In the mood for walk.

I love to walk.

When the world was younger, I vividly remembered that I didn’t like the idea of being fetched from school. Instead, I would walk the seemingly unending pavement from the school to our house. It only took fifteen minutes on a regular pace, but it seemed to stretch forever. Laden with Acacia trees, I would count each tree everyday thinking that one day they might be gone. I would always bring a trusty stick to fend off stray dogs, while sipping my sago-gulaman.

There were times when my mom would scold me at dinner since the driver or Ate would patiently wait in front of the school gate only to realize that I was already at home. There were no cellular phones at that time so it was quite a tedious task.  

Growing up, I realized that walking became handy during Boy Scout jamborees, medical missions, and outreach projects, which required patience, endurance, and an obvious inclination for long strides. The path was oftentimes laden with steep rocks, muddy pits, and everything else in between. But my love for walking has only intensified my curiosity on what lies at the end of the road. At times, I was disappointed, but for most times, I was quite amazed.

I have imbibed the habit of walking until now. I can walk long distances without complaining. Back in college, I would from walk from Taft Avenue all the way to Luneta Park, and sit on one of the benches and cautiously look at passers-by, vendors (both legitimate and illegitimate), and family members who would go there to kill time. I would walk, sometimes, all the way into the dimly lit corners of Recto and Carriedo, not knowing what to expect. It was in early 2000s, and everything felt different.

I never told any of my friends back then for fear of being scolded on the risk of my activities. They would probably not understand why I would walk long distances going nowhere, sit on benches, and talk to random strangers.  But I realized that life is not (and should not be) confined within the gates of the academe. Walking has taught me, albeit indirectly, that life is a never-ending, strange-looking pathway where randomness is best magnified through the road less traveled, and where every crossroad is an opportunity waiting to be discovered.

Walking shows life in bits and pieces. There is an ample illustration of poverty and wealth, inequality and goodness, faith and fate, and love and bitterness. The streets mirror life’s greatest joys and its misplaced anguish. It showed (and still shows) the government’s inefficiency and the people’s stubbornness. The street is a collection of the best and the worst that one could expect.

Whenever I go back to the province, I still do my leisure walks. The previous unending stretch from school to our home now only takes a few strides. On my way home, I still count the old, unyielding Acacia trees in awe that time had been kind to them.

I still love to walk. I guess certain things never change. 

Birthday jitters.

I never celebrate birthdays as a momentous occasion like other people do. I treat it as an ordinary day with an added chip on my armor, with a faint hope of increasing wisdom.

Birthdays, after my 10^th celebration, were simply a reminder of growing old, being cynical, and finally having an excuse to be grumpy and forgetful.

Back in college, folks from the province would provide an amount half of my month’s allowance as a birthday gift. I once told them that I celebrated it with friends, and from then on, it had been my mom’s duty to provide me with some extra cash in case I celebrate it with friends in “posh” venues. In truth, I only celebrated it once, when I booked two rooms in Shangri-la Makati for friends. After that, I never used the money for celebrations. Instead I allotted it for purchase of books, comics, and at times, gadgets.

Birthday celebrations were again heightened in law school when my beau would always surprise me with trips and some other moments that made me blush in disbelief and wonder. When we parted ways, I went back to the usual ordinary birthday celebration. I don’t know if it’s just the cynical in me, or the fact that I have always been bombarded with matters of consequence during my birthday. Friends even made surprises to highlight how special the day was, but deep inside I never felt the difference.

It was only last year when I realized that no matter how I feign the day, it will surely come: just like death and taxes. Birthdays may be viewed as another day, but it can also be a celebration of life and happiness. It’s merely a matter of choice on how to look at that day. And since last year, I chose to embrace the inevitable. I guess growing old has a faint hope of wisdom, after all.

This year, I intend to celebrate it with friends on the happiest place in Southeast Asia. Or so, they say.

Ball of Chance.

Life is too unpredictable. One moment, you think that you are in control of everything. Then you lose it the next and question everything in the process.

Being unpredictable makes life a source of shock and worry at the same time. On good moments, it sweeps you off your feet and makes you realize that the best things in life, aside those that are free, are things that catch you off guard and leave you breathless. On desperate times, you worry that the unpredictability leaves everything hanging, and you can’t decide on which options to take.  

But maybe, that is the essence of life. If we would have total control over everything to the point of perfection; then we would lose the chance to be appalled, surprised, or astonished. We would forget the feeling of being challenged. Life, in turn, would turn into a big ball of status quo, without the air of apprehension or the nagging feeling of doubt. That, in itself, is quite horrifying. 

