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The Hours

I came back from a trip last night.

And when I settled back into my room, seeing it well cleaned with new sheets and books properly piled anew on the shelves, I was welcomed by the familiar and it said, So here we are again. And I answered Hello, my old friend.

I'm very careful now to ease myself back into things after being away. It does not matter if "being away" consisted of an overnight stay in Batangas or five weeks in the States: all I need is to rupture the go-around, to not see the usual, to just think about what to eat, when to drink, or what to buy and set aside everyday concerns. I am not talking about "escaping" reality. It's just evacuating the everyday--but in a total and absolute fashion. Hence, it is called vacation.

And the reason that I make the transition between going away and going back more, well, subtle and easy and kind is that I do not want to ask why: why can't I live on a permanent vacation, why do I have to go back to things some of which I do not either need or like, why must I tarry for the most part only in order to reach those lap markers where I can earn a vacation. In short, why can't everyday be a holiday?

Of course that is a stupid and childish question that does not even have to be answered or given the light of day. "We have to work in order to go on vacations," it is said usually. But you already see how absurd that is and I do not want to explain that anymore.

I am just worried, dear Reader, now that I'm "back" from the break and looking at all the work to be done, that I again smash against the wall. The wall that has always been there waiting for my return. Or my mountain that has to be scaled again. Or those terrifying hours.


  1. inom na lang tayo pre, that will help

  2. Well, there's that. Soon then.


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