Hope Swann (coffeebased) wrote,
Hope Swann
coffeebased

[Life] my love i am the speed of sound

I was feeling lonely yesterday, so I asked my friends if they wouldn't mind meeting up with me today. So I went all the way to Katipunan, had a wonderful time with Roxy, Matthew, and Steven, and then went home just in time for one of those end-of-summer downpours that feel unnaturally cold after ages of scorching heat. The drops were ridiculously huge, and I would like to file a complaint because our seasons last long enough for us to be utterly bewildered when they change, like we're always so surprised by the wet and heat, like they don't drench us and burn us every year.

Steven and I attempted to share an umbrella, a dinky little foldable one, and I have determined from this experience that we would not be good jaeger co-pilots. We would die. The kaiju would overrun the cities.

I took the LRT1 and 2 going to Katips, but I took the MRT back to Makati because I had an errand to run in the CBD before going home. And then I found out that the MRT was only running from Shaw to Taft. So there I was in Cubao, in the pouring rain, too resentful to go back to the LRT line, and utterly ignorant of how to commute away from Cubao-Araneta. I did find the lines to ride the bus/van but I found them because they were so bloody long that each line easily had hundreds of people curved around Farmer's like human-sized Christmas garlands of despair.

So, I cheated and got a cab. Getting one was a minor miracle, in my opinion, and involved hopping over two islands criss-crossed with wire. The taxi driver was so arrested by my athleticism that he agreed to schlep me off to Makati. He and I were very leery of the traffic, what with all the rain and broken trains, but we were both very pleased to make it to the CBD in less than 15 minutes.

It was dry as a bone in Makati, and after completing my errand, I spent around half an hour wandering around Legaspi looking for a cab, and I was still sopping wet so every so often people would actively stop me and ask me what had happened, or cluck in disapproval, or something. I left wet sneaker tracks for half a block. The dust from Ayala kept sticking to my hair, and the night air had a sharp clarity to it that tasted like iron filings.

It felt like I'd teleported to another time and place, like the storm was something personal, even though I'd seen hundreds of people caught in it, like just four cities over. I'll admit that I felt like a walking, talking metaphor for my emotional state. It's terribly unromantic to exist like this, to be emotionally bedraggled while you feel like everything surrounding you is light and dry. It's selfish as well.
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