Someday I will send everyone a card
with nothing on it, only
of a river, and in the back
with invisible ink I will say:
Forgive my happiness,
I have betrayed you all.
- from Eric Gamalinda's Enough
Sausage and vodka pasta at Tibraz in Boracay. One of my favorite places on the Island. Crazy weekend. I thought I'd be writing but ended up quite hung over on Sunday morning. I'm too old for this, I think, too old for the parties that I was always too uncool for, too old for staying late or smiling at cute strangers.
And what will they say about the pudgy girl with the glasses, reading in the corner? Will they make up stories about me, just as I do about them? Will our stories meet in the middle, turn themselves into a quiet epic about the ocean, where it goes, what it whispers to anyone who listens?