Honestly, I never understood people who would flock to the beach come Holy Week. Jesus Christ died and you scream your lungs out while splashing on the fairways? Seriously.

So I've been bumming around, not wanting to do anything overly productive. I have watched movies, read little bits of literature (or heavy pocketbooks), and finished (or nearly) my lab reports. To anyone who has not seen Crash yet, please do. Sobrang ganda, as in. (Ech, I really am a product of my generation)

Holy Wednesday came as a treat. Stations of the Cross in UA&P, lunch at Shang, Blizzards at Eastwood, and that tasty Kopi Bun almost faded to nothingness as compared to the greatness of friends, especially one in particular.

Sitting around for you third confession ever will make you think. No, not just that bit about the examination of conscience, but of what you have and how lucky you are to have them. Sure, you might snap because of a few stray brambles, but everything has its worth, roight?

So with a pounding heart, I entered the confessional and emerged (hours later?) with a wide grin on my face that I had to wipe off ASAP because of the somber and occasionally confused looks that went my way. Hullo, I'm a lot cleaner and I'm happy about it! What's confusing about that?

So I just have to take a few exams in the coming week, and I will temporarily bid toodles to Manila and enjoy some R&R with the family, wherever that may be. And I do hope the shirts turn out fantastic. And my Med uniform supercalifragilisticexpialidocius.