1. The small plastic tub of honey spilled in my bag. Austrian brand: Darbo. (I initially thought it was Danish, or Dutch.) It's the kind Starbucks gives away for free with every tea you purchase. I had it in my bag since Friday, and was probably squeezed with the rest of our luggage during our trip back to Los Banos.
  2. At my morning commute, the woman sitting beside me is reading Alyssa Noel's Evermore. It has this Twilight-inspired colors: black and white, with a touch of red. Before that, in the provincial bus, I was reading Edouard Leve's Autoportrait. It wasn't that lackluster, but it was a little bit below my expectations. What really is evident with this kind of literature is how inventive it is, in how it wants us to think of the self as something spontaneous, as some sort of a stream without end (i.e. without paragraph breaks), and as something which contradicts itself, something flawed and betrayed. It's a good book to start the 2014, to say the least.
  3. Self-employment sounds fun, but I'll give it three more years or so.
  4. At Rada St. I waited for friends to come down from their condo. During the thirty-minute wait I went to Rada Mart, a small Korean mart of some sort, only to be dismayed by their lack of homemade kimchi (it's unspeakable when compared to the one I frequent in Ortigas). There were some other places I wanted to try and visit: an Indian restaurant, which my friend said was "expensive" for their servings; Legaspi Park, which, to my surprise, did not have much people jogging and carousing with cameras--it's the kind of park where you can enjoy the quiet; the Austrian embassy nearby with this elegant painting beside their concierge.
  5. A while ago I was about to fall asleep when, for no apparent reason, something in me convinced myself that I had already died in the past, and since then the scene in front of me (two people in bed lying at their sides, both of their backs facing me: a one year-old boy, my son, and my wife) will not unfold anymore; it will be on repeat like a GIF (a nothingness.gif) and I won't be able to do anything but look at them sleeping, their chests rising and falling, the fan humming from afar, shifting from left to right, left to right. 
  6. Tonight when I took home a set of brand new speakers given by my boss my wife wondered, why of all things would I want speakers? It was my choice and though I admit it was random (I said I want speakers as a prize for my punctuality) I was surprised that the speakers were huge, the type with a subwoofer and stuff. I said it's a guilty pleasure, and that no matter how badly I wanted one I know there's no reason to actually need one. It turned out that ny wife was the one who figured out how to turn it on (I assembled it well but plugged it in the adaptor the wrong way). So she played her White Lies, her Lily Allen, her mixtape for Stache. She loved it: she was banging her head and it felt like we were seventeen all over again.