top of page

Morning Pages - Day 5


I am on the phone, as I pace around the room, and sit down to sift through my sock drawer.

On the other end of the line is Pedro.


I don't know how to do this, man. I really don't want to do this on the phone. Especially when I'm not sure you hear me alright, and that I will be hearing you alright. I don't know how to do this.

BEAT. Long silence.


Tell me. What is it?


Janny and I, we were thinking, we are planning to move to Madrid. You know, to see what it's like there. You know. Cos everything here was just too much in one time. With the neighbor who hates our dogs, the visa thing, and everything else. So we were thinking maybe going there is good for now.

I sit down on the floor, fingering through my undies and socks. Not looking for anything in particular.


Yea, I guess.


I was really hoping we could meet and I could tell you in person. But.... And now, there is another lockdown. I don't know when we will meet again. Maybe you and I and Janny, we can have a beer online, right?


Yeah, sure. I guess that's the right decision.... Hey, I don't know what to say now. I think I'm gonna go. We can speak later.


Yeah. Man, this is really hard.


Yeah.... When do you think you will ... what is the tentative departure date?


I don't know. In six, seven weeks, maybe.



I rest all the weight on my knees. What is there to do? What is there to say?


I'm gonna hang up now. We will speak later, okay?


Okay, man. I'm sorry, Chi.

And that was that. That was my heartbreak yesterday.


I walk to the living room, where M sprawls his long body on the sofa, by default. I drop my whole body on his, resting on top of him like that jungle book boy on the torso of Balo.


I'm sad. My friends, Janny and Pedro, are leaving. I think I am heartbroken.

M rubs my back.


It's okay. You will still have me here. And I smell like farts.

Truth be told, he does, sometimes.


I wonder how people are feeling when things head to a cul-de-sac this way. For my ADHD brain, when fewer things take place, I feel, in a way, calm. I can sit and make drawings without being stressed out and riled up that I'm not being productive. Such product of modern time of

Recent Posts

In defense of the poor image

"The poor image is a rag or a rip; an AVI or a JPEG, a lumpen proletarian in the class society of appearances, ranked and valued according to its resolution. The poor image has been uploaded, download


  • Instagram
bottom of page