In the grand scale of things, the ideal existence is one fraught with conflicting emotions: despair and happiness, fear and hope, anguish and recovery. We always have a room to aspire for happiness and contentment, but in the process, we have to embrace the possibility of failure and rejection. Thus, the road to happiness is not only sweeter, but thoroughly appreciated. In truth, people who have never received failure in life crumble at the faintest touch of rejection while those who are in constant battle with tough luck end up stronger and more cynical.

The thing about unpredictability is adaption. You can’t be the slowest in the jungle without being someone else’s food. And in a world where change is as good or bad as the next iPhone or reality show, survival is often associated in not only finding one’s identity, but in being able to adjust to the demands of the universe. And oftentimes, that includes Twitter reactions and sentiments.

Unpredictability is good since it prevents us from deteriorating into specimens on a Petri dish. But don’t take my word for it. 

The theory of independence.

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Independence is a tricky thing.

On the one hand, you are slapped with an unbridled freedom to decide on practically everything. Though, the room for error is greater as the usual checks and balances are absent. On the other hand, too much freedom could be disconcerting and even exhausting at times.

In the grand scale of things, the best thing to do is to gauge the benefits from the drawbacks. For instance, you could go home anytime. No one would remind you of curfews. This rule applies at any time of the day, and any day of the week. You could read books in a coffee shop until the wee hours of the morning without regard to whoever will open the gate or the front door. There are no blabbermouth relatives, loudmouth siblings, or nagging moms to remind you of your unusual soirees, order of business, or just about anything.

Curfew is one thing. Money is another. There is much leeway on how to spend your financial resources. Living alone demands that you balance your finances until the next paycheck/salary/allowance, whichever is applicable. You may splurge your money one day on a cool Hermes belt, and scrimp for the next few days or weeks. Or you may save until your bank account translates to retirement pay even at the age of 35.

However, there’s also the seemingly terrible part, primarily related to being alone. You wake up and sleep only in the company of pillows, unless of course, you are accustomed to bringing people/random strangers for “sleepovers”. Then, you have to take care of yourself when you are sick, which translates to cooking food, drinking meds, and bringing yourself to the nearest hospital. On normal days, you do your own laundry, clean your house, and feed yourself to stay alive.  You can’t expect breakfast in bed. Paella, prawns, and blue marlin are offered only in the nearest restaurant, and if you are too tired to move your ass, you will end up ordering Chinese food for take-out.

The funny thing is, at 16, you would want to get out of your parents’ house. If you’re from the province, you will be fortunate enough if you are enrolled in a school in Manila. This means a new environment sans the control and supervision of your folks. This, however, is lost upon reaching the age of 30, when you would want to be with someone: To do the exact things you have escaped, frowned upon, or completely hated when you are much younger.

Then again, life is one big ball of tricks, and oftentimes, you don’t always get what you want.

Unknown horizon.

Photograph is blogger's own. Taken at Coron, Palawan.

It is four in the morning, yet there is still no trace that the sun will shine. The entire metropolis is still covered in darkness sans for few lights that dimly flicker. Few automobiles, seemingly sluggish, are attempting to break the monotonous cycle of existence. At this ungodly hour, nobody doubts the erstwhile toast to insanity. It is probably best to remember, when memories are fresh and recollections are unmistakable. But he can’t. He is forbidden to remember.  

His breathing is heavy, probably due to the harshness of the day’s events. Rest has proven to be elusive for the past few days, but that doesn’t mean he will not try. Sleep is the only time when the world halts, and the madness stops albeit temporarily. The future is as unique and improbable as a white elephant or a flying unicorn.

The wind that hymns silent forgotten melodies make him cry, out of nostalgia or longing. There are days when sadness is overwhelming, and the only refuge left comes from forlorn demons. But those days are far from happening. Eyes suddenly awake, transfixed on the movement of a clock that sways without rhythm. It moves like a ballerina on an empty stage devoid of grace, yet replete with meaning. Silently, it kills him with thoughts and dreams that perpetually haunt him today, tomorrow, and probably the day after.

In the stretch of emptiness, he closes his eyes. He recalls half forgotten truths that make him uncomfortable. He feels that the world cradles him into a new height where nothing is forgotten and everything has a purpose. In the quiet corner of his space, he hears sounds forming into coherent words. The words echo, calling him over and over, until the moment when he is drowned with clarity.

He smiles for he now remembers.