I was heading back to my office on the busiest street in Dumaguete and I had the chance to see this interesting pair. What I noticed was mainly the voluminous white dress, folded up around her legs while the “blushing bride” hung on to her groom, who was driving the motorcycle.
She daintily adjusted her dress, while they were slowly attempting to go through rush hour traffic. Every so often, they’d turn and smile at someone parallel to them, which I saw, was a moving van, with a camera crew, who dutifully recorded their smiles.
I don’t know them, and they just suddenly popped into my viewfinder (ok, my eyes, and my phone camera haha). They were starkly different from the the view.
Personally, I thought it was a bit cheesy, but hey, love is supposed to be cheesy, and if they wanted it this way, then by all means they have every right to.
La Dolce Vita is a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant at the boulevard area that had a limited menu, but great food. The taste was memorable, and we’ll definitely be returning to try their other offerings. It was unfortunate that we were only there for “something light”.
There was also something to pen, something to muse on. My journals are a testament to everything that I have ever been through in life. Pages upon pages of documentation, note-like entries and little doodads I had inserted into pages of various sizes and quantities were the stuff I crammed my drawers with.
They were mostly private things, I had never shown anyone what was written on these journals, because I didn’t think anyone would understand. They would alternate from being whimsical and dreamy, to downright angry and violent.
I had my first one when I was 6 or 7…I wrote that I had liked a boy in school. A nosy older cousin (haha) started teasing me about it, and my father heard of it. He promptly assumed that I was already planning on getting a boyfriend, and stormed off, angry. It amuses me to no end how he could have imagined things to be like that. At 7, I had no concept of romantic love at all. I had no concept of the birds and the bees… At that time, I only fancied my crush object’s hair, the curl in his eyelashes, the symmetry of his fingers, the fact that he was a good five inches taller than me.
That was pretty much all I had at the time.
I find it harder to write these days. There was so much going on, and so many things happening around me. However, the paradox there was that even if there were so many things happening, and it was many times easier to record them, I never found the time to.
If I ever did get to write, it would be quite like this…done on the spur of the moment, and poorly proofread and edited.
Still, I keep telling myself that it is probably better to keep at this. I have since regretted how much of my life was gone, memories and moments lost forever because I had not written them down.
I’ve started and done over writings many times in the past. (This is also probably the umpteenth time that I’ve started a blog, and written a piece such as this, promising a fresh start for myself and etc…)
My excuse was that I never had time, or was busy. It is all I have, though, if I really think about it. Time. And that challenge to be make myself as clear as possible.
The rains had brought a landslide and the construction workers wanted to clear up the highway for the passersby to get through. I was on the bus to work for this one. When you’re on a bus, you’re basically offered a higher vantage point than anyone else, and thus more interesting angles.
These pictures were taken back in 2010, when I used to ride the bus every other morning to get somewhere 2 hours away.
I like the details in it though, and the fact that it is a slice of life…a snapshot of a time.