Comet's Tail

I burned my hand yesterday.

Got home from work around 8:30 PM, and found that there was nothing for dinner. As is expected when hungry, my temper went up and I stormed off to the kitchen to cook, well, one of the few things I know how to cook: a fried egg. But when I turned the egg over to cook the other side, quite a bit of the boiling oil splattered onto the back of my right hand.

It was a curious feeling: like being slapped really hard by many tiny hands. My mouth opened really wide but no sound came out. I rushed to the sink to bring my hand under the tap; later I went inside the house to soak it in cold water. The first aid book actually says NOT to apply any cream or ointment. (But why do we even have burn ointments?)

The back of my hand now registers three coin-sized patches, all in angry scarlet. All are in the shape of small comets, or jellyfish.

***

Incidentally Comet's Tail is the title of Cynthia Alexander's latest album, which is playing in my WMP.

The Thinker

I like and hate being alone for much the same reason: it gets me in the mood for some serious thinking. On one hand, the silence helps me focus more on the issue I need to resolve. I talk to myself inside my head and, pretty soon, peace of mind and clarity come. This is why I sometimes go to church alone. I sit there on a vacant pew and think away.

But also: the quiet kicks my tendency to over-analyze things into hypermode. I start reading too much into things, dissecting what's happened until it bears no semblance to the original. At this point I reconsider the benefits of noise.

Queen of the South

Just outside the Mactan airport: Carlo, Dai, and Eloise.




Eloise, (a stunned) Dai, and me.




Waterfront Hotel in Lahug.




Columns in the east (?) wing of the hotel.




Perfect lighting.




First day of the convention. We sat all the way at the back at first, a deed later deemed as “not nice.” Mwahahaha. Carlo, Ate Glory, Eloise (standing), Jasmin, Dai, and Rollan (blurry).




Beside their posters (clockwise from top left): Aisa, Dai, Ate Glory, and Eloise.




Representatives of M8: me, Aileen, Madel, and Aisa.




Scientists of the world, unite! That’s Dean Azanza at dead center.




Me, Carlo, and Kuya Frank bored out of our wits. Bottomless coffee kept me from nodding off but did nothing to help the bladder problem.




My fly. Kidding! Zipper ng jacket ko.




The geeks of Albert Hall, after taking down the posters: Jana, Aiko, Madel, Aisa, me, Kuya Marvin, and Boris (sitting).




Happy hour at Slabadu.




Aherm.




Me with the girl who swears she never gets drunk.




Manila-bound and aboard the SuperFerry 12.




Blue, above and below the horizon.




Sitting on the deck, one just feels dwarfed.




Near sunset, somewhere in the Visayas.




Dining hall of the vessel. Bad food, but Session Road in their CD player.




Ambushing the control center.




The MNP kids, with the Captain (standing and fourth from left) and two of his crew.




Bedtime stories: Ate Glory reminiscing about how she and her boyfriend met. Dai, covered in sheets, listens intently.




Minutes before docking: Ate Glory, Carlo, me, Jas, and Dai.




Murky bay, air pollution, and thieving cab drivers. Home, in other words.