Riding Into The Unknown

I brought Gulliver home 3 weeks ago.
Gulliver is a 2-wheeled folding bike fully intended to accompany me in my pursuit of leisurely travels. Gulliver’s travels – get it?

I have always loved riding bikes for as long as I can remember. Even when I didn’t know how to ride it. You see, I never owned a bike when I was young. Nor did any of my cousins. I was also not allowed to play with the neighborhood kids. So I never learned how to ride a bike properly. Such was my longing to ride a 2-wheeled vehicle that one time, in 6th grade, I think, one of my guy friends brought his brother’s scooter to school. I borrowed it and hoped that if I drove fast enough, the wheels would balance themselves on their own. True enough, I didn’t fall sideways, but I did zoom straight into an open water canal.

This was an anecdote that one of my old teachers loved to tell her class from that point on. You see, while I was driving into my imminent fall into the canal, my teacher was on the 2nd floor, teaching another class. She claims she saw me in slow motion through the large windows at that time. And for the love of me, she was panicking, gesturing wildly as if having a heart attack in front of the whole class. Funny story.

I eventually learned how to bike. Serendipitously. I was taught by near-strangers who I happen to be stranded with because of a cancelled practice for a school activity I no longer remember. I remember it was a drizzly afternoon when I asked this obscure classmate to allow me to mount his bike and if he be so kind to push me. I don’t know, maybe I just really looked desperate but soon enough, this boy asked 2 more people to help half-push, half support my weight while I pedaled incessantly. I flew that day. In hindsight, that was probably one of the most memorable moments of my life.

After that, I had an on and off relationship with riding. There’s this ride down a hill towards a national highway with busted breaks. Another ride with a backrider who crashed with me 4 meters into the ride. An adventurous encounter with a goat. And then there’s this beautiful sunrise ride back in the old hometown of my father.

If I had my way, I would have been riding all my life. But life happens when we’re too busy working and that’s another story I will tell one day.

Anyhoots, Gulliver has been out with me for about 2 consecutive weekends now. It has been quite exciting to finally rediscover the backends and alleys of Makati again. I have been visiting parks too, and in an instant, I was back to my old years. During my ride breaks, I have this special area in this park where I just sit and tilt my head to soak in the morning sunlight. I stay there for 30 minutes or so and sometimes just watch a group of people doing yoga a few grassfields away. Sometimes I catch a wink or two. I am planning to bring a mat and a book next time so I can have myself a pretty little picnic there. I ride on Sundays so there normally isn’t a lot of noise around, even in Makati. And so I have been hearing the leaves rustling in the wind again. And yes, (my sisters will tease me about this), I have been smelling my favorite scent in the world -- newly cut grass, again.

I have been telling KG how much I feel so alive and young lately. I’m not sure she knows that I attribute this to my rekindled love of biking. This time, I hope that I get to be more consistent in taking Gulliver with my travels. My siblings are I are going home to Ilocos for Christmas. If there’s enough room in the trunk, I just might be able to bring Gulliver to visit the Ilocos mansion.

More Gulliver journals coming up, you betcha.

When It's Over

When do you say it's over? How do you know the chains that have held you back for so long have finally broken?
 People take years to forget. Some take a lifetime. The lucky ones take a second - and yes, they are lucky for they do not feel the pain of the past. But nor do they feel the wonder of it either -

I have not been good at forgetting. When I was younger, I would not go to sleep until I've memorized all my school notes from the previous day. Every little detail mattered to me. I never had difficulty with my classes (until I learned how to party, that is --but that's a different story) because I'd always remember my professors' lectures. Words and images would stick in my head and will take years to fade. These days, whenever I'd meet old friends and family, we spend hours reminiscing old stuff - most of it are re-told by me. Many times, over and over - until the stories becomes an extension of myself. And I would feel like I was back in the day and I'd tell the stories as if it were just happening at the moment - emotions, and all.

 And so during times like this when I'm confronted with a vague memory, I think hard and I think deep why it has been forgotten. I have come to realize that some of my melancholic memories have been reduced to snippets. Not because they were painful, you see, because I'm a sucker for mellowdramas but mainly because I didnt want to remember how special these were.
I no longer want to remember how special these memories were.Because at some point, I became the only one considering it special any more.

 Memories are woven thoughts and feelings that form images in the mind. Brittle and raw. Fading and unfading.

I have been gifted with a memory so good that I remember every little story I heard when I was a kid. Every song I listened to on the radio thru the decades. Every character and plot of each book I've read. Every family member's smile and voice. The way the each grandparent sounded when they called my name. The smell of my father's shirt right after he comes home from work. The contents of my mother's office bag. The smell of my pencil case every June when I've just bought new pencils and erasers. My sister's breakfast table stories. Everyone I've loved in one way or another --

I remember you. And the things we did, and dreamed about. I remember the things that mattered to us. But I stopped. I tried forgetting. And I became so good at forgetting, sometimes I don't even feel like I was even there. I'm not sure why I wrote this. I'm not even sure if I'd try to start remembering again. I know I should - this is the only way I can capture how beautiful my life has been. Beautiful, yes, but not without pain. And I can take that. I can take the pain. But knowing and feeling that I am now the only one feeling fondness for these memories is more than I can bear.

Memories unshared are just stories. And stories can may as well be forgotten.

