Your life is full of spectacular quiet.
Full of faraways and farewells, because for you it’s true. People change. If they don’t, the circumstances they face make them change. You know this now because you are old enough to know that it’s the truth.
It’s weird how easy it feels now. People move away, come back. They come back different, thinner, older, with different interests. The girl who used to hate motion now loves yoga. The boy you knew in college tells you, quietly, he really really likes boys and maybe he always did. You’ve changed, but you don’t admit it. You move quietly. You don’t feel that young urge to make people like you. But you don’t laugh as much as you did.
You try to make it better by thinking, oh, I’m not the only one in the world saying goodbye, or hello again. Or asking how someone is over miles and miles.
“Hold still, I’m taking a screenshot.”
“Okay. Do you know the sun sets at 9 pm over here? It’s crazy!”
You spent a part of your life submerged, thinking maybe this is it for you. There’s nothing else, because you can’t imagine anything else. You’ve ended too. It feels like you cast paper into the water and when you made a grab for it, it disintegrated. You can’t put anything back together. You feel like you barely remember it. But it’s not true.
It just shifted. Nothing really ends.
Daisy in the garden
There are days I wish I was somewhere else, and this is one of them.
As always, I begin every year with the pledge to write more about things that matter to me, even if I feel that they don’t matter to others
I will take more photographs that are not selfies, or dogs
This year I plan to conquer mountains — in a literal sense, although the prospect sometimes terrifies me. I imagine only the cold, and not the stark black rock above the treeline or the pleasant burn in your muscles that comes from walking for hours.
I guess this is why people love the concept of the newness of the year — it’s the possibility of wiping the slate down and looking forward to being someone new. I don’t want to become new though. Just more.
Some months it’s hard to write not because I cannot, but because I feel drained at the end of the day.
I write this from the corner of a tiny apartment in the hottest city in the world, famously referred to as the Gates of Hell. To make myself happy, I show you photographs of my hometown and my home. The city I love. I’ve been away for a month and I feel sucker punched. Homesickness is a punch to the gut. Manila makes me feel like I want different things, that other people don’t want.
I miss the sound of the bamboo. The wind literally runs its fingers through bamboo, and you can feel it shiver on those long windy days.
The trees. This city has no trees. They exist like afterthoughts, or discoveries. Carefully cultivated into parks. Sequestered.
It’s the mountains and the city, and the never ending rain.
Thank you Yas for the idea.
And my words feel used up.
the fog carves out mountains
Is the best I can do for this week. It’s the only good thing I’ve written this week that wasn’t for work and wasn’t an email for work or part of work. This week I stopped reading the news, because it saddens me. I’ll write about it when I’ve come to terms with what’s going on in my country. But today this:
fog carves morning mountains