One of my brother's best friends is setting up a magazine called "Breather," which I think will end up being one of those lifestyle magazines who try to be different and, hopefully, will be different. He's offered me a column and I've been meaning to write the article earlier but because of hell-thesis, I haven't had the chance.

So I submitted an old article.

I know, I know, it's completely irresponsible of me. Stop wagging those eyebrows. I just didn't have time.

If there is one thing that I should change about my writing, it's the fact that I write too quickly. I write what comes to mind without barely a heartbeat. Sure it sounds like a great thing, being spontaneous and all. Believe me, though, it's not. Wordsworth must be turning in his grave, what with his belief that writing should be about "emotions recalled in tranquillity." I'm sorry Will, but school just gets in the fucking way.

So from now on, I shall do the following things:

1. Take my time before the big plunge.
2. Outline. Revise. Outline.
3. Write.
4. Sleep on it.
5. Read again. Edit.
6. Sleep on it again.
7. Read again.
8. Never stop revising until all loose ends are ironed out.
9. Read again.
10. Revise until such a time when I can say "Fuck yeah," and mean it.

***

Another of my brother's best friends told me earlier that his 14 year old brother has been reading my livejournal and finds it inspirational. I was about to protest but then I decided that I was going to just shut up and accept the compliment. I've desperately been needing one.

I'm beginning to see a pattern, though. Has my brother been paying them to say nice things? I would guess not because, as some of you may have seen, he has infested my comments box with lyrics from that blasted song, "Bulaklak" by the Viva Hot Babes.

***

So The Great Filipino Thesis (I wish) has been finished. All 69 pages of it. I have to say, I rushed the last chapter (conclusion) because I felt like I was going to vomit from techno-stress. Nevertheless, it is d-o-n-e. Needs to be defended, but done.

Most of the lit majors converged at one of those stone benches in front of the department, exchanging horror stories.

A: I haven't slept for two days.
B: I ran out of ink this morning.
C: I'm not done yet.

It was one of the few times where I felt like we were conspirators. And I mean that in the best way possible. Ah, block love.