Alaska



The time was around 5AM. It was one of those rare Saturday mornings when I woke up really early to catch the bus to Bulacan for the weekend. I was sitting by the bus window as it sped its way through SLEX. There it was: the glum sky, the scenes still and blue and cold, that slim limbo: the slow minutes that sits between after dark and before sunrise. When this song played on my iPod Shuffle (fourth-gen turquoise, the kind that can be clipped virtually anywhere: on my duffel bag's handles, on my shirt sleeve) I felt it was just perfect, a description of how every second unfolds: the distant echo of the guitars, the chill of the vocals, the tentative tempo, still undecided on whether to get up or sleep, stay or leave. (I close my eyes and imagine mugs on the apartment floor. My feet would feel the cold. I tiptoe and try not to wake her up. Or maybe she went home on a Friday night?) There were probably seven people in the bus, all lulled to sleep by the rough ride.