On Constipation

This reminds me of an article written by our high school paper’s editor-in-chief. Constipation – not that pesky digestive problem – is when nothing, nada, nil, not even an iota of idea or inspiration would emerge to push you to continue nor even start writing. In other words, writer’s block. For the past few weeks I’ve been straining every neuron in my brain to produce anything, just ANYTHING worth reading. Epic fail. Well, almost.

Is the world running out of interesting things to write about? Am being less observant?

They say one way to counter this problem is to write about it. So that’s exactly what I’m doing now. And it’s helping me, but not fully. I mean, how can I start writing if I am downright uninspired? Or am I just too idle initiate? I don’t know.

Two-Ball

And now for the real thing. Honestly, I have constipation – that pesky digestive problem. Again. Now what really causes this sh*t? It’s seriously giving me a HARD time.

Now I need fiber as much as I need inspiration.

Why I Would Never, Ever Cross A Footbridge Again

It was the last day of my OJT for this week. Thank you very much. I have all the eagerness in the world to go home today so I can have that well-deserved rest for tomorrow’s big day at school. All seemed well during the jeepney ride to Cubao, but for some twisted reason, our effin’ jeepney driver (Bless him) dropped us at the other side of Aurora Blvd, which meant my friend and I had to use one of those acrophobic, wild pink footbridges.

To avoid spattering rainwater on my pants, I cautiously walked my way across the wet, ill-illuminated overpass like a cat walking on a tightrope. I safely got thru. Yey. We immediately flagged down the first jeepney to Marikina that we saw and just when I was about hop on I noticed that my bag’s front pocket was open. Freaking out, I quickly scanned if my ancient phone and mp4 player were still present. Luckily, they were safely sitting there at the bottom. Sigh of relief. So feeling secured already, I groped for my pouch to get my fare. And I groped. And groped again. But the pouch wasn’t there. Aw, fudge. Now I’m dead.

Goodbye 1k. Goodbye memory cards (of my classmates. Ouch). Goodbye, movie tickets. Goodbye, BDO cash card. Good bye National Library card. Goodbye…

I’ve been often told my parents and peers that that particular pocket was not a safe place to put my valuables. But my stubbornness tells me otherwise.

On the positive side, I wasn’t harmed at all. That is something to be really thankful of. If I was robbed face-to-face I might have wet my pants. In addition, I get to follow my tight-fisted budgeting practices once more. It’s been a while since I last saved money, you see. Oh well, that's life.

Moral of the story: Don’t cross the EDSA-Aurora footbridge at night.