Oi! Fellow writers! That season’s begun again – sweet slaughter:
Truth is, I only want to get in so I could get that free plane ride to Dumaguete. Then I’ll get me a boat ride to neighboring Siquijor. Then I’ll run to the white sand beach and do cartwheels. Then on to the ritual: wade through the water until I’m neck deep, turn around to face the beach, and sing!
Actually, what I really just want is to be a fellow. And I don’t mean just being called a “fellow”. I don’t care much for the title. But I do like to be a fellow. You know, like how the sea is to the shore.
Wait, that might get misread. I don’t mean it like how that old mushy saccharine Lani Hall remake song goes (though I like that song). I’m not on a mission to fish from the bloody pool.
I want to be a fellow because I want to belong.
Truth is, that’s the plain and simple truth behind all the writing, all the verses, all the work. As far back as I can remember, from the very beginning, I’ve always just been serenading.
I got no good new verses so I’ll have to check the essays. Let’s see. Inshallah.
And if I do get to join, and if I do get in, this is what the beach would be hearing: http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Paul+Simon+Bridge+Over+Troubled+Water/de0lo?src=5
And just like that, it’s time for supper.
