that smell—that thick, viscous, cloud of garlic-onion-jabar-heated-circuit smells floating just below everyone’s nostrils. Being sucked in and puffed out. Suckedin-puffedout. Suckedin-puffedout. There’s something about buildings! All of them tall, thick buildings just screaming with all sorts of classical architectural details. All of them looming, arching, Greco-Roman inspired buildings. It all makes me want to burst. Like something in me is melting and wanting to burst out in liquid gold splendor (not like LBM-bursting... liquid-gold shit?). Shit. I have ceased to make sense. I hate it when that happens. It’s like something in me dies a soft, gurgling death. A very undignified death. Like when someone steps on some slug in a quasi-swampy area and there’s this *squish*. That’s how I imagine my thoughts die. Anyway.

Manila is beautiful. I wanted to stay longer. Have tea at the Manila Hotel. Have tea at the Coconut Plaza. Or have some kwek-kwek at some shoddy roadside. But my parents said No. We have to go back to our respective offices and workworkwork. Because we spawned four very spoiled brats. Now we have to break our backs working. Because you are all brats! You are all brats! Hmm. Squishsquishsquish.

Hmm.

Manila is beautiful. It makes me want to walk. It makes me hate the air-conditioned confines of my car. I don’t know why. I absurdly love air-conditioners. Mirabeau was wrong when he said that the three greatest inventions of mankind are writing, money and the tableau economique. Never mind that the air-conditioner wasn’t made until centuries after Mirabeau’s death. SQUISHSQUISHSQUISH.

Aaargh! Why am I still awake?!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIZ

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AISA

happy birthday Jesus.