A Toast

THIS WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED VIA TINYLETTER ON DATE STAMPED

We were at an eclectic bar that sits on top of a quaint hotel along Tomas Morato—complete with banana leaf prints, peacock furnitures, and pink neon signs. There were very few pairs of customers and we were the only large group. And at 1 A.M. I told my friends this, and not even drunkenly:

“Every time I don’t feel like going out—and I do, sometimes—I tell myself I am 24. I am already 24. But I’m only 24! I could do all the Tita things I want to do in my thirties. Plant all the plants I want to plant, and drink all the tea I wanna drink. But for now, I drink!”

I am a lover of mundane but I don’t want my days to simply be waking up to work, having occasional breaks, going home, and resting. I want a life where I don’t always have to look forward to vacations because I made my day count: by meeting people, eating good food, and having fun. They are not reserved for day offs.

The best part about it was I had a next destination all the way to Poblacion that same night and Ella, whose usual bedtime is around 10 PM and would normally go straight home after the night has peaked, decided to go with me, and brought along Juancho. The night was not young at 24, though. Such gullible people.

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