Six months ago, ForgeFiction invited writers from across the globe to tell their stories about the quarantined world. They dubbed the initiative #QuarantineFiction, which Forbes named as one of the great ways to overcome quarantine stress.
The best stories made it to a book, which is now out and sold on Amazon. I’m elated to share that my piece titled “Of Biblical Proportions” was selected for the anthology.
If you’re interested, you can purchase the book here.
All proceeds will be donated to Save the Children to help them assist children who were left without caregivers because of the pandemic.
Today, we mark our 18th boyfriend-girlfriend anniversary.
We had an early celebration two days ago by staying in Hotel 1611, a fully operational hotel-lab inside UST, our alma mater.
There, we traced the steps of where everything began—from the AB building, where we first met; to Dapitan, our go-to spot for quick grubs and lunch breaks; to #hereCAMZKARLOsbride and this point of reminiscence.
I wouldn’t say I was inundated with memories, though, because quite honestly, right now, my memory is jacked (did you know that at 40, the human brain starts to shrink?). It’s that familiar feeling of home; it just gets you.
We saw Detdet Pepito, Cassie Carballo, Josh Ybañez, Nic Cabañero, and Coach Pido, whom Camz greeted with the good ol’ “Hi, Coach,” which he reciprocated with a nod and a smile before hopping on his BMW. But we didn’t have the guts to ask for a photo. Kay Tin Francisco na lang siguro ako magpapa-picture sa Tuesday sa office.
We also ate in unfamiliar joints situated in familiar streets. Watched students walk, run, laugh, meet, and fool around. Sat in our once usual spots now littered with new benches. Wandered a lot. Wondered even more.
For the record, I really believe I can still pass as an AB student, a senior at least—and I’m willing to bet my 38-year-old ass on it. I just gotta learn today’s lexicon eme eme kineme.
Usual battle cry ng UST sa UAAP, “kami naman.” Kami ni Camz, kami lagi.
Unfortunately, my shooting started off cold like frozen salami and picked up late in the game. The pace dictated by the time constraint also messed up my rhythm. Plus, the bright lights, which made everything overwhelmingly “official,” and prying eyes made me nervous AF. I know this is starting to sound like a litany of excuses, but it is what it is: I sucked.
Still, the whole shebang was worth the experience.
Next chance I get, I swear to be better. For now, I’ll take my two makes as palliatives for my bruised ego. Shooters shoot, man. Shooters shoot.
“[I]t’s a wild world, and I’ll always remember you like a child…”
– Wild World, the song playing while we were in transit to the crematorium
PET TO NATURE, August 1, 2023 (3:45 AM)— Today, we lay to rest the last dog our household will ever have.
Our home and hearts will never be the same now that Kimmi’s no longer with us.
Nineteen years of love and loyalty. A feat many will say has been maxed out to fulfillment. But the inevitability that comes with it, regardless how certain, does not render this loss any less painful—not a scratch, not a whimper.
Morning has broken with rain from a passing storm in this part of Marikina, and the silence in the room is among the worst of its kind: bereaved, benumbing, barkless.
We are still, but not serene. One in mourning, but deep within segmented, our wholeness a synthesis of a thousand tiny broken things still breaking.
Safe passage over the Rainbow Bridge, Kimmi dearest. You loved us more than we did you, and for that we’ll love you more than you did us. Send our regards to Chuckie.
To everyone who sent their well wishes: Thank you!
Much appreciated, the encouraging words. More so, the simple act of sending a thoughtful message. Because it’s always easier moving on and doing nothing from viewing someone’s IG/FB story. Won’t be tagging people, but you know who you are.
I am better now (Camz and I both), but in case you forgot, COVID is still a thing.
The vaccines work, but it’s a struggle falling into it nonetheless: your nose will run like an unchecked faucet, then clog but only on one side, which makes it all the more annoying; your coughs will be as dry as a desert it’s like you’re choking on cacti; your head will throb for unbroken hours (10 hours for me); and your joints will feel as if rats were gnawing at them.
You blow your nose, you trigger a headache. You cough, you trigger a headache. You catch a glimpse of the sun by the corner of your eye, you trigger a headache. You’re so pissed you’ll want to punch a wall, but that, too, you know, will trigger a headache (and probably a hand ache too).
And did I mention you’d be catching your breath time and again as if you’re a paraplegic Usain Bolt racing against a bullet train?
Then there’s the everlasting feeling of fatigue and lost chances and unnecessary work leaves filed because of an ill-timed monkey wrench thrown in your carefully charted social calendar.
So mask up, people. And put your portable alcohol to use. Better safe and sensitive of others than sorry.
The WHO determined COVID is no longer a public health emergency of international concern. Sure. Still a concern, though. A real and serious one, locally speaking.
Karlo Pineda: Journals 