For the time being I am...

Reading a book in the early morning light at the balcony of our home. Coffee with Amy and Ton. A quick lunch at Cafe Bola with Tita Chulia who is lovely and graceful in her years.

Met Wena and sat in on a copywriting class at the College of Fine Arts in UP Diliman. The professor was brilliant, quick thinking and mesmerizing. He can listen with intent as a student presents a two-minute product schpiel, distill that presentation to a germ of an idea, compose a thought and plan a strategy to convey that thought all while checking the fall of his bangs on his forehead. I was gushing by the end of the class. I inspect the students as they make their way to their seats. Aside from Wena, the outlier, the average age is probably 17. Imagine yourself at this age, the pimply, wormy version of you that belabored the coolness factor of a pink shirt and a mullet. I remember. A young woman passes by that could have very well been me 15 years ago---blue jeans, white shirt, short hair. I smile at the thought that I was once this small, this young, this petite, this unsure, this arrogant. This. They don't look old enough! At least, not old enough to know about subversive strategies for writing headlines for an ad campaign and yet they do. I'm impressed actually. Hear their ideas: a pocket videoke called Hymnos, a text illuminator called Lucente, and magic water called H21. Oh my pride! UP is brilliant still. Despite the dilapidated buildings, the holes in walls, the peeling paint, the scrappy yards, UP is still brilliant. What relief! What hope! Finally one for the side of the folded paper marked PROS.