Only the chilliest nights can make me bundle up. I rarely ever layer clothing, too lazy to slip on cardigans or jackets, even in the office where it's cold, all the time. Neither am I crazy about shawls, or scarves, and the like, seeing them more as hindrances to freedom of movement, ridiculous accents to this unpredictable weather of ours.

I wear turtlenecks only because I like their chicness, and, too, because they make me feel grown-up, tough, protected. I choose material that's all-weather friendly, most of the time. I'd rather really just wear something that could take me from warm to cool, to warm again. I think to myself, what if the sun decides to stage some grand, unannounced entrance, like it often does, and I'm caught shod in knee-high snow boots (the presence of which in our country, I count as some fashion anomaly, really)?

I practically live in sleeveless tops. The body will sync itself to the temperature outside, in one way, or another. Mind over matter, as the cliche goes.


So, what was the last movie you saw?

These rain-soaked months--

And the moments fall like rain, hungry for pavements to land on, longing for surfaces to find shape in. Most of the time, the dream never materializes, the way raindrops do, and the mind succeeds in containing the chimera of unnamed lines and guises, finding affinity with the lack of symmetry, like how torrents are, when angry winds encroach.

The skies and their sheets of rain. The lonely, stirring their cups of coffee. The waiting, looking through moisture-soaked window glass. The preoccupied, walking on puddles. The others, plodding through the change in weather like they always do, keeping up with the hours as best they can, in boots and raincoats and hot soups and smokes. And the listless, tossing in their beds day, after night, listening to the thunder, cringing at the lightning.

Where are you, these days? Where do your days go? How many times have you sat, indoors, waiting for a downpour to end? What do you do to pass the time, the agonizing wait for a storm to pass? Why are you where you are? Why do you dwell on the thoughts that slip in to your mind? Or, why don't you? And, what do you do, so as not to?

I keep telling myself, this inclement weather will pass, as all things do.

We just have to keep an umbrella nearby.

Coffee and Christmas

(photo from Coffee Mood)

I treated myself to a tall Toffee Nut Latte for my first taste of Christmas at Starbucks. Toffee Nut is the only one in their Christmas series that I buy. This particular cup comforted me. The very mild coffee jolt, the hint of toffee, the nutty aftertaste -- all blended in with my after-work exhaustion and turned into a homey, peaceful feeling. The day seemed in no hurry to begin, no thanks to the gray clouds smearing up the sky, no thanks to the drizzle which, however much intending to be propitious, still seemed like an unwelcome intruder to most, me included. Like most people, I have an aversion to rain. It depresses me, dulls my energy, slumps me down to melancholia. But this morning, the coffee acted as balm. The aches didn't seem as salient.

And so, I sipped away, thinking of the blue-and-silver tree in the office, loving the lack of greens and reds and yellows in it, wondering if this Christmas was going to hold any magic, at all.

The exhaustion brought about by roads and crossroads and detours and highways, the mind's fatigue of housing images of roads and crossroads and detours and highways.

The only thing I want right now is to sit beside you and have that calming, unpretentious talk, of words and lines and stanzas, and the worlds in the words and the lines. Over nice mugs of hot coffee. Sweet. The warmth, tactile.

Your loss

is mine, too.