The transplant.

Hot, no?

OK, updated the About page a bit. Plus, posting more on LiveJournal now. And oh hey, last January this Pansitan address turned five years old. And then this May I will have been blogging for seven years already. Looking for new templates now, plus planning on shaking things up a bit around here.

For the meantime, I’ll be reading my books and loading up on optimism and reminding myself that 2010 is the start of a new decade so new beginnings are in order. So, yeah, Universe bring it on.

view from Rizal Boulevard

In the early part of the New Year I purchased my plane ticket to Dumaguete City (DGT) then proceeded to be over-excited beyond reason for the succeeding days.

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The past two weeks after my Dumaguete vacation have been extra hard.

I haven’t been sleeping properly since a hundred years ago anyway so the disturbance this difficulty has brought to my sleep should not have been deemed a biggie but due to reasons I refuse to look into, I in fact deem it a biggie.

And so I have been cranky. I’d like to blame the crankiness on Valentine’s Day, or PMS, or my DNA, that… maybe I was born with this disorder: Cranky Everyday. Or maybe blame it on 2009, which was for the most part cranky itself. Or maybe blame it on myself as I always do, after first blaming other people.

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It’s almost 7 p.m. At the kitchen just a few minutes ago, I was crying over the sink.

This morning I texted Ira: Alam mo, I’m having better mornings.

Big mistake. I should’ve known. Most things that I pretend to not know I already know. I only lie to myself. Once I take notice of something good and share it with someone I somehow jinx it. Then it goes back to what it was. It’s somewhat like what my younger brother told me more than a year ago: Every time something good comes to me, one way or another it’s taken away.

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It’s often difficult for me to get up, even if my mind already tells me I’m awake and should get up, because I always want to go back to sleep to continue a dream I was having. I usually find my dreams interesting.

This morning, for example, I was woken up at 9 by our one-year-old Labrador’s (I like to call her Newfoundland sometimes, just because) barking. But I forced myself to sleep again because I was having a dream about Clea DuVall joining a motocross event in another planet. She told me: “I couldn’t hang on anymore, but I did it all for you.” Apparently, I am her girlfriend in that dream. Then later on Clea became Hermes (that dude in Pinoy Big Brother), or was it the other way around? Anyway, when the time came for us to go home to our planet, this lady who’s a leader of some sort signed some papers, in which there were instructions for the train man to take care of us and not make us pay. The lady signed the papers numerous times so that the train man will believe that it’s really her who sent us.

And then… there was a wedding, and a puppy who just wouldn’t quit biting my hands (in a way that its teeth won’t wound me), and then there was a text message from a friend: “Someone to take care of Hu Ming Su please.” Who is Hu Ming Su? Our pet panda.

I was in my room when I got the message and so I went downstairs to our front yard to take care of Hu Ming Su. As I was about to exit our front door I see said friend hurrying to get out of the gate. Apparently Hu Ming Su, if not restrained, would want to get out of the gate, too, if it sees someone getting out.

So I wonder how my friend got out of the gate without Hu Ming Su barging out with her, and then that’s when I see Kuya in a panda costume. My Kuya, in a panda costume. A costume that is a panda suit. A panda costume. Kuya is a panda. He beams at me and I think this is what he said: “Hu Ming Su likes it when there’s someone else who looks like [it]” (in the dream the panda’s sex was not determined). And then there’s Hu Ming Su, behaved in a corner, looking at my costumed Kuya, who was waddling around the front yard, obviously enjoying his costume. And somehow I sense that Hu Ming Su was laughing.

But these are all dreams, and I love it that anything can happen in a dream, I know I have to wake up earlier and actually get up when I awaken, but… days like this, I find it easier, and wiser, to choose what’s more comforting. Anyway. It’s Sunday! I want to know your childhood Sunday memories! Mine would have to be Sundays in Luneta with my parents and brothers: jogging, biking, hotdogs, and that red burger stand in the form of a double-deck bus.