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During the past few weeks, most of you have wasted at least a minute of your lifetime on visiting at this joke of a blog. And I'm sorry. I haven't updated it for a long time -- more than a month, at least -- because of several reasons. This post I wrote as an effort to explain why I left my beloved blog rotting in all its stagnant light-blue splendor.

As you know, I'll be moving away next week. I cancelled my classes a few days after my aunt had enrolled me, and I filed for my transcripts and other necessary documents immediately. And so, I spent practically the last two months doing nothing, apart from following up my papers and occasionally visiting my friends in UP.

Doing nothing -- is there an exact word for it? -- took its toll on my verbal acrobatics (I sound as if I'm so sure of myself that I could do some literary tricks -- tell me if I'm thinking too highly of my writing). Only the more talented could write about listless days of boredom and monotony, of staring up the ceiling for hours, and yet produce a not-so-boring poem. I guess I'm not one of them. But is it really my lack of creativity that's why my writing's paralyzed? Can't I really do something about the drought that's ravaging my mind?

Or am I just too lazy to oil my cogs and springs? Well... I admit it. I am somehow. I know that if I tried my hardest and squeezed my brains almost to the point of liquefaction, I'd still be able to churn out something a little bit better than before.

Most writers often complain that their getting stuck in the doldrums of literary doom isn't their fault, when it's actually their aversion to manually rowing through the endless sea of possible writing topics that caused it. But I'm not saying there aren't any legitimate reasons for not being able to write - severe mental stress from a staggering academic load can render an amateur writer incapacitated for quite some time. Especially during hell weeks.

But my point is, there are things that we just ignore -- those frail weed flowers on the sidewalk, the passersby at the MRT station, even the hairballs that clog your bathroom drain -- things that could be an excellent subject to write about, that is, if we notice them. One quality of a good writer, perhaps, is the ability to portray any subject -- whatever it may be -- in a way that interests the reader. Ackk. My own words condemn me. Okay, so I won't be lazy again.

Another reason is, I spent most of the past two months in Bicol. Staying in a fifth-class municipality in the middle of acres and acres of rice fields and hilly coconut plantations has its own pluses - I got to enjoy (for the last time in a few years) the gastronomic delights my grandmothers often prepared since I was a child. Pinangat and ginataang langka, anyone? But, my appetite got ahead of me and ran amuck. I'm again as fat as the Chesire cat after my gluttonous vacation. I promise, I'll jog as soon as I get there. I also got to breathe fresh air, which is, unfortunately, extinct in the concrete urban jungles of Metro Manila.

Sadly, there's just a diopoly (does that word even exist? haha. I know you'll get what it means) in the Internet cafe business in Oas, with both shops having somewhat slow connections -- because dozens of school boys reeking of sweat hog the bandwidth every afternoon with their online games. Apart from that, my grandmother wasn't very fond of letting me surf -- perhaps she thinks it's a waste of time, to check my mail and everything.

There. I hope you understand me. I'll drop by UP tomorrow, and probably I'll write a post about it.