Colds. Though the prospect of having a sore throat has been looming since Monday, I took it as a bad sign of what I've smoked last Saturday. Around six cigarettes, or more. I was telling myself all this time not to smoke cigarettes except in drinking sessions, when it is a must, at least for me. The throat gave in, probably, because after three months without smoking, six is a startling number.

Maybe it's the pollen from the hike yesterday. There were mahogany seeds everywhere, the winged ones which seem to fly when tossed around; and the ceiba tree at the Physical Sciences building bloomed earlier, and all the kapok was flying around, on a friend's shoulder, on the sidewalks, by the river. Like wisps.

The allergy heightened while I was dining in a quaint Thai restaurant with my girlfriend--it was lovely for its being spicy, but it triggered a runny nose which wouldn't stop. I finished a roll of tissue by then, and it looked like papier mâché on the table, soggy and formless.

I woke up today with the feeling of something lodged in my throat. One of the last things I am required to do is to diagnose Nero's mental health, for my Abnormal Psychology class. Graduation nears, and it will be a form of personal commemoration to collect a sackful of kapok for a pillow.