Yesterday, I grabbed myself the Eraserheads Box Set and apart from a majestic, silver-design adorned "The Heads" shirt, a metal box that brings back memories of school with bring-your-own-lunch policies, and a tearjerky photobook of the band (Eraserheads and their music in visual art) is a gigantic collection of 11 CDs.
I also bought Youngblood 2.0 from Inquirer Books. Its a collection of the 70 best essays from the youth of 1976-1977, published in the groundbreaking Youngblood coloumn of the Inquirer. I've been eyeing the book for so long and getting the box set, it was a sign that today was scheduled to fulfill material desires.
As soon as I stepped into the house, I popped in the Sticker Happy album released in 1997, cranked up the volume and hit play. At almost the same time, I focused my reading lamp and started munching on the first pages of the book filled with essays from circa 1997. It was only today that I realized last night was a fieldtrip to a timeslot I badly wanted to be in for a year or so before I return to what is now. Yes, I already was breathing during those days but my brain was still in rigor from the nine months in my mother's stomach. I was just four or five those times but to make things clear, I don't want to leave the present, I just want to taste the past. Physicist, keep working on those time machines.
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Stephen Hawking, a world-renowed physicist, just told CNN that time travel was theoretically possible. Unfortunately, he doesn't believe in God. Philippines is a hard-core country of religion, so even though he gets to invent the time machine, it will still be banned here. No time travel for me, or for you, or for anyone for that matter. Yes, you will never be able to see your cute dog that was raped by a 10-wheeler truck 3 years ago or your lost million-peso bag (read: Birkin) you submitted to that random hold-up ninja. I'm sorry.
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