instant artistry?

Last night, nearing twelve o’clock, I was busily typing away on my computer, with adrenaline rushing to my fingertips, and I there was one more click—really, one, this is not for dramatic purposes—to complete a task when darkness embraced me and the whole room where I was seated.

Nagbrownout, bullfrogs!

To suffice my anger, I decided to have a late-night snack when I saw my mum lighting up a lamp, a kerosene lamp to be exact, and lit its cotton wick then left it on the table where I was munching on my sandwich with a mug of hot chocolate at hand.

Staring blankly on the only bright and lighted thing in the kitchen, the lamp, Jose Rizal’s moth story or any of the historical brouhaha that are involved with lamps didn’t gave me nostalgia, but this instead this morning in my phone:

I am really astounded with myself. Can you imagine, I did this even on the midst of ethereal obscurity and darkness? Narcissism could really do wonders.

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