That trumpet you're hearing from afar is really who you are. This meeting is stale. That menu is so not true. Say No to the grunt beside you. Leave your cellphone in the drawer. Time to disrobe that role. Wince for the last time and run.

I’m an idiot for not remembering what this dish is called. I just looked at the pictures on the menu and called the waiter’s attention to this. The fish, I’m sure, is flash-fried; so with the sliced eggplants. I loved it. Despite the namelessness. All I remember is that my wife and I ate at Cibo at Rockwell. 

Tapsilog. The fried eggs are a little burned on the sides, for that wonderful crispiness. The rice was a bit cold but it didn’t matter as I was so hungry. The tapa itself was great. Because my wife cured it and it was just waiting in the ref for me to fry. The moment I put my Fujifilm Finepix X10, I devoured everything you see on this image. 

I really do think with my pen, because my head often knows nothing about what my hand is writing.

Applying to The 52nd U.P. Nat’l Writers Workshop

The application form to the 52nd UP National Writers Workshop is now available. I got one myself, printed it, filled it out. To qualify for the workshop, you should have at accomplished least one of the following: 

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