Ode to a Sunday

San Mig Light and Menthols on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Tofu dripping with grease that slides like slime down your throat.
An order of deep fried french fries with garlic mayo dip.
A dash of chili, and a little sprinkle of you.
Chopsticks, ashtrays, a notebook and pens.
You take a drag on your cigarette, and sing at the top of your lungs.
Koreans sit across our table with plum nail polish.
We roll our eyes at the adolescent punks who vandalized the table beside us.
Kids lined with eyeliners, who smoked and posed as hip.
They ordered nothing but alcohol from a nearby convenience store.
Pathetic.
So out of boredom, we played SOS, Afro Hangman, and Pencil-Flick Wars.
Became sentimental, and spoke about love, life and everything else in between.
And then a realization hit: Sundays are more than beer, cigarettes and people-watching.
It's about sharing lives, thoughts, hopes and dreams,
Daydreaming and guessing what the future may bring.
Loneliness, fears, babies and marriage.
Probabilities and endless possibilities.
In this chaotic world where pieces of you get broken all the time,
We hang on to each other, knowing there is nothing else as infallible as our Sundays.
With our San Mig Light and Menthols, we continue to share our passion for life.
Caught in our own world, we laugh and we cry,
But we keep on coming back to our sanctuary: each other.
Yesterday, today and tomorrow.
All that matters is that we keep on coming back.
Armed with nothing else but our deep love
For a lazy Sunday afternoon.


April 20, 2008