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Saturday, January 31, 2009

My 15 Minutes Love Affair


"Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Fucking high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end."
“You're Beautiful” – James Blunt

A girl of twenty-three, I assume, steps in into the MRT train, Boni Station. My random rumination about life suddenly came into a halt. I suddenly put aside my worries about being late today for my 2 o’clock class, in fact, I don’t care about my terrible professor anymore. The gales of laughter from the few passengers, which annoys me a while ago, suddenly vanished. There’s a miraculous silence on that MRT couch, or maybe it’s my heart that stopped beating.

She is dressed in the uniform of a nursing student. It is white like lonely starlight shining at dawn. She has let her long black hair down to brush it, and stirs languidly in the occasional aircon breeze. The cold artificial light of the MRT makes her face glow like the face of Lady Arwen Undómiel, the elf princess in the Lord of the Rings, so beautiful and mysterious.

She hides behind a thick medical book for a moment, concentrated on it with her bowed head. Then she lowers the book, inhales deeply and scanned the empty MRT seats – gradually revealing her high cheeks, her perfect little nose, the fantastic sculpture of her lips, and teeth, white and fetchingly crooked, barely visible. Her deadly chinita eyes instantly killed me. Dead on the spot.

She is smiling. (Or that is what I thought.)

Then she caught my eyes, “Oh my gums” I know that staring to a girl is rude, but I can’t help myself, and this is my way of saying – “Jesus H. Christ, you’re goddamn beautiful do you know that?

And she’s fucking smiling back at me – (or that is what I thought, again)

And she goes back in her deep thought – alone in her own world, sad but contended. I suppose, she’s the type of girl that is free, highly opinionated and outrageous but tamed by the nuns of a strictly Catholic school.

“Ding! Taft Avenue station!, taft avenue station!... this is the last station….,” – announced by the automatic and lifeless voice. For the first time, I felt like MRT train is moving so fast like a light.

Then the commotion of all sorts of people ensued. With that avalanche of people – I lost her. Back to reality again – with all these uncaring-always-in-hurry people trying to fit in on this almost dead city.

The memory of her face goes directly to my heart. I want to hug her. I want to understand her. I want to love her... (music please..)

Knock! Knock! wake up and stop dreaming you ugly farmer!

Ok ok, yeah I know, I know - most of my wishes are impossible.





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About the Blogger

Yodi Insigne
Yodi de Veas Insigne is one of those delusional sorts who imagines himself a useful contributor to the greater blogosphere (Well, that's what he's trying to accomplish).

He started blogging for three reasons:

1. He always felt he has something important to say,
2. Books can make him cry, and cliff jumping can make him high,
3. He want to sleep at night.

He is a self-certified bookworm, travel junkie, shutterbug, movie freak, Mangyan hiker who sleeps a lot and think a lot. He got a little vice, which is black coffee and cashew nuts. He got colorblindness on yellow and green - and he freaking loves it!

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