Last Night.

It’s true that songs can paint memories.

Whatever that is. It’s just unbelievably true that songs induce people’s minds to harbor thoughts and remember that place, that event, that very day when it came to life through the speakers.

Whenever I hear Last Night on my player, or even inside the cab, I can’t help but miss my summer in New York:

The orgasmic mascarpone cheesecake.

Those Sabrett hotdogs toasted and rolled in a bun of caramelized onions and sauerkraut.

The taste of Brie, grapes and celery slowly melting on my mouth.

The brown, shiny fur of our dark-brown Labrador named Hershey.

The smell of pine sifted blowing the thin sheets of curtains.

The stiff, cold breeze and the sight on the veranda overlooking Hudson River on one side and the cliffs of Edgewater-Union City on the other.

The tempests made by the hustle and bustle of Manhattan traffic.

The synchronization of electronic billboards at Times Square.

The running acorn-eating squirrels at Central Park.

The ever-wicked chocolate syrup I drank somewhere in Brooklyn.

The sight of myself standing and flashing like a portrait as a train slows down in the subway transit.

The occasional rain that drives tourists and office people to wear on their windbreakers and jackets.

That Metrocard which scared me to death when it didn’t worked after I used it on one of the turnstiles during the rush hour.

And the people I love the most.

And it was last night when all of these flashed back to my mind, the way a sooth sayer predicts things. Only, my power happened to be more of reminiscing than predicting.

Sooner, better.

Things will never be the same again.

My fingers long for that button to click to capture that certain state of nature, that distinct arrangement of events and the variables shrouding the shot like fumes scattered in a bizarre manner. I still have this dormant side aspiring to be a photographer whose shots aren’t just magnificent by the colors, but also touching by its theme.

It’s one reason why I can’t sleep so well at night. It’s more of a dilemma than a passing thought.

And I hope my hands can clasp that dream camera as soon as possible.

That punch Febfair gave me.

You guys don’t dare ask me anything about my Valentine’s Day. I swear, you’ll get a nice round patch of black surrounding your eyes like you’re from some fistfight fest.

Of course I’m the guy wearing that almost-smiling, inexplicable face – like I’m on a toilet bowl or something. The other one is not my date: we’re not even acquainted romantically. She happened to be my partner in the External Affairs of our organization. My face unfortunately popped up in three out of sixty pictures taken during the February Fair, and out of that three pictures – this is the one which took my close-up portrait (and probably the one and only decent) in an acceptable manner.

Anyway. Summing up the entire fair and the happenings around it, it’s GREAT. I enjoyed the bands (as if they’re countless), the fireworks display, the freedom of lying yourself next with your friends looking at the nightly clouds sweeping slowly under the moon, the freedom of getting drunk even if it’s strictly prohibited, and all the things that happened. I’ve tasted one unforgettable punch in UPLB and I’m loving it more and more as semesters go by.

Like, UPLB’s one big Ziploc-full of addictive marijuana. Or something that’s a total stay-away at first, but then you’ll realize it’s the only thing in the world you love the most. Something like that.

The results of my ever-favorite Economics 11 (General Economics: all that GDP-GNP and supply curves and shit) came out and the professor only announced the Top 10. I told myself, I’ll slash my wrists if ever my name would be called, but thanks for the brownout that made me sleep WITHOUT even reviewing – I’m not included. These circumstances really hate me big time. I could still remember the will and conviction I got the night before the big fight to nail the second exam: I’m really on the verge of swallowing the whole book just to comprehend everything inside those four chapters when the lights were gone.

I hate that moment. Bullshit that moment. I’m very much fueled – in fact, I’m almost in the stage of trance – by that time! Then the lights would just go out at that very moment!? I REALLY suspected it’s a propaganda against my studying frenzy!

What even pissed me off is that my housemate occupied one slot from that prestigious list. What the hell. After all these days I’ve assumed he’s dumber than me!

Of course he bragged his unsuspected reward. Like, duh – he concentrated for three days with that book as if it’s gonna float in front of him. And he was taught by some tutor the night before the exam, which gave him an edge to nail it. Wait, why am I even made a lengthy rant about this acads shit?

What else to rant? Nothing more. Utakgago closed yesterday. Say bye to my 70,000 hits (two-thirds of it are spam or bot visits).