Thursday, November 15, 2007

Ready 2GO

As chronicled by Glenn Ala at 11:05 PM
It was 2 and a half hours past the deadline, and I've bitched on the phone several times already at the customer service representative. But when the parcel from 2GO finally arrived, all the anxieties, indignation, and the restlessness faded into oblivion.

My passport has finally arrived.

I am now officially a citizen of the world.

Now all I gotta do is pack my bags and make sure that I have Leaving on a Jet Plane ready to play on my iPod.
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4 comments:

  1. TripleRRRNovember 16, 2007 at 12:11 AM

    grabeeeh! first time mo pala ma-issuehan ng passport? welcome to the world of traveling!!!

    ur Singapore trip must be really memorable! bon voyage!

    ReplyDelete
  2. PRUE HALLIWEL :: OBSERVER OF LIFENovember 16, 2007 at 11:42 PM

    uuuuuuyyy... congrats... you have a fassfort na leo... go and conquer... naku... seems like you'll be having a treat... sa iba't ibang klaseng putahe... wehehehe!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Glenn AlaNovember 17, 2007 at 5:09 AM

    thanks paige and prue! this is, in a lot of different ways, ground-breaking for me. thank you for sharing the enthusiasm with me. as i always say, change is inevitable, change is good.

    ReplyDelete
  4. AnonymousNovember 28, 2007 at 10:41 AM

    change is good... yes... (mental note: must get a passport)...

    ReplyDelete

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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda