AT THE STOA

I just came from my sister's and from Manila and straight back to Baguio. I attended a lecture there, and talked with my adviser about my dissertation, scholarship application, therapy, and a lot of other helpful things to my head. I've been meaning to wrap words around things I see whenever I'm traveling via bus by daytime, or walking around places - which I rarely do - since I'd rather be at  home and work and read and other helpful and not so helpful things to my head.  There was a time when I walked five kilometers on the highway from Naguilian to Bauang, looking for a field of white reeds beyond the gap between two houses I saw a fleeting glimpse of on my way to San Fernando the day before. With nothing to do the day after, I set out to look for the field and take a picture. The road was winding and dusty, and of course I had white sneakers on. I was awful to my shoes that day, but it was worth it.  I saw fields of green almost yellow for the ripeness of crop

by Takahiro might be one of the most masterfully executed things I have seen in a while (although it's presently ranked at 794th place by myanimelist), not in the least because of its airtight ostentation of multi-level themes. It's a brilliant piece on how seeming contraries are actually contaminated by each other, such that in the end these contraries are deconstructively shown to necessarily feed off of each other, such that in the end there is no basis for simple or selfsame valuations whatsoever .  (Yes, I just Derrida'd the thing. Fuck me.) The characters are well-developed throughout its 24 episodes (but the soundtracks were hiccupy, at least to my ears. But what do I know, I'm not a connoisseur of Japanese pop). Leaving you to discover the plot for yourself, the anime explores a whole host of socio-political (hence moral) and existential arguments, utilizing almost all of the battles between the characters as metaphors for a specific (but always multi-layere

Mt. Masungi , if you're too lazy to click that link, is a georeserve consisting of a limestone mountain range. Touring the entire thing will occupy the better part of your day, and getting there will occupy the rest, if you're going to come from nowhere near the Philippine National Capital Region area. If you want to prove to yourself that you have some sense of self-worth in the world and are, contrary to popular opinion, not just a waste of space and carbohydrates, please, go. (And complete the trail, that is.) You will have to cross these bridges, among many other activities that would cumulatively make you wish you were a better person. Or that your carbohydrates weren't so cowardly. And if you did cross them (or think that there's nothing to it since you're not afraid of heights anyway), then give yourself a fucking medal, sir, for... Whatever that accomplishment is.  Me , personally? Hell. I seemed to have developed a fear of heights when I was younger a

It is in silence - with alcohol, if you like - that the heart itself is heard. You can take a baseball bat to a picture frame until all you end up with are shards; you can burn everything of physical memory until all you end up with is smoke; you can erase a line on the wall where his height would have reached until all you end up with is a spotless wall; you can go abuse a punching bag until all you end up with are bruises; you can even exhaust an entire day with your best friend who wrenched a sob from your throat rawer than you ever thought it capable, by saying, "He doesn't see who you are." Just a sob. This loss is too big for crying, for swinging bats, for burning things, for wiping walls, for punching shit, for words - of which you had so many - and of which he had more, before he had none. You can pick up every single sliver of glass one by one and momentarily marvel at how people in the movies are idiots for always drawing blood while doing this. You can end