Intuition is when you approach home (which could be pretty much any place, your coffee shop, your actual house, or just any spot) and you feel an anxiety that you can't ignore.

Like approaching the Starbucks the other day, and I was feeling like utter crap. As sad as I can get as my day had barely begun. Then I see the gang, with one of them sitting in middle of the lot, crying.

Like climbing up to the house and feeling like turning around and walking back, or reluctantly coming home from a depressing walk at the mall. At the door, I am apprehended instead of welcomed. Apparently, I am guilty for ignoring a huge mess of newspapers on my way out. I was running late. And it was too windy for tidiness' sake. But the way I was accused was as if I've never done anything good in this household. Never baked cookies, never baked chocolate cake, never decorated the tree, never cooked pasta, never folded the laundry in precise neatness, never washed the dishes or cleaned the kitchen in my disctinct signature way. If love covers all sin, then I am not loved.

The crying friend I mentioned earlier was remarkable with being honest. She rarely acknowledges her feelings, which is a big thing; only she was able to begin because I wasn't there. She is disappointed in me, she said, for reasons that the rest of the gang finds unreasonable.

Anyway, she gave me two Christmas gifts, both of which I genuinely like. And everytime she mentions my sense of style, she gloats about how proud she is that she did buy the right stuff for me.

It uncannily makes me feel like I'm some mistress lavished with so much stuff. The way she nodded as she gloated, as I look back at that moment, makes me feel objectified. The same way I feel when men click on me for cybersex, only to have that feeling intensified after gratification. The same way my family rarely thanks me for anything. The same way ingrates demand for a change of grade. The same way my parents always see me as "the eldest." The same way our church sees us as "money."

I can easily say that I'm naked and listening to Sufjan Stevens. Not that there's anything kinky involved. But supposed I am...

There is no other way to listen to this guy. It's not just your ears enjoying it. His sound sinks into my skin and arrests my senses.

As if I'm aware of my own being and rebirth means unclothing myself in hopes that more skin will take it all in.

You can never get enough of a good thing.

Woes

Staunch commuter that I am, I took a bus to Ayala to have lunch with the best friend. We're the kind of friendship that feels like we're coming home whenever we meet. We are our own escape.

Mush aside, there was an initial depression that was too close for comfort, and it made itself known as the bus I was in rattled its course on the skyway: I felt myself j i g g l e.

It's worse than finding a strand white hair, a zit on my nose, a stain on my pants. I was j i g g l i n g. There is an excess of me hanging on to me, more to love but really, it's extra baggage. Like my borrowed JanSport on weekdays when a gluttony for books and notebooks unecessarily weigh my poor back.

Speaking of gluttony...Gluttony represents itself through a Starbucks promo card. Starbucks is a comfort zone. It has been since two months ago, as I made myself a permanent fixture in my own 'Buko on certain weekdays and the barristas either stopped asking for my name or adding a cup of water on the side of my peach and strawberry danish. It's all luxury, that, but to be honest, I'm spending too much for my own good.

Today, I was a little distraught when the best friend left. And I needed a little therapy.

Montage is such a nice place, and Lush is amazing. Good bye, 1000 Php.

But there is hope:

Rehearsals call for ridiculous amounts of dancing, making me expect that I shall stop worrying about my tightened clothes any time soon.

Employment opportunities look promising. At least I won't have to take so much work home. *shudder*

And more hope:

The love life is stable but a test of faith. A cousin indulged me of a dream about him years ago, ingniting faith, hope and love. While his name, place of origin and place of residence appears everywhere (even on the name tag of our server at Itallianis!), my complain to the Universe is that he isn't anywhere near me.

Faith must exude place, as it seems. God never said anything about having this guy as easy as the science of precipitation.

My goodness, this love story I'm in. It's literally a trip.