Marbel is a small town. Small buildings line the narrow roads, and tricycles have the run of the place. Tourists come during the summers to hit the nearby lakes and the zip-lines. Even then, it’s a quiet town, where locals know each other’s names, and everyone is someone’s distant cousin.
Five days after hopping on a bus and come home here and I’ve fallen back into my old routine. Everyday, I do my morning walk, then circle the town on a tricycle. Sometimes I think the town moves in the same way, always the same circle, the same route, the same scenery. Over and over again.
Davao is this strange, exciting place that I am just beginning to discover. But here, here is home. Places I’ve known all my life, faces I loved.
10 years after the song was released and you’re still the same paranoid boyfriend who suspects your significant other of cheating on you, J.
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I have grown accustomed to the caked makeup of Ronald McDonald, greeting me at every door of the fast-food joint on practically every corner of every street in Davao, where I would have most of my dinners for the fiifteen months I have spent working. I greet him with equal fondness although I never grasp his outstretched hand, but I do send him a telepathic nod every now and then and thank him for giving me easily accessible food most nights. I did not grow up with clowns back where I grew up; Marbel was more of a bee place. Back home, coming home from school was an easy feat, food came in bowls and casseroles waiting for me on the dinner table. The catsup didn’t come in in packs and no plastic spoons and forks. Nothing is ever made special just for you in this fastfood chain where I spend most nights; so there’s the feeling of missing home and mother’s cooking.
I figured I owe this blog an apology for not updating it for awhile. But everthing, for the past months, has been against the clock because of work. Which brings me to wonder: how the hell are you doing it, Zet Diaz? You still blog like it’s 2003.
They’ve all pulled the plug. Pam Pastor. Utak Gago. Even Carina Santos doesn’t blog as often as she used to. But you, you are still here. Kudos, you’re the last man standing.
And I’m glad you are.
I finished reading TFIOS today. I know, I should’ve a long time ago. But I never picked up a copy, I was never a big John Green fan. It was okay. A good read, yeah, but I was more interested in reading An Imperial Affliction.
And TFIOS is the only novel I’ve read this 2014 so far. It’s a blow to the ego, and I don’t even understand why because it’s not like it takes special talent to read books. I don’t know what happened! But it happened. It happens.
I don’t know what this blog’s point exactly. I’ll stop here; boss is around while I type this. How are all you guys doing?
I watched him walk away, first thinking: good riddance—who needs this abuse? And then after a minute thinking: he never really understood me anyway. Which rapidly changed to: I never understood him at all. And before long I was watching his small back disappear and thinking: there goes the only person who ever gave a damn about me.