She ambushed me. With her innocent eyes, she halted any thought of walking away from the ATM I just withdrew from. Feet placed squarely on the ground, her arm shot forward accusingly and fragile blossoms bobbed in the wind. She murmured something, but all I heard was the guilty thump of my heart and the incriminating rasp of the transaction slip I held in my hand.
The ATM laconically indicated in my receipt that I was a few hundred pesos away from flat-broke. When I read it, brief thoughts of shirts and shoes and pandas and paperbacks came to mind, along with that warm, giddy post-purchase feeling. An all-too-addictive feeling, I guiltily associate it with the reassuring weight of a hefty paper bag in hand and capitalism (partially) conquered.
It felt like I was making some headway in life, slowly purchasing the bits and pieces of my dreams. I was my own man, a functional member of society, a positive statistic foreign investors would read and smile about. Just a little more time, a bit more effort and a hefty ounce of optimism and I could be anyone I want to be.
It shocks me how truly potent our youth is. At odd moments, this insight burgeons in my head, waking me up and overwhelming me. We've got so much potential, so much time to do anything with, and it's scary and thrilling to have this knowledge.
Right here. Right now. The world is yours and mine to take.
I stood there, giddy with the surging power of my dreams, and pulled out some cash. Hoping to make a dent in the debt of happiness I owed the world, I told the girl to take the bill and keep the flowers.
She smiled, shrugged and proceeded with our transaction all the same. Having given back some of the happiness I owed the world, I walked away with a receipt of sampaguitas.
I'd like to take this moment to notify everyone of my old, black, 17-inch monitor's sudden retirement. He's been acting up these last few days and I was hoping he'd at least make it 'til the newer breed of LCDs got here. He had other ideas though so yesterday, his eyes rolled up at me and inadvertently corrupted the lower half of the monitor screen.
I then spent that supposedly relaxing afternoon wrestling with the video card settings. After a few clicks in the little unadulterated visible space left and a couple of reboots, I closed up shop and left for choir exasperated. I pulled out his power cord this morning and officially gave up.
His much older white (now off-yellow), 15-inch, not-flat-screen cousin took up his stead here in front of me and, although slightly blurry, is holding up pretty well.
With this, I'd like to apologize. To all of you readers (which is an over-dramatization since there's probably just a couple of you), I apologize for the insufferably tiny font.
That being said, let this be a hint for change. Larger monitors and higher resolutions are an experience in themselves, especially if you're the type to regret watching a movie on tv instead of in theaters.
Then again, this tiny, albino monitor of mine, sitting beside the gleaming, black CPU and peripherals, has a strange charm about him. Subtly steampunk, I think I'll replace my infra-red mouse with an Atari joystick next. Rapidfire, woot!
One weekday evening, definitely not unlike any other weekday evening you've ever had, it was decreed that the life of an unassuming kid be sliced cleanly in two. No warning. No apologies. A computer in the night hummed and burped an irritated beep. The LAN card shortly followed.
This kid, he wasn't much of a complainer though, and for two weeks he shuffled along in his worn-out knickers living out a sort-of half-life. Temporary atoms and energy, emotions and memory, strewn together by a seemingly aleatory plea to carry... on. He had no days, only cycles of comedies he was compelled to (and could only) watch: his office monitor one moment, the empty bed on the next. Who knew being so efficient meant being so lonely too?
Respite. The keys feel good beneath my fingers. She, May, my reinstated, rehabilitated CPU, hums an agreeable tune to the click-clack of thoughts on the keyboard. She sends out this message of mine to my other half.
You, the piece that completes me, where have you been? I have missed you. Terribly so.
