Didn’t go to the gym but cleaned my room side of the room. That’s four big bags of junk. It’s like an episode of Hoarders.

I don’t have enough space, definitely not enough space for shelves, so the books I’ve read? I put them in a large garbage bag and place that on top of the cabinet. I miss my room in Quezon City: it had two closets, shelves, and a dresser, and I rented that room for only 4k. Now I’m in Makati and paying more for a corner of a room. Not even a whole room. A corner. I want my own place, but everything’s more expensive in this darn city. If I move back to QC I’ll shell out more for travel fare. Meh.

Therefore, I want more money. Haha.


catch that story idea!

I’ve set aside Falling Man to read this. Thanks Jaykie for the pressure buying me a copy. Note the lace bookmark. (I make bookmarks out of everything. Folded receipts, shirt tags, etc. This one came from a top I own. I still wear that top – amazingly the subtraction worked.)

I have an idea for a story, but every time I sit down to start writing it just runs away. It simply won’t take shape. Very frustrating. One of these days I’ll sit down in a quiet corner with a pen and my Spongebob notebook (the white, empty screen of my laptop is making me puke) and a cup of coffee and brainstorm until I churn out an outline. (“Outline” is a fancy term I use for snippets of scene descriptions and dialogue arranged in more or less chronological order. I don’t do the academic outline with the Roman numerals and shit, I’m not that crazy.)

Also, I just learned at the PSF V launch (thanks Charles for the head’s up) that my poem, “Tour Guide” (the last poem I wrote before the pesky poetry writer’s block hit), is in the April 4 issue of the Free Press. Yeah, I’m late, I’m sorry, I forget to monitor these things. Hope you can get a copy. :) National Bookstore and the convenience stores (7-Eleven, Mini-Stop) carry back issues; Jaykie and I even saw some inside a Mercury Drug branch. So yes, my poetry can be found inside a drug store, or on the shelf beside the booze. Coolest thing ever.


I get bored a lot lately. I’m struggling with this story I’m trying to finish – I’d write continuously and just hit a brick wall. It’s infuriating. But then – Lent is coming, which means more time to sleep and be with the family in Bulacan. More time to write. Also, the boyfriend and I are celebrating five months today. That doesn’t sound too bad.

And I found this poem! Stunning. Boredom brings great things. Sometimes.


New York City as Temporal Measurement*

* This is not to be confused with the smallest measurement of time.

Hossannah Asuncion


Policy mandates a period of 30 seconds for subway doors to remain open to allow for the flush of entering and exiting people. An observational study has shown, though, that the doors remain open an average of 12 seconds. This is enough time for two people in love to separate, but as was one instance on May 18, 2007, it is not enough time to reunite.


You know you are close to the end when your train pulls into the station with droplets of rain clinging to its sides.


Ways we successfully pass time from Manhattan to Queens, Queens to Brooklyn, Brooklyn to Brooklyn:

The NYT crossword puzzle (Wednesday).

Cat Power’s rendition of “Silver Stallion.” (Repeat as necessary.)

A game of “Who would you eat? Who would you fuck?”

If, by chance, you have a moment to love something, anything, with heartbreak, choose
to do so. Exercise, though, what is advised and advised and advised as caution—
consider the consequences of such seconds.


Tapping the face of your father’s watch will not stop you from disappointing him today. You will do so again tomorrow. And the day after.