Manila, My Manila

Feeding the intrepid soul could do you wonders. This I swear.

I found out how the old, the quaint, the charming, and even, the abandoned, could be a soothing balm for the battered spirit. The heady mix of the old and the new is strangely rejuvenating and uplifting.

I re-discovered Manila, it's hidden charms and little secrets in one fading afternoon -- when after rubbing elbows with a Spanish culture club of sorts at the Instituto for the Book Fair, I had a sudden flash of inspiration to go exploring and to happily get "lost" in the streets of the city. Enlisting fellow pilgrims -- Fretti, Des, and Jo -- was easy, likely companions eager to find little gems along the way.

We took off like Don Quixote to the windmills. Passing through and staring in awe at the streets inside this city bathed in the afternoon's rose colored hues -- old streets, quaint architecture, cracks in its old walls, cobbled streets... and other lost and rather obscure yet pretty things..






Manila is not that ugly when you come to think of it. Its charm comes out when you least expect it.

Here's to finding more beauty in this city we would all love to hate (thanks Jo of Manilarat for the quote)..

I've always had a theory that Mondays were invented as a torture device designed to keep the human race in place and iremember that all is not supposed to be peachy keen.. that pain is a necessary element... yada yada..

Like most corporate peons go, I started mine with a bang. My boss -- the harbinger of doom and a looming presence of malevolence -- felt the need to put me in place and remind me that I am merely bottom feeder in this office, or otherwise in my opinion, this howling wasteland of abject misery. I had to keep my foul mouth in place lest I lash out and find myself in a slew of trouble.

Why is it then that Mondays are so despicable? Bosses, deadlines, gossipmongers, rush hour traffic.. Mondays are the black holes of the week. Every possible dilemma slash whatever-shit-hits-the-fan-drama happens on this day. 24 hours is a torturous, arduous stretch between the pull of the sun and the moon. Not to mention chucking in the boss factors.

This leads me to another theory that Mondays and Bosses are twins and are born 5 minutes apart in the lower bolgias of the corporate inferno.

I hate. I loathe. I despise. Me odio Mondays.

Channeling Sylvia

"there is no way out of life but to go through it"

Don't it feel that sometimes the voices in your head are real?