My post-holiday blues in pictures:
Sigh. It’s as if they were never there.
Anyway, shit that happened between New Year and today: I turned 33. That was on Jan. 5, the Feast of the Three Kings. The next day I woke up feeling like the King of Hangovers — bloated, groggy and sick courtesy of late-night drinks with friends. I also felt like I aged five years instead of one. But the day was still special as it was the first day of my week-long leave from office, my birthday gift to myself. (Also: My first long vacation that is neither due to sickness nor emergency.) Today I’m on Day 4, and so far, so good. No big plans except to rest and rest and rest. And drink.
Last night was a rainy Sunday night and I found myself in a sari-sari store knocking over some Tanduay Ice with college pal Dennis. It was the first time I drank in a sari-sari store in years, and I welcomed the experience, much so because we were swapping tales of long gone days and battles won and lost like we were two aging knights in a George R.R. Martin novel, and wondering aloud what the future has in store for us and our families. Mature shit like that; generally just getting bromance-y over rain and booze and nostalgia. Then riding my bike on my way home with a gentle buzz in my head I cranked some Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin on my iPod and thought, “Shit, man, this is fucking cinematic.”