June 29, 2015
There is a spot in Baguio where fog settles just below your knees and if you take a photograph it will look like you're walking on clouds. There is a photo somewhere of a boy with his back turned and fog is enveloping him. In that moment when I took that photo, I believed I was in love with him. And that is how I see him most days--disappearing, walking away, disinterested, even now that we call each other friends. "Some emotions don't have names," I often tell him. And he responds, as he always does: "Names are dangerous."