The Angel

It's been five days since I had last gone to the gym.  There were things that got in the way.  I was supposed to go yesterday, Tuesday, but instead I was out fixing a family friend's computer that has been plagued with an undetected malware.  Another time, I had to pry open a laminating machine because a paper got stuck.  There was always something that kept me from going to the gym.  Time sure has a way of adding up when you don't notice it. Today, I made sure I can go to the gym.  I knew that the day, before it even began, would be stressful enough that I need to have some form of release from things that were bugging me.  I took a swim first; I don't know how long that went, but it felt good being underwater.  Not unlike Percy Jackson who relishes the moment being underwater, able to think and block out the noise of the world above.  I did an hour of cardio after that.  I ran on the treadmill for about thirty minutes and then switched to cycling for another thirty.

A few weeks ago, a former officemate who was here on vacation called me up with all the urgency of a woman in labor.  Hoy, sino yung latino? Huh? I could not place who he was referring to. Yung sa facebook mo na comment ng comment. Oh.  Wala, neighbor ko. He went on and on, asking about the details, and being so disappointed that there weren't so many, at least none of the salacious ones he wanted me to dish. He's not alone.  Over the course of days, a few others would buzz me in YM or wherever and ask me about the latino.  I wondered, if maybe I should get a recorder for my standard reply.  I was jogging, his dog ran after me, he ran after his dog, I kept shouting, "My balls, my balls," which until now I don't know why those were the words that came out of my mouth.  That was the only time I've ever seen him, although he added me up in Facebook.  But that was it. Although it seems many find it hard to believe, that me with my raging and oppressed

I hardly get excited over clothes and I rarely shop for them except when necessary.  The last time I had gone out purposedly to buy clothes was last December.  My friend had to drag me out because it was already the weekend before I was to leave for Europe and I haven't bought any winter clothes yet.  Off we went, but not before we had lunch.  We went from one shop to another checking out sweaters and jackets and scarves and gloves.  My friend tried more clothes than I did.  And by the end of the shopping day, I had bought a scarf and a pair of gloves and he had bought three t-shirts. You still have no jacket! He exclaimed. So on the day before I left, instead of meeting up with my closest friends, I shopped.  The not-so-good thing about me shopping alone is that I don't go to department stores.  It's not an elitist preference, but department stores have so many options and so many racks to go through that they just give me headache and sore feet.  The fact is I loathe

I woke up dazed on a bed with my hands on my face, dizzy and disoriented, as if I had just arrived from somewhere.  There was a knock on the door and I heard a voice, it was a sound familiar to me and yet I could not discern the words.  I knew, somehow I knew, that I had to go out.  I walked over to the bathroom to fix myself; I stared at the mirror, not quite sure what time of the day it was.  I seemed to have gone back in time and yet I knew that it was not a past, because the bedroom and the bathroom and all the things around me felt new.  And the face, my face, seemed older; but in a suit--something I was amused to be wearing--I had looked mature, almost wise.  I was still wearing glasses, but it was not the one I had been wearing for years. I stared at my reflection for awhile.  It felt like I was asleep for a long time and I had just awaken.  Awaken from my slumber and I knew that this time, this is the right life.  The old one, something I can vaguely recall, has shriveled awa

It was exhausting being dragged around, having to wear something nice because it's a posh place where there's a view of the Atlantic Ocean and there's nothing under $50 listed on the menu.  It was my Dad's birthday and my uncle's wife's birthday as well.  One of those quirks in the universe where my mom's twin brother married someone who has the same birthday as my Dad.  Two birthday celebrations in one, so it was as extravagant as it can get. Briefly, we watched the Kentucky derby before starting on a four-course meal.  I had wine all throughout because it was my only company.  I was obviously left out in senior conversations except when referenced about how bright my future could be.  A wife, a house, and a dozen kids. Aren't you about the same age as those guys who set up Facebook? My uncle, who I was never in good terms with, asked me in his rather annoying American accent. I guess, I replied, then finished my glass and signaled the waiter for