At the park, in between deadlines

Stud my brain with dizzying Laplace transforms, a lab report due the next day, faze from barely submitting a 500 word essay on time, and an impending MSU-IIT charter day celebration, and I find myself at the park.

They call it the "children's park," although it would be fitting if they'd call it Lover's Park instead, or, Spawning Children's Park. Ha ha. Couples are sprawled everywhere, particularly on the benches. If you have a partner and you're spotted there, you'd be instant celebrities. People there are infamous for public display of affection. Some even makes you wanna cringe. It's just a 5 minute walk from the campus though, and the isaw there is great. Plus, the Pan-Q (its barbecued bread, yeah they grill it, stuffed with either isaw or grilled hotdog, your choice) and the mango shake are real stress relievers. (If you're coffers are full, kapapadala pa lamang, you can settle for Park to Go's sumptuous pizzas. It's delicious enough for you to wonder why they're in such a place.)

Nothing really out of this world happened while I was there. I just want to believe that I have the luxury of time when in fact every moment I spent expends my compromised minutes and chained hours. Probably it is partly because I had so many things to do that I was confused where to start. Sort of a predator dazed with a zeal of zebras, confused with the stripes and numbers, that it would never dare to attack. But nevertheless, being there is inexplicably necessary for me to get going. Something in the myriad of sights made me stay there. Something in the bicycles laden with crispy chicharon and steaming balut, in the shouts of a group of teens practicing their dance for the baranggay presentation, in the running to and fro of basketball players, or at the sight of many people who probably share my sentiments and went there for the same nonexistent reason. 

I never thought it was a waste of time. To rationalize everything, I just thought indulgences like these prepare oneself for the handwriting on the wall--impending doom brought about by virtue of being a 5th year graduating student.