Pinky Swear

.

.

.

I sincerely apologize for not having been able to post anything for awhile. It's just so difficult to find time to log-in and organize my thoughts creatively enough after deleting spam and responding to other important email. What can I say? Life has been good to me -- I recently came back from a much-needed vacation, I haven't been absent nor late for the past 6 months, almost everyone I know is alive and well, and I have a crumpet who's kept me sane for 7 months officially. I can say everything is well. However, knowing the sarcastic way life can treat us sometimes, I never take these things for granted.

.

.

Work has become quite predictable. I'm bored to tears each time I yawn and wait for the next task to come in. Like how it is everyday, I sit in the same corner with my things, away from the direct sight of the hawks. I have a whole collection of unsolved crossword puzzles cut out from the dailies, a pair of scissors to cut those puzzles with, a couple of foreign tabloid magazines that attempt to keep me awake with their The Good, The Bad, and the Totally Unexplainable fashion critique spreads, a bunch of to-do lists I keep updating each time there's something new to do, and application forms for credit cards and mobile phone lines. I look at my hobo bag and I cry to tears at how queer and geeky I've become. A makeover should definitely be in order soon!

.

.

Last Friday, I met up with my good friend Nurse Betty (not her real name) and we spent the evening with Eileen (her name real but the spelling isn't accurate) watching the multi-awarded local indie flick The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros, which unfortunately, didn't make it to my top 10 list of favorite local films. I appreciated the movie a lot but it was just too depressing analyzing it in the end. The cast was a dream and the story simple yet endearing; I do hope it inspires more filmmakers to hop on this indie trend and perhaps revive our dead movie industry. Anyway, after the blossoming and after Eileen left, Nurse Betty and I started our discussion at this nearby fastfood joint that serves overcooked lauriat meals.

.

.

Nurse Betty prescribed a lot of things. She told me to start applying for writing jobs. She told me how frustrating it was for her to see me waste my talent in the wrong industry. She told me everything I already knew about myself. On the other hand, I told her we're practically the same, but on different fields. I told her she should start dating. I told her if she wanted to be in a relationship she should take the risk of possibly getting hurt and exposed. I told her everything she already knew about herself. After all, we were no strangers to each other's so-so sob stories. So after we bit each other's heads and recounted our shortcomings, Nurse Betty persuaded me to "pinky swear" with her. I couldn't help but laugh, we were queer as folk. She said that by the time she starts dating, I should've already updated my resume; that by the time she finds herself in a serious relationship, I should've already started work seriously as a writer.

.

.

I told her I felt paralyzed with the thought of having to peddle myself to these companies, to convince them (without a handful of published articles) how I'm a good writer, to lose my sufficient salary (and quite possibly my liberties) all because of a pinky swear we plan to keep. She was silent too, for all the possibilities, for all the future woes. Whoever thought the tiniest finger could defile this illusion of calloused contentment we've created for ourselves, yet with as much force, just as effectively paint a new picture of things that could be. I plan to keep my promise because I always do. But to where my words bring me, my fingers are crossed.

.

.

.