Age.

Sometimes, I have the presence of mind to consciously invoke memorializing. To say, Glenn, I want you to remember this. Stick it somewhere. Do not forget. This has happened / I made it happen in the following instances: 1) Eating empanada in Vigan's town plaza while watching skateboarding teenagers, 2) Traipsing along the rice terraces in Banaue half-naked after bathing in a hot spring, 3) Listening to Roger and Philline belt Separate Lives after bathing in a nice, little tub on a verdant mountainside in Bukidnon, 4) Walking around downtown Bacolod during sunset with my companion's arm around my shoulders, and 5) Riding a rickety Olongapo-bound bus from San Narciso in Zambales with a mountain in the horizon on a rainy Sunday.

I have no photos of these moments, but once summoned, I'd like to think I can I remember them.

Many years ago, I had a Valentine's Day date. We went to the UP Fair. We bought food and sat on the ground facing the stage. Bored with the performances, we walked around. He stepped on a barbecue stick. I brought him to the Red Cross tent, where he was given first aid. He gave me a book and told me to read it. I did; on page 100, scribbled in ugly guy penmanship, "To Glenn. A blog today, a novel tomorrow." The following day, I told him it wasn't working. I found out years later that he started working out because he thought I found him too skinny. He would send me pictures of him flexing his newfound biceps and pecs. Needless to say, I felt special.

There are those days. And there's today.