I miss getting lost in a book. My eyes are hungry for something that I don't need. I need to know about the Budi Utomo and its failure to garner any real support amongst the people. I need to know that "Bonifacio" is vulgar when said out loud. I need to know about Marshall Lerner and his condition. Don't worry, not critical. I need to know how to 'deduce' and abide to 'hence'. and to rejoice when they meet 'hence, or otherwise'.
I need to keep my eyes on the ball. Prelims is 7 weeks away.
I need to keep my eyes on the ball. Prelims is 7 weeks away.
Sword fights and underground caverns. Quiet art studios, wooden easels, dyes by the rainbows and more, painted on brown ethnic fingers upon blank stiff canvas. Climbing mango trees and running barefooted in the orange dust as summer winds and sunlight hold on dearly to the pages. Painful white wards with blinding silences. Vomit, blood, teeth and bones, alcohol cravings, cold turkey, and lab reports. Brave controversial vigilantes, gatekeepers of justice, their only saving grace, against the political backdrop of 60's-fashion war and civil unrest. Awkward adulterers. Badly-written dialogues. Sea legs, a circus crew on board a ship, travelling by sea and living by rum.
I miss my storybooks. I'm forgetting how fairytales usually end.
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