Naps During Long Jeepney Rides
Samuka nimo, self.
What happened to the girl who loved to write?
Did reality elude her into thinking that it is not necessary to put thoughts on paper, when years ago, putting thoughts on paper was what kept her from taking her own life?
Perhaps she fell for the illusion of a permanent new self. Silly girl, there is no permanent self. There is only the self, and the self, like its dear friend the mind, is restless and always changing and craves for food it can’t afford.
The self is a pain in the ass.
Why can’t she rid of the weight of the self and just be… herself?