Four bottles of beer, and I woke up with a hangover.
I could picture my 20-year old self shaking her head in disappointment. Naikot natin ang mga inuman sa KNL, mars, tapos sumuko ka sa apat? Well, what do you know? People grow old, Young Me, and newsflash: you are now officially in your late twenties.
I longed for this. The growing old, the entire jig about being an adult. The sage advice has always been to live in the present — carpe diem — but I was never one to listen. I wanted to grow old and now here we are. I am past the phase of trying new things for the heck of it, of making mistakes just because I could. Decisions, I learned, weigh heavier when you’re old.
Today’s a Monday, I know, but this is my blog, so let’s follow my rules. (And I’m sure the creator of this tag wouldn’t mind? Or at least I hope they don’t).
Anyhoo, I am currently
readingAmerica Is Not The Heart by Elaine Castillo, and it’s hitting way too close to home;
writing this post and a thinkpiece (charot) on OPM and migration. The second one doesn’t seem to be taking shape though — I just don’t have the discipline to do research, prfft;
listening to Eraserheads’ “Sino Sa Atin” off the under-appreciated “diket-diket” album Natin99;
thinking that I really do like Natin99. Legit, beh. Enjoying this album comes with age, I think; I just never cared for it when I was younger. But now? Dude. “Kahit Ano” is the barkada anthem. “Tama Ka,” “Maselang Bahaghari,” “Pop Machine,” “May Sumasayaw” — damn solid bangers, I’m telling ya;
This girl Nik has a very interesting project: she takes short video clips every day and puts them together in a video collage at the end of each month. She posts the videos on Facebook and I am always low-key impressed with the diary-esque quality of her clips.
But Nik’s life is far more interesting than mine. She swims and snorkels; she watches a throng of hot air balloons as they simultaneously take flight. Even on her off days she records herself playing the ukelele. And meanwhile there’s me, living a life that’s not even half as interesting as watching a plastic bag drift through the wind like an aimless piece of, well, plastic.
Still, I try.
I am aware that this ennui of sorts is such a burgis predicament to have. Surprisingly, however, I have not really chastised myself for taking videos of scenes that are otherwise considered pointless. What is so relevant about my feet as they walk? How does my cooking adobo trigger people’s consciousness?
I guess I’m just as bored as I should be and, thanks to my middle class privileges, I found a way to temporarily escape the routine that my life has become.