What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it. 
-Gabriel Garcia Marquez 
 

Some posts in this journal are for friends only. If you want to peer in a little more, leave a comment and I'll add you.

You were there today, at my workplace, trying to get employed, like everyone else. I noticed you looked too frail for a man of twenty or so years old, and my brain suggested you must have been bullied in high school and never got over it.

I do not know you at all, only that, someone told me your secret.

And as with all secrets, I was bursting to tell it to the world. I was bursting to tell everyone that you are a murderer with a sad face, anxious face.

I didn't blab, of course. But I am blabbing it here. I want to remember you, your face, your name, and your secret. That I knew your secret and was reminded of it the moment you stepped inside our office carrying the yellow referral form from your employer.

If we were friends at all, I would have told you you were wrong to have decided for the killing, and not against. And what a spineless, selfish person you are.

But you are just a stranger, anyway. You will never get to read this, I suppose. But just in case, this is what I have to say to you and to your cowardly kind.

"Pagagalitan ka ng soldier, how exciting," she said.

1. He has in his hands, one of the most advanced (d)slrs in the market and yet, and yet, he does not know what makes a photograph beautiful.