Time is a speedy motherf*cker. Can you believe it? Just 116 days to go now before my birthday death day party. Chemae and I wrote some articles, sent some Tweets here and there, went to a beach in Zambales, drank with friends, watched a movie and — ta-da! 17 precious days have already passed since I started counting down to D-Day. If I close my eyes now for a few seconds and take a breather, I might open them up to witness an airplane flying off toward the infinite blue sky.
More on how fast time trolls us all later. Now, a quick recap of days that went by.
120 Days to Go:
We watched Kick-Ass in Trinoma. I’ve been waiting for this movie for a long while because I’m really into this concept of superheroes without any powers — something I just learned now upon reflection. I got into Watchmen very easily despite its brooding and complex nature, and Batman is still my most favorite superhero. All these guys are crimefighters but they don’t have any super powers. I wonder if that says something about me?
Well, Kick-Ass was just pure of win. It’s so awesome that I’m still geeking about it today, which is increasingly making Chemae irritated. But make no mistake, despite her revulsion for flashy Hollywood movies with unbelievable plots — she liked Kick-Ass a lot, especially everyone’s inappropriate crush: the 13-year-old Hit Girl (actually, the character is just 10 years old). Now I’m following the actress who played the foulmouthed baby assassin on Twitter. Maybe the interest will wear off after a while.
119 Days to Go:
I woke up very hungry with my weight ghosts haunting my consciousness. Every time I feel hungry, I feel I’m losing too much weight and I’ll turn really, really ugly (I’m quite obsessed at maintaining and increasing my current weight. So I consider myself better than anorexics ’cause I’m actually hell-bent on doing the opposite thing they’re doing.)
Chemae and I went to the supermarket very early to buy a pack of danggit. The crunchy salted fish has been the stuff of our daydreams about food since we came back from Nagsasa where we fried some of it in front of the sea. So we bought an overpriced pack from SM North and went to our house where we cooked it along with some fried rice. It really amazed me that Chemae was amazed at me when she learned I eat fried rice every morning. Apparently, fried rice for her is like lechon — something people come up with during very, very special occasions. It’s really funny what we come to define as normal growing up in our own respective families. Hell, I used to think every one who ate a different kind of meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner were all really rich just because we never did that at home.
Back to danggit, Chemae was very close to punching me in the face because of how frustrated she was with what we bought. The brand we cooked didn’t turn crispy even after I cooked it for a long time in low and high fire. It also tasted so salty that you can put a millimeter of it in your mouth and that would’ve been enough to go with three spoonfools of rice. No tomatoes and eggs, too, like Chemae had been fantasizing. We vowed never to buy in SM’s crappy supermarket ever again.
In the afternoon, we went to Antarctica (where penguins rock). Chemae was very tired but nevertheless, happy. A new penguin had joined them. 😀
118 Days to Go:
Nothing worth noting happened. Except probably some more painful thrifty activities for something huge coming.
117 Days to Go:
I ate two orders of Chicken Fillet with Rice at McDonald’s Eastwood. That’s how desperate I am to maintain my weight. I feel like I can’t let myself go hungry for just a second. If I let myself go hungry, I should return the lost weight by eating more food — the fatter, the better. Yeah, maybe I am developing an eating disorder. Or maybe I’m just normal. After all, two orders of Chicken Fillet with Rice should be nothing to a real man. Real men eat like pigs and are proud of it.
Meanwhile, Chemae was developing a sore throat. I gave her a single paracetamol pill to improve her condition. Finally, she accepted it. It’s really hard to make her take any medicine even when she’s sick because she’s terribly afraid of them. One of her friends supposedly died years ago because of taking an assortment of pills — her body sort of decomposed while she was still living. That made Chemae very weary of medicines. She would hate this, but she finally has something in common with Pacquiao — they both don’t take any medicines.
Later, we went back to Antarctica. I shot a video of all the penguins rockin’ the ice and really melting it. Really, really cool. 😀
116 Days to Go:
Here I am, hurriedly finishing this blog post to meet Chemae again. I miss her so much. I miss her everyday. I miss her even when I don’t realize it, which makes me miss her more when I do finally remember that I miss her. Anyway, I’m gonna meet her later on.
But as promised, my concluding thoughts on time. I was riding the MRT today to Shaw Boulevard, when I noticed the MRT railings acquiring huge amounts of rust. Then I thought of how long the MRT was operating, since 1999, and how long those railings must have stood countless rains, smog and blasts of sunlight there. I thought those railings — like the stinky, sticky trains and the stinky, sticky passengers, and the stinky, sticky roads — were all fading rapidly, acquiring rust, decomposing. I realized everything I saw, including myself, was perishing naturally and speedily, like regular food that gets spoiled when left out in the open. I thought time, that speedy motherf*cker, was raping us.
I basically thought time was running out.
116 Days to go.