My Personal Space Is Sanctuary; My Blood is Red (Duh-duh-duh....)

I would have just wanted to spend a quiet Sunday at home. A wave of new neighbors in the apartment building however has made my once peaceful abode less than hospitable. Slamming doors are my worst peeves. Sadly I seem to be the only one complaining, otherwise the landlord wouldn't make any delays in installing door stoppers and paddings on every unit. It's probably the cost of urban culture to be insensitive to these "trivial" concerns.

I rode a half-filled jeepney, and the first thing that reached my nostrils is the second-hand stench of tobacco from the driver. It's ironic that there was a big "Bawal Ang Manigarilyo (No Smoking)" sign posted on the jeepney--I guess drivers have their privileges. It wasn't long before the jeepney got filled up to the delight of the driver. I'm close to the stop where I get off, but the cigarette smoke and the warm moist touch of female skin was too much for my personal space to bear any further. I hurried out of the jeepney and as usual managed to hit a leg and step on a foot. I sent unglad tidings to the departing jeepney.

The "trivial" incident would have lingered with me throughout the day, were it not for a text message:

"Love the design! At nakuha m ung album cover font nya (And you matched the album cover font)! Not too sure bout the text font though."

It looks like I'll be tweaking my text font for the next couple of days.

(Posted with a Medion laptop at a barely-filled Starbucks Waltermart Makati on a rainy day with a choppy Globe Visibility connection, feeling pretentiously hipster.)