Thank you once again to everyone who greeted me on my birthday. I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond immediately. Life... well, life certainly hasn't been lacking in excitement. Work is hectic and draining but also immensely interesting. School is stressful but otherwise productive. And I think all I ever talk about in this journal is Read or Die etc, so.
I'm glad I'm kept busy though, even if this time around I'm not trying very hard. To be busy, I mean. I'm usually the sort who'd find things to do when unoccupied. Perhaps this congenital inability to relax is really a mechanism for self-preservation. Though I must be getting old, or I'm slowing down, or everything that has happened this year--especially my grandparents' deaths--has left a quiet space inside me in which I'll slip all too often. Just the other day, in the midst of thinking about the upcoming komiks symposium and a paper due in class, I started crying. In the train. The world felt suddenly hushed, dulled. All I could see moving was an image of my grandparents bearing roses for my birthday two years ago. And again, of my grandmother taking me to her dressmaker a month before my birthday. Every year, without fail, until I was too old for it and persisted in buying my clothes in retail stores, her birthday gift to me was a new dress of her design. My seventh birthday was extra special so she went to Manila to buy the cloth. It was a peach dress I wore, with a fine silk collar and embroidered hems.
It took me a minute to fight my way out of it but there are times, like this afternoon, when I'll allow myself to stay inside the grief a bit longer. That's where all my memories are.