art.

Left to right: Ms Nholl, Ms. Eva and Ms. Elna

Ewan ko ba bakit wala akong nagawa ngayong araw ng Linggo - as in totally wala - except the usual routine of doing laundry. After that I slept, and the rest of the afternoon was a painful drag of hours coupled with routinized daydreaming and planning. These series of events carefully laid - that is - inside my head, yes, in my mind with my body on my bed. Maybe my mind was just so preoccupied with so many things that my body froze. Haha. Another excuse for another lazy Sunday. This was like one of those days where in being productive sucks both ways - either you're trying way too hard or you're doubting the credibility of your toil. There's no competition though - at least I believe. Anyhow, I don't want to feel any pressure, at least for the time being but I don't want to slacken also. Aargghh...

Better forget this.

Anyway, last Friday night, right after we had some Coke float slurping and senseless conversation, we headed to Ponce Suites to tour a friend. We deserved this - a just compensation, as I call it -to end our rough weekdays and to begin a hopeful-restful weekend. Yes, to my belief - and relief - that stress could just be sucked through that straw - and be finally flushed out as urine. How I wished it could be that easy.

The "sepia-toned" streets, as what Ms. Elna fondly called them, proved to be a good host for another array of conversations- at least this time they were sensible and dramatic, and funny. Contrary to the noises on the streets adjunct to these, our giggles were the only disturbing decibels on this neighborhood. Except, of course, for some few honking cars. We cared less though - after all this was our night - and their whims or concerns would just aggravate the reason of such behavior. We had a common purpose - to watch the gallery of Kublai. And this walk, our ticket.

This was like the fourth or fifth time I was on this place. And the works of art would just give me the same reactions- amazement, envy, and inspiration. The mute boredom inside me seemed to echo in those arts. Gradually convinced, I'd resolve to do a work like this. Again. And again I would forget it upon leaving the shadow of the eagle graced upon its entrance. Those monuments beside the streets just before the entrance were the silent witness of the visitor's purpose: to be lost in art or maybe just to kill time. In any ways or means, these arts will always leave something - and at some point - will be crucial to one's life.