table of memories

shampoo,
i keep lathering and rinsing you 

these soap suds aren't forever; 
one bottle after another, 

 
i keep lathering and rinsing you

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This was a handwritten journal entry from yesterday; 8 Oct, Thursday, 11:56pm.

I pretended I was being interviewed again but this time, I was giving the imaginary journalist a tour around my room where I showed her my table of memories. 

It’s a table. Of memories. 

So in my effort to impress this reporter, I pointed out the Siargao corner; four anklets, one bracelet, a necklace, a pair of earrings, pebbles, rocks, shells, marbles, and half a coconut. (Yes. I have a coconut shell on my table). I never really talked about my six-month adventure in Siargao. I remember my best friend asking me, “So what happened there?”, and I wasn’t so sure what to say. 

Siargao is the Shrek 2 of my life. Shrek was great but the sequel was even better. And I think one of the magical things I loved about being there was how I was in a small island but it felt like I was going around the world. Each person I met were carrying memories from different parts of the globe; from places they’ve been. There were so many stories and cultures overlapping one another. It was a little surreal, not that I think about it. It’s like, those people reached a “state” where they are cultured enough to not being that cultured. Did I say it right? The people didn’t have walls (?). Ugh. What am I saying. They understood some cultures don’t mix well with one another, but they didn’t make anyone feel left out. I mean if there’s one thing they have been “cultured” about, it was probably on how to be human and how to form a happy tribe. 

And much like Shrek 2, everything that happened there wasn’t much of a fairytale. 

The following sentences are now my attempt to make you imagine a cool montage of my life there: I got bitch-slapped, I almost drowned—twice; I partied almost every night, I got wasted all alone from drinking too much cucumber gin whatever that was, I SAW A FAIRY, I took acid (probably why I saw the fairy), I ran around an islet with my bikinis on while I was holding hands with this dude I wasn’t really close with because we were playing tag, and I got wiped out a lot. I was laughing and smiling. There was a lot of crying, too. Yup. 

It was a great movie. I have so many stories I want to immortalize by just talking about it. I know some of my friends have grown tired of it but maybe I just don’t want to forget it. Maybe I should write more about it? That’s it? Yeah? I’ll create a folder, and make this a project. Maybe one day, if I ever get to publish a book or whatever, there will be scattered chapters that has nothing to do with the main narrative—they’re just random memories of Siargao. GENIUS. 

But why would someone want to read about my life anyway? My life is no different from others, I just belong to the few who likes writing about it because it’s fun (?). Every time I tell somebody a story, I'm projecting snippets of my life in different angles. 

So yeah, Siargao is Shrek 2. And Yolanda? Yolanda is Hamilton. 

LOVE,

PLAYLIST:

Jaded by Ms. White

Never Felt This Way Before by Wasuremono

Drive Away by The Brummies, Kacey Musgraves

Better in Yellow by Ferris and Sylvester

The Wire by HAIM