I felt like writing something profound tonight. But I guess that’s all there was to it, a feeling. Nonetheless, it would be a waste to pass up this opportunity to tap dance. So here I am, an aimless blogger who could be wasting your precious time, dear reader. Hmmm… maybe it is polite to prompt you now that there could be a better use of your time than reading this post? I cannot promise something worthwhile will follow. But who knows, maybe the spontaneity will birth interesting things. At any rate, should you choose to stick it out with me for this post, I’d be glad to have you join me for a late-night (relative to this writing) dance. It’s starting to rain as I type this. So maybe the pitter-patter of the rain on asphalt will be our music. Shall we?
There is a bottle of vitamins on my study desk. I bought it several weeks ago out of a sense of guilt about not taking care of my health well enough. It was a stressful time at work and the last thing I needed was to catch anything. So I figured it was a smart idea to procure a bottle of preventive substance. After all, as the campus doctor back in high school often said—in thick Chinese accent—“En awns oh pre-ven-shun ees bettah dan e pound oh kyuh.” (Translation: “An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure.” But, well, you got that, right?) Yep, I thought it was smart to buy the bottle of ascorbic acid (and, indeed, it was). But now after almost a month since I grabbed the bottle off the Mercury Drugstore shelf, I peer through the amber container and see that it is still almost full of the white circular tablets. I had obviously failed to do the smarter thing—take the vitamins regularly!
I take the MRT most nights coming home from work in Boni. When I’m not too eager to get home or when I want to be seated after an especially stressful day at work, I decide to take the long (and less congested) route, which is all the way to Taft station and then back where I boarded and then northward to the Quezon Ave station, my stop. Nine out of ten, this route guarantees that I will be seated for the entire northward stretch. Well, that is if I do not decide to give up my seat to someone else, usually an elderly or a lady. This is a constant struggle, honestly. Many times I feel I am entitled to my seat after a hard day’s work (I make it sound like I do manual labor) and I adamantly ignore the chivalrous calls within to surrender my comfortable position to someone else. The internal dialog with myself that ensues during this time is, well, interesting. I find myself suddenly on the defensive and make muted attempts to justify my claim to this sweet spot that allows me to comfortably park my butt and then bow and doze off or read until I hear my stop announced over the PA system. Sometimes the “knight” in me gets his way and a stranger receives a little blessing of commuter comfort. Other times, well, the arthritic, selfish worker stubbornly insists on hoarding his blessing and then turns up the volume of his iPod louder than usual as if to silence the pesky knight within.
Hmm. The rain has stopped and with it my mood for tap dancing. *Yawn* I guess I’ll pop two tabs of ascorbic acid before turning in for the night. Thankfully, I have the bed to myself. No guilty feelings. Thanks for dancing with me 😉