There were two really big tremors yesterday evening while I was caught working late with my colleagues up our office tower. But these were not as big as all the little earthquakes taken together the past six months, when I was stuck in the trenches of my own doing. Battling demons.
There was more than rain and mud, slopes too slippery even for my hardy Timberland boots. In my mind hell is the inertia of indecision, much like being stuck between water and fire. Between Manila's two seasons. In the insomnia of bad habits. Needing pleasure, but always seeking pain.
There is always a way to fool ourselves.
Like I've never really needed sunglasses in my life, because I don't drive and I'm rarely at the beach. Or more because I've never really liked seeing things behind a tint. (But damn it, these sunnies were a Bangkok bargain and few pairs suit my face.)
Trousers, eight millimeters/Workshop
Belt, Brave Beltworks
Boots, Timberland, thrifted
In the end, gravity grounds us. Leather cracks under the heat and we carry scars on our skin. All embellishment melts and we are left with cement. I was high, but now I confront endless pavement.
We are left laughing at ourselves. Even after buildings collapse and we crawl out of the debris, we manage to dust off our clothes.
What else can we do but rebuild? For my part, I intend to write about my season in hell.