Work had been unusually rough last night, i left a little crumply. Then on the way home, i had to walk some three extra blocks after our ride had to reroute because of the freaking Dangwa (flower market) traffic (ugh, valentshit). It’s almost 2200 and i hear my stomach wail over the sound of my growing dismay.Needless to say, my temper machine has gotten this close to busting off.
Love is when a little boy drags you across the street with all his strength because you’re teasing you can’t walk and that he better just leave you to die getting hit by a truck there or something. . .Love is when an old lady hands you the videoke book and asks that you find her songs because she didn’t have her glasses. . .Love is when an old man slices you a leftover pie and boils you an egg because it’s 4am and he knows you’re restless and (still) heartbroken. . .
More than a week ago, i finally retired hashtag “twentysomething” from this life. And in conjunction with it (apart from kicking off a rather lame TreintaAndThriving hashtag, lol) is the grand reveal of my actual age in my, come to think of it, very little world of social media.
I attended the Feast after a long while this morning.I know so, i have backslid on my faith bigtime, the past few months.And apart from me numbing on my faith, truth is, i am (particularly) sinning a lot these days. Something that i feel extremely horrible about. Day in and day out, it disheartens me, the fact that i feel helpless about it. Of how i always end up losing the continual war i wage against it.
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