A few years back, we used to hang out a lot in this Makati Ave. bar that didn't have chairs. You sat down on the floor with your shoes off. They played a little house, some chillout and ambient. They served wine, beer and the whole lot of the North Park Menu. One of those night-outs when we tried to forget all the grinding pressures of our jobs, she took out a band aid - one of those mediplast ones you used tape your skin with when you had bruises after playing Black 1, 2, 3. She took a pen out and wrote an inscription at the back of the band aid, 'For you I'll bleed myself dry.' And in our minds, Coldplay's guitar chorus riffs made a blissful sonic blast, love bubbling up all over, with Chris Martin's voice almost weeping we were just so happy.
Reduced to wordlessness, he then confirmed then and there: this is the girl I'm going to marry.
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"How should I not be grateful to my whole life? -And so I tell myself my life." Nietzsche, Ecce Homo
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