1:43 AM

I have this penchant for 1:43. Everytime I look at the watch, I notice if the time says 1:43, and it just strikes me. Maybe it's the corny implications of 1-4-3, I-Love-You. Maybe it reminds me of childhood love and stupid infatuations and happy romances. I don't know. In any case, while I was in the middle of some crisis at work, I looked at the PC clock, and there it was, "1:43 AM".

1:43 AM, no work laptop (being repaired), and stuck in a crisis with 3 people helping me out. Rather, we were all helping each other out. It's now 3AM, the crisis has abated but remains unresolved. It's time to sleep and rest, but I can't, not yet anyway. I still feel hyper, so here I am, writing in my blog.

There are actually so many things I want to say, so many things I haven't done. Sometimes in the middle of doing something I think of something profound, but when the time comes to actually write it down, it's gone. It's gone, trivialized, forgotten, distorted, just plain gone. Which is why I haven't written anything down in this blog so far. I could tell you about my weekend, about Tarak, a mountain in Bataan, and how beautiful it is, and how great the ridge at the peak was. I could tell you about how the white stones are covered with such green moss, and how the trees at the peak look like giant bonsais. I could tell you about the trail, a snapshot straight of an autumn postcard, so much so that it really made you feel that you were in some other country. I could post pictures and help you see, but I doubt I can do that, make you see that is. And however which way I'll describe that sight would most probably not do the place any justice.

I could tell you about my dreams and aspirations. I could tell you about my frustrations, at work and in life. I could tell you how extremely hungry I am right now, and how I really wish I bought a pack of Granny Goose Tortillas home. I could also tell you about my little accomplishments, and how I finally learned to ride a bike. I could tell you how I woke up one morning with a dream in my mind, and that dream convinced me that it was time for me to learn to bike. Embarassingly enough, I actually cried when I was able to finally balance myself. I guess it was such an "accepted" trivial shortcoming that to think of actually overcoming it made me emotional. And so I cried. And so I will forever be thankful to that dream, and to the person who taught me to ride a bike.

Dreams do come true, trivial though they may be.