the morning after pill
pull out!
in an urban setting where high-rising buildings scaffold a person’s view from a candle-lit and mocha-scented bathroom, lies a relatively tired single mom. it’s her day-off. she is thinking of baking banana bread after her bubble bath for her loving son who loves her second to his nintendo switch. overlooking her succulents, looking like ants rummaging over cupcake crumbs: the slums.
HERE lies no view other than piling garbages, appearing as hills, as if that makes it look any better. a couple sits on their makeshift table top, conscious of their actions. carefully striding not to disturb their six children sleeping soundlessly. no day-offs. they sip their coffee. they are thinking of what craps to sell today. strong smell, a cocktail of enourmous foul and leeching waft, covers a radius. the naive idea of surviving in their lifestyle thrives that they are purposely ignoring of the idea of living.
it’s the twelfth of june. numbers are rising. economy, children-count, poverty rate, stock market, nintendo switch second-hand price, etc. it takes nine months to conceive a child. unlike the Philippine revolution that has been conceived for the longest time — until the nation’s water bag ruptures. push!
