A sunday and I'm staring again, the infinity of gray in the office only broken by some afterthought of colors in a few places. I've been home and back again. A blur and Manila is in harsh analog focus again; back to the grime of vehicles and drying spit in the streets, and the myriad personal bubbles going their own ways. I walked around yesterday and ended up being smothered by people, a Sargasso without the mystery, and the seaweed of commerce. And always found myself drawn into bookstores for refuge and that semblance of silence.
Going back to the apartment, I ventured a question to myself whether I am finally welcoming the embrace of Manila or if I should finally go home. Yes, home.
The question went unanswered as I lay down finally to sleep and it's still there hanging in the aether, looking at me.
...
I never knew that walking around Megamall could stress me out. Or perhaps it was because of some reflections of myself I saw as I walked past the windows of the mall, alone, and carrying a white plastic bag with four thin used books inside.
I slept for eight hours.
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