I'm tired

and perhaps also drained.

So anything that comes up -- events and people I have to feature, writing workshops to attend to, friends' problems to listen to, my own silence at home to deal with -- I would take with closed eyes. I don't really care about putting too much of myself to anything anymore. The days seem monotonous and dull and sad and numbing and silent...

Yes, I saw him, but does it matter really.

And no, I haven't danced alone in the mornings, and will not be able to for at least a month; people are crowding in, not that I don't want the company of family during the summer break, just that I need some room of my own, too. It gets lonely sometimes, even when surrounded with people and laughter. And yes, I want this certain loneliness... but please, please give me some space to shout and dance and jump and skip and read aloud.

Yes, I cried beside Mama driving towards the airport. And no, it wasn't because Papa was, again, going back to Manila. It was a combination of sorts. My thesis with Yen, Vincent's graduation, my eyes, my friends, the anticipation of Tatay's visit, the money in my pocket, the CDs left blank, my certificate, that scrapbook page, the need to write and read and cry and lie down.

So there.
Here's a toast to a silent me.