“What day is today?” Aureliano told [José Arcadio Buendía] that it was Tuesday. “I was thinking the same thing,” José Arcadio Buendía said, “but suddenly I realized that it's still Monday, like yesterday. Look at the sky, look at he walls, look at the begonias. Today is Monday too.” Used to his manias, Aureliano paid no attention to him. On the next day, Wednesday, José Arcadio Buendía went back to the workshop. “This is a disaster,” he said. “Look at the air, listen to the buzzing of the sun, the same as yesterday and the day before. Today is Monday too.”
. . . . He spent six hours examining things, trying to find a difference from their appearance on the previous day in the hope of discovering in them some change that would reveal the passage of time. He spent the whole night in bed with his eyes open, calling to Prudencio Aguilar, to Melquíades, to all the dead, so that they would share his distress. But no one came. On Friday, before anyone arose, he watched the appearance of nature again until he did not have the slightest doubt but that it was Monday. Then he grabbed the bar from a door and with the savage violence of his uncommon strength he smashed to dust the equipment in the alchemy laboratory, the daguerreo-type room, the silver workshop, shouting like a man possessed in some high-sounding and fluent but completely incomprehensible language. He was about to finish off the rest of the house when Aureliano asked the neighbors for help. Ten men were needed to get him down, fourteen to tie him up, twenty to drag him to the chestnut tree in the courtyard, where they left him tied up, barking in the strange language and giving off a green froth at the mouth.
--100 years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
Sometimes, life feels like a very very long Monday. -.-
~~~~~
I like my work when I get interesting customers on the phone. Like one last week, before I ended the call, I asked the customer if there’s anything else I could do for him. And he said, “Oh, if only life was that easy, that would be wonderful.” I laughed out loud.
Come to think of it, I have forgotten the customer’s name. I forget a lot of things. How I wish I don’t, but I do. It’s frustrating but I fail to overcome it, this memory. Meh. At least in my work, I don’t have to have everything down pat. I just have to know exactly where to find the answers . . . or to know whoever has them. :PIt was still a little busy in the office. And I was fine with it. Other than that, it’s same old same old. Oh, there’s the new tumblers they gave us last week. And they’re kinda cute because you can personalize them by inserting pictures around them. I’m still thinking of what or whose picture to put. I was considering a picture of Hyde, but Kristell strongly objected. She said it was too . . . . err, salacious. *gigglefit* It's not! I mean, look at it.
*Thanks Aalenchan for the scans <3*
I really dig it. That badass expression. And those illuminated eyes are just wicked. *smiles* Idk, I’m still mulling over it. Well, I guess I’d mar its awesomenesss by displaying it around a tumbler, hehe.Okay, to be current (as if I’m ever that) . . . I’m envious of my colleague who went to Nine Inch Nails’ concert last Wednesday night. Trent was the love of her life and now she got to see him perform. I’m no fan of NIN. But I envy her for getting to see her artist perform here . . .. But I did see L’Arc once, you say. I say, when it comes to obsession, you’d always have to have/see moar. Am I right? Or am I right? :P"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. I think I made you up inside my head."
--Mad Girl's Love Song, Sylvia Plath
~~~~~
Speaking of last Wednesday, I was not able to take part in President Cory Aquino’s burial. Sadly, I had to work that day. I did not even get to see them when the march past Ayala. So while the rest of the world escorted her to her last resting place, I was stuck in traffic for 4-5 hours because of exactly that procession. On the bus, I was thinking that I wouldn’t be part of that history. Only when I finally got home was I able to witness the ceremony, and that’s merely from TV. She made us proud to be Filipinos. The ripples of her life extend even to her death. Her story still and will continue to move people. I have deep respect for women of great strength like her.
Also, for a moment there in the bus, I was thinking of what could be the merits of being able to say, “I was there.” To be part of history. . . . . History is a funny word. It feels awesome to be part of an event. And it feels so good to say "I was part of that". But why does it? Of course, if it’s something like the People Power Revolution, there’s no question on the weight of one’s attendance. But if it’s something like a concert or a burial ceremony or on occasions where I am merely an observer (and those where I can just watch on TV, live or recorded), is there something more than the “I witnessed it with me own eyes”. It’s curious pondering over these things when I also believe in “being there.” Just how much do I lose if I’m not there?
Anyway, forget my nonsense. I was only thinking out loud. See, my thoughts are so cluttered that I need some place to jot some of them down. If you’ve seen my room (as it really is, and not when I have visitors to impress hahaha, like I ever do that), then you’ve seen a fraction of what’s inside my little head. *grins* I should read to help clear up the clutter in my head. It’s tiresome to think. And yet, one can’t help it. I’ve still got a lot on my TBR, and I keep adding more to it. I’m easily distracted, you see. And now, I’m tempted to add another one. Nurr!
Argh. Specifically, the novel where this quote below belongs to. And it pains me because these words are true, very true and alive to me.
Existence is not something which lets itself be thought of from a distance: it must invade you suddenly, master you, weigh heavily on your heart like a great motionless beast-or else there is nothing more at all.
--La Nausée, Jean-Paul Sartre
