Nilaga | Nilatan


It’s a sad reality – to look forward to a vacation, only to need more time off in order to recuperate. I always feel this way. Sometimes, so much that I find myself both wanting to make the best out of the time off from work, but also yearning for the time to rest and recharge. 

It was only a three day weekend for me, but I made sure that on the third day – I did nothing. I turned myself into the ultimate couch potato, ordered Chinese takeout, and didn’t even bother putting on any makeup – which for me, is just as rare as having time off. I basically shut myself down, in all effort to vacation, after my vacation.

It didn’t work.  

On the very morning of my return to the office, I’m gasping for air, my nose is clogged, and I’m as lethargic as the next caffeine crash – sans the coffee. I got sick. I fell ill because, what? The weekend caught up to me? Did I not make myself useless enough for about 20 hours prior? Should I have spent the entire weekend lounging instead? 

Only three days from my “vacation”, and I’m already making soup; scarfing it down, with liquid bacteria running down my nose, looking to the upcoming weekend with resentment. At this rate – why even take the time off?

The sixty some hours I get after work on Friday afternoon is hardly a substantial amount of time to “recharge.” Half of that time is spent making up the chores that the last one hundred and twenty hours didn’t allow me to get to. So really, the weekend is just another “work week,” condensed. And so a three day weekend at that, just blesses me with another day to cram it all in. 

How exhausting.

It’s no wonder I needed soup, as I sat in next to a California sunset, in the dead of summer. 


fickle | ficol

I couldn’t make up my mind on whether the term “fickle” looked good on me. I mean, the definition sure did. But the actual word, like the composition of the letters – it felt boring and way too cut to the chase. If I wanted anyone to ever be intrigued, they wouldn’t be. They’d have figured me out, then and there, in just six letters. 

But then I decided that the word was now too fitting to be reconsidered, so I chose it – in old English. It sounds interesting, kind of corky, a little mysterious, maybe a tad cryptic, and it’s just different. I’m different. But I am also all of those things, too. 

Trust me. I am interesting, I am kind of corky, I am a little mysterious, and I may be a tad cryptic.

Heck, I’m the ficol pickle.