Stories We Tell To Heal
I had a very early flight to Bicol today, and I opted to take a cab straight to the airport. I prefer to have peace and quiet when it's too early in the morning. However, the cab driver I got had other ideas. He was the talkative type who asks where your province is and how old you are blah blah blah, which is hard enough to deal with during the day. But at 4 a.m., it kind of makes you want to go insane. But the street lights were still on and everything had a yellowish silent glow and I decided I was up for it. Game. So I answered his questions as truthfully as I believe is safe (in case he's a stalker or the front of a thieving gang) up to the point when he asked where my parents are. That's when I found myself answering "At home. Sleeping." Although I love writing fiction, it rarely crosses over to my real life. I do my best to keep fabrication out of my day-to-day encounters. So much simpler and easier to remember that way. This morning though, i decided to we