Ooops... I Did It Again (Or, the Tale of the Little Anarchist)

I didn't know when I started feeding my own inner anarchist. Well, not anarchist anarchist, mind you. I haven't burnt a flag nor taunted a police offer nor as much as hurled a cherry bomb (Okay, I take that back, I did hurl a tiny explosive, well more like a very small firecracker, really, onto the jeepney of an annoying neighbor with my cousin when we were about 8. The girlish scream of the blasted, pun intended, 18 year old bully, and the gravel crunching stepping on brakes was all we needed before scampering off laughing into the safety of reeds and bushes to hide), so no. Not yet, at the least, no. Though the idea sounds awfully tempting.

After the cherry bombing incident, there were tiny acts of revolt, neo-vigilantism, pseudo-Project Mayhem-ing  Fight Club style that ensued in my lifetime. There was the case of the missing Christmas gift put under the University's tree which I left for anyone who wanted it in the nearby park. Then there was the put-pocketing phase where I nearly gave away all my tiny toys to unsuspecting people who's only (mis)fortune it was, was to have their bags open for a goody drop. Or that time when I didn't have enough money to leave a tip for that very nice waitress at that Thai restaurant; all I could leave was a Post-It note with a crayola drawing of an orange dinosaur that said, "Orange you such a dear that I could give you a much deserved pre-historic cartoon than a few pennies." I fancied myself as that mysterious force, not exactly like Batman or Santa Claus, that left things oddly (mis)placed, humorously and perceptibly skewed for the rather astute.

Once a few weeks back while browsing in a rather large bookshop with more sections I could dream of, I stumbled upon a book on Muammar Gaddafi at the biography section. I thought aghast, while it was indeed and technically a story about the life of this Middle Eastern mad dog, shouldn't the book be better fit in the Crimes Section of the bookshop?

Ah! Indeed the spirit of tiny anarchies was alive that afternoon. I pulled out copies of Gaddafi's books and discreetly deposited them where it was apt (behind some Agatha Christies, actually). This could be a much better alternative to book burning, now isn't it? Well, it didn't really liberate Tripoli, but at least it's one stone hurled against a tyrant from this side of the world. Feeling rather pleased, I picked up a Jane Austen book and hightailed it out of the bookshop.

Weeks later, I went back to the scene of the so-called crime to see if my crime was left unsolved. It was cleaned up. No Gaddafis no more behind the Christies. A shrug, then off to the Biographies, pluck out the same book plus that of Hugo Chavez's and then to the Crimes. I'm sure the guy watching me from the surveillance camera was scratching his head and thinking of the futility of my so-called anarchism. Well, in my mind's retortive mouth, I'll keep doing it until people get the message and will do the same thing. Heck, they can even pick up Paris Hilton's book and put it on the Crimes row. Didn't she get busted for drugs? So that counts right?

Right?

All Cold On The Waterfront

Not Even The Trees

Did a bit of walking in order to do some writing. It was a fine, gray day, damp with a threat of rain and cold enough for me to wrap a scarf around. I almost wished there was a nearby moor where I could traipse in and yell, "Heathcliffffff!"

But no moors. Just naked trees slightly swinging against the somber sky.

Today Is A Fairy Tale

If only all shoe stores would have these, I'd be the happiest gnome on earth!

Tired Feet, Cold Feet, Brave Feet

I do believe I could be a real freak sometimes. Well not really. Some people do this too, you know, take stupid pictures of their feet. Heee...!!

A Day To End All Days

I've seen many a beautiful, soul-hurt, breathtaking sunsets in my life. Today's, just as lovely.. certainly one that will be a favorite memory. I hope in the end of (my) days, it would be just like today's. That kind where the sky subtly shifts, throws shadows, and then burns the sky quietly in pink, then orange, and explodes in magnificent shades of yellow until it peacefully fades away into night.