Bottled ※ Brain

I went to the island of Corregidor last Sunday. The pictures tell the story.

My cousin took a leap of faith two days ago. No, he didn't jump from the airplane nor did he swallow a bottle of poison. That would be underestimating the entire thing. Kuya Don got married. I can still remember the day when I first learned of it. It was the annual Kalayaan dormitory Open House and I was so busy entertaining my guests. Reminded by my brother to invite him, I immediately sent an SMS: kdon, 8s d kalay opn house;lkat ka diri f u hv tym [Kuya Don, it's the Kalayaan open house. You can go here if you have time.] To which he replied "Yes, I shall go there tonight." * * * "Lance, I'm going to tell you something," he told me as we were on our way to my borther's dormitory. "Hmm.. sounds interesting. What is it?" I said, thinking of a million possibilities. "I'll give you a clue," Kuya Don jokingly said. "Alright, kuya. What about it?" "I feel so tired and at the same time, happy." I noted the pecul

I haven't written for quite a while, and there are many underlying reasons. For instance, I've been rather busy these past days--the annual dormitory open house, the finals night of a corridor-sponsored activity, birthdays, exams, Valentine's Day, and many others. I am, until now, still overwhelmed with the things that have happened that I do not know where to begin. But since I have begun--and it's a pretty lousy beginning anyway--let me finish it for you.It was on the 12th of February when the Kalayaan Residence Hall was open. The dorm is always open, come to think of it, but only to a select few, namely the residents. I had many visitors who came and visited to my room--schoolmates, clasmates, and friends. Jason and I decorated the room with three lanterns: I introduced to him the idea, but sadly, due to my lack of manual dexterity, he ended up making all of the lanterns. Incidentally, the open house day was also Jason's birthday, so almost all the visitors--ev

There she goes--what's her name? She's hurrying. Must be late. --Hi there. I smile. I wonder if she's seen me. Doubt it. She's myopic. No eyeglasses. No contacts. No eyewear. She's blind. At least, not quite. Why is he standing there? Hmmm. He's late. It's 10:30 already. Classes have started. He yawns. Why? At this early hour? It's not even lunch yet. -- Hi there. He hasn't seen me. Must be shortsighted. Why are there so many near-sighted people now? In this age of technological innovation and advancement. I'm tired. I want to sleep. But I can't. I won't. Oh, there's the professor. -- Good day guys. What have we here...? -- Good day, Sir. He hasn't seen me again. He must be--what do you call that? Aaargh, I forgot the word. A person who--who--who can't see clearly? Myopic. Ah, that's it.

I look at myself in the mirror; and, for a while, wonder why I’m here, in this exact place, at this same moment. Not that I have the answer to such question—I don’t. If there’s any human being who knows why he’s living, then he’s certainly not I. People always ask questions, don’t they? They look for answers to really puzzling questions—why there are just so many stars, whether there’s a planet like ours out there, what blackholes are (or if there’s any truth to their existence), whether the universe is infinitely expanding—and somehow, they never just get tired. They may get confused or discouraged at times, yes, but they never stop asking questions. To ask about something, after all, is uniquely human. But I guess the most intriguing question that people have asked, and have so far, sought to answer, is that which I have asked myself a million times: Why are we here? Where do we come from? Forgive me, but I hate—in fact, disagree—with what science has to say: that life has existed be