Morning shift. As though it were a redeeming value for the sullied mornings, Makati’s afternoon skyline is a delight to the senses. The panoramic view of the 41st floor is like a scene out of Lost in Translation. Tower antennas from neighboring buildings rise for a more cinematic effect.
When a ray of sunlight escapes between clouds, it casts silver on the bay below. It’s when souls rise up to heaven, leaving a thousand diamonds on the water and on its trail up.
When the sun sets, towards twilight, the most spectacular palettes of color are painted with happy curves.
Then the city starts to light up. At the end of the day in the office, a little life, at least, seems to begin.
On the way to becoming a full-fledged fatso, you eat Yellow Cab pizza four times a week, Mongolian bowls, beef brisket on Yang Chow fried rice, and all the deadly, savory niceties from the cholesterol factory.
I remember one indulgent Saturday morning with friends. After breakfast at Mcdo with my officemates, with mcflurries and all, I met up with a few more friends and had coffee at the Seattle’s Best in Paseo Center, then beer and stuffed bacon pizza and a little lasagna at Sbarro’s. I sent my stomach sailing to LBM.
And that night I went to AV’s party to drink some more, engaging merrily into drunken banter before I realize (and regret) later on how loquacious I’ve become.
I am Jairus Jason’s lonely lump of fat.
There is never really enough time to seize the day. As soon as arrived home on Saturday morning from my shift, after gambling and losing on NBA Live with my younger brother, I went to Quiapo with O. for pirated DVD shopping. Although the latest movies aren't out yet, I got something produced by Almodovar, the whole third season of The Simpsons.
Saturday evening was a musical/play in CCP with ___ and ___. After the play we found ourselves trudging towards the bay area in Roxas Boulebard where M&L and D. met us up. It was D.’s birthday. Roxas Boulevard is a great idea with an ideal proximity for me, but the establishments are poorly organized. The service is terrible, and food and drinks are unreasonably costly. The crowd is too huge and the bay would have no solemnity left.
But I was just too happy with our crowd, with how ___ can make a mockery while exacting humor on everything. Nobody is ever bored around her.
That night, I was just glad I didn’t feel the need to be drunk as a whirlwind.
We went biking at three in the morning.
At 5 am we were at M.’s place. L. and D. made breakfast. I slept a little and laughed some more.
____ dropped by the house at lunch to watch Almodovar’s Talk to Her while I slumber away. I wake up to dinner with my family, then watched one of the DVDs I bought recently, something that’s at least less vacuous compared too what they’d show in the theaters.
And I could use some more sleep, and a day for reading, coffee, lounging and horsing around. Before I know it, it’s already Monday. Monday is tired and Monday rains and wants us to rest. February gives us one last glimpse of gloomy skies before summer ushers itself in and the mercury madly rises. I smell the peculiar smell of rainwater pouring on asphalt. I plunge into a dejavu about going to La Salle again, my nose teased by the moldy perfume of faded-yellow books from the library. I am Jairus Jason’s perverted sense of smell. It made me sleep so well.
Today February rains like June, as though time is really not there.
