January is a day shy of leaving. And yet this served as the first entry for this year. I realized that I actually started this journal on New Year’s Eve 2012 with a list of goals I desired to achieve before the year ended. I achieved some. Others remained as goals. This very entry can be taken as a sign that my undiaried, unwritten—perhaps
Walkers are “practitioners of the city,” for the city is made to be walked. A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities. Just as language limits what can be said, architecture limits where one can walk, but the walker invents other ways to go.—Rebecca Solnit,
Samar and Biliran should have christened my 2013. But with the arrival of a ball of white fur named Mango two days before my supposed trip, I canceled it to supervise her in my small place, to make her feel at home. It is amazing to note that it only needs a day to homify a kitten, unlike us humans. It sometimes takes us years, even an eternity, to feel at home.
“Daghan lagig basura sa ubos,” I tried to sound as friendly as I could to the entrance fee collector upon handing out a twenty-peso bill. Disposals were discarded in the river and found their way between boulders. No trash cans or sacks in sight. In many cases, the LGU never wavers in collecting entrance fees without delivering the service. “Naa diay,