Cold Christmas

This year, James tries to complete the Misa de Gallo. Howbeit his faith has somehow been effect generated, that would be something to digress.

Why can't he seem to find happiness in the season? Yes, things are on great shape at the college. James joined a couple of organizations in Ateneo just to busy himself with charity work. Even his social life is past ordeal, of squeaking spiders in a white room. But hey, something is missing.

He needs a boyfriend. Or, better than this statement is, he wants someone back. No matter how the odds of them being together resounds, he'd still like to wish for that thing. A lot of people want to take that boyfriend spot, yet no one seems to fill his personal qualifications for the post. He can only think of one person.

Nine mornings.

Should it happen. Should THAT moment happen.
James would be very, very happy.

On Moving On

James' last semester gave out much of his weakness: falling in love and being a fool over it. No, no Joe to be blamed on, James reckons that it was all his fault that he didn't verbalize everything that he had in mind. He left a few spots for the self-pity cancers to abound, which should have not been the case.

James was never deeply in love in his whole life. Whatever happened to him and to his last partner, he all accounts to their magnitude of similarities. He never met a person so internally diverse yet when they were together, is like a twin brother. The probabilities of getting to know such a person seem like one in seven billion: it is almost a chance that one's DNA is replicated without aversions, if that is even possible.

Last semester was James' worst academically speaking. Though he didn't fail a subject, every grade which came out had to be like watching a suspense-thriller flick where the killer was somewhere overlooking his every action. His mom was not particularly satisfied with it. All he knows is that he has to implore adjustments to provide a room for improvement. If improvement can be expected.

Joe may have already told stories in his blog on how James has still not moved on yet, and how this blog post will affirm of such a possibility: yes, it is true. Moving on is a remote idea which needs proper rehabilitation to be achieved. Just exactly like an investment where one expects half-bankruptcy by the end of the month. While there is a little time left before three months of them not being together as a couple expires, expectations on a renewed relationship (be it platonic or friendly) stands.

He thought that having a move on cut will work. For the benefit of other people, no, it did not. Moving on is more of a self-containing entity than circumstance-reliant, which, on a layman expression, is independent of haircut and/or sporting a new hobby/boyfirend.

He may have drowned on his computer games all day but at the end of it, just before his sleep, punctuate it with thoughts of his ex. It is not rewarding for the brain. It is stressful. He had to bear that for months.

Thinking about it sucks.

There is nothing to be perused in this introspection. This exists to grace the epitaph of an ember rather than enumerate the misgivings of James' soul and spirit into thinking that things can be modified for his own. For the battle has long been won over and he celebrates his loss in as much as he celebrates his victory. No man is an island, and to that, we should drink to Pangaea once again. Cheers.

The least that could make him happy in this setup is the fact that he is assured of the other party's happiness. No hard feelings, rejections come around in places. He must be moving on, too, soon.

More Vanilla

Vanilla is thirteen years old.

They were to part ways. Vanilla thanked him for the kind gesture of accompanying her to their home, but before taking the small cobbled path, she gave him a small kiss in the cheek. She then gave him 'beautiful eyes' by acting to close the eyes to a slit and beaming, and walked away.

James was dissolved in oblivion. He couldn't believe that he could fall in love with the little girl. He swayed, slithered his way back to the coliseum where an acquaintance was waiting for him.

The acquaintance asked about the sudden disappearance.

Long story, James had in mind, but did not verbalize it. Dinner, he said instead.

James' dilemma wasn't a secret at all: the food. For the first night, they had to pay hospitalities to their hosts by joining their kosher preparation. Jewish servings were not that much, they only have enough for what the body can digest in ten hours. Gluttony is a sin.

The taste was unbelievably subtle. They had the least salt, and there was a tangy aftertaste to the lamb steak, which was due to the lack of pepper or any other condiment apart from salt (Or could also be the presence of an unknown substance). The bread had an ancient feel on it, the type that the apostles once dined. It was unleavened and a small tearing from a bigger portion is satisfying. The meal was filling, nonetheless.

He had a small talk with other participants. The day was a little short if he was asked, for he had a lot of things in mind. He took a lot of photographs, too, and saved it for the other blog.

Went to bed with a smile on his face. Everything that happened on the first day in Haifa was overwhelming and lesson-filled. He sent Joe an e-mail retelling the experiences and slept immediately after. Five more days will surely be of more fun and erudition.