I don't know if I just lost a friend. If I have, I don't know if I could express this need to go back to the point before I may have lost my friend without sounding too cliché. Not a need to defy death, just a need to rummage for the last normal I can remember.
Losing a friend is a purgatorial experience—from blinking cursors to downward shivers to losing a lot of blood to feeling like a hologram at some mall atrium anyone can pass through.
Some of my writing
in Transit, Issue 6:
something about the dread I had been feeling at home in 2012, being inadequate for anyone, eczema, and the interchangeability of certain items.
in Plural, Issue 4:
something about a morphing Cory Aquino, my personal hatred for Vitwater, sleep being the cousin of death, and the song "Sana Dalawa ang Puso Ko", split into three personas.
in Plural, Issue 3:
something about talking buildings, self-pity in 2012 observed in a reaction to one particular photograph, fastfood at midnight, an encounter with university police and being eventually spared, and another photograph in 2014 of someone reporting for work.
something about the dread I had been feeling at home in 2012, being inadequate for anyone, eczema, and the interchangeability of certain items.
in Plural, Issue 4:
something about a morphing Cory Aquino, my personal hatred for Vitwater, sleep being the cousin of death, and the song "Sana Dalawa ang Puso Ko", split into three personas.
in Plural, Issue 3:
something about talking buildings, self-pity in 2012 observed in a reaction to one particular photograph, fastfood at midnight, an encounter with university police and being eventually spared, and another photograph in 2014 of someone reporting for work.
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