Just Write

I’ve been telling myself to write more often. Just write. Even if it’s terrible, even if it’s incoherent, even if there’s nothing interesting to write about. I remind myself to write with an audience in mind. This way I will at least try to make my thoughts readable. Never mind the correctness; we all make mistakes anyway. Just write.

But when do I write? I work eight hours a week, five times a day, and my boss has been compelling me to explore the town more often. Sometimes I go out with people, sometimes I watch movies in my room, and sometimes I trek along the coulees to keep my lungs and heart healthy (feelingera lang). I’ve also been reading a lot. Many kinds, from Terry Eagleton to Filipino short fiction to one cheesy romance that reminds me of my own voice — which isn’t really a compliment, unfortunately.

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The Call Conundrum

Today at work, I had to phone a supplier and discuss the possible implementation plans for one of our projects. I made a list of all the pertinent details I needed, a brief guide of sorts to ensure that I don’t miss anything important.

When I had all the questions typed out — damn son I panicked!

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Early morning musings

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I woke up early today. Campbell was in my dream, I remembered, but it was the haunting staccato steps reminiscent of Feng Shui’s Lotus Feet that jolted me awake. I looked around ready for the jump scare but nah, there was no Chinese aristocrat-contortionist waiting on the other side of the quilt. Sayang, I thought. I would’ve appreciated the company.

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