Getting Old

These days, I almost never visit this site anymore. Unless I am feeling extra moody or utterly bored, I usually veer away from these blog that is a house to a lot of juvenile musings and rantings. I don’t want to be mis-quoted. I used the word, juvenile – not in an effort to mask nor justify all the hatred and negativities of my past entries, no sir. But as a way to come to terms with myself, and to finally accept that this once young girl has now become, well for lack of better word,  old.

Now let’s not be too harsh on the word old, yes? Sometimes being old is a good thing. Try not to think about gnarled hands brought by rheumatism. Stop thinking about senility and Alzheimer’s disease. Do not even start on those adult diapers which, at some point will have to stop being funny. For a while, let’s forget about putting an age to being old.

Let’s think about quiet mornings with soft breakfast conversations. Let’s talk about humming in the balcony while watching the dust dancing in the dusky sunlight. How about finishing work on time every single day and coming home to a dog who never stops wagging his tail? Or maybe a lazy stroll at the grocery, finding thrills and mysteries at the vegetable and milk lane? And how about waking up in the middle of night and re-reading old novels while drinking milk?

There so much stories to tell these days about me finally slowing down my pace. I never actually noticed things were changing, but one day I realized I wasn’t rushing anymore. I laughed more and talked less. I was finally living life as it should.

A couple of days ago, KG and I were about to go to bed and I was at that point of losing consciousness when I turned around and startled her with a seemingly nonsensical question. I  asked, “What did we do to deserve being happy?” She didn’t say anything. She just smiled and hugged me and said goodnight. What she didn’t probably realize was I got all the answers I needed right there.

These days, I sigh more not because I feel tired but because I enjoy breathing so much. I wake up in the morning trying to take in the smell of the air and thinking, “What a nice day this will be.” When I walk my dog, I talk to him too, not because I want to teach him new tricks, but because I want him to know the sound of my voice when I’m not reprimanding him. Sometimes I still talk to myself, not unlike the past – but this time, I just talk and not argue with my inner Jing.

I meant this entry to be short and sweet. I just had a sudden urge to write after blog-hopping  tonight. But I am just so full of good stories to tell. I feel so much happiness I’m just about ready to burst. For a change, this blog is being written in smiles.

My Corner

In the last few years, I have been more of a reader than a writer. A lurker, more than the star of the show. I'm sure you know what I mean. In the past, I have always had this innate thirst to be the center of everyone's life. I wanted to matter, no matter what. I had that. And I thought I had it all. But at the end of the show, I realized, it was really nothing but that - just a show.

These days, I find comfort in being on the side. I've learned to enjoy to watch life go by. I feel no insane pressure to change the world. I have no need to make a mark. I am simply watching the world - as it should be seen. Naked and raw. Vivid and...unchanged.

Little by little, I've come to realize that the cause of great disappointment and pain is wanting too much, giving too much, and hoping for too much. It's not so bad to take each day as it comes, you know. Not bad at all.

Today, I find great joy in watching a dried leaf soar up when a big gust of wind scoops it up. I find it hilarious to spend hours with my dog and I just staring into each other's eyes. A new recipe which I perfected on the first try is an accomplishment. Waking up, and then having the luxury to sleep right back is one hell of a miracle for me. I am one with myself. I am at peace with my world.

I'm living my life. And I'm  living it well. Not many people can claim that. When I'm older and life, for one reason or another may turn for the worse, I will make sure to look back here. I know I will find my way back. This is my road back to my corner. My own.

Same Old, Same Old

I've been through this once before. And maybe it's true when they say that practice makes perfect, because this time, I feel more at peace - or maybe numb. Same thing.

I'm starting over again. Yet again. Can I go through this again? I have only myself to blame. Same old, same old.

I don't know what's wrong with myself. Maybe I've fallen in love with the idea of growing old alone too much. I have envisioned myself to be an old, pathetic, melancholic woman who will live the rest of her life reminiscing about her wonderful, colorful history. Aah yes, history. That would be all there is at the end of the road. Same old, same old.

Chewii's First Birthday

We celebrated Chewii's Birthday last August 4. Friends and family alike came over to join the fun.
I was supposed to start a photoblog for 265 days starting last May. Better late than never.
So let's start this with this photo.

In the picture with me is Chewii's mommy, Kay. Nice family pic we have here. :)
The night was awesome, filled with lotsa fun and running. With Chewii's dog guests, whaddaya expect? :p

The Muse Visits

My muse visited me last night. She has been fleeting and evasive as of late, and her sudden pop- in actually surprised me. And yes, as always, my muse was, is and always will be a pleasant surprise. She comes and goes and never really stays. An interventionist, my muse, that’s her.

I don’t think I have ever talked about her here. I’ll try to do it today. Pardon the shallow words I will be using my dear muse. You don’t deserve these trivial and petty sketch that I will do of you today.

As all writers and artists (which I like to associate with and consider myself to be one, thank you very much), I have my quirks, moods and temper that even I cant seem to understand. Much less control, if you know what I mean. When I write, I have to be in a particular mood which is beyond words to describe. As if in a limbo, strange emotions mix together to make me feel something like a combination of being thrilled, poignant,  exultant and animated. Everything happens in a reflex. Writing becomes automatic. Sometimes I feel like its my fingers doing the thinking. In engulfs and swallows me whole while it stretches me thin at the same time. At the end of it, I would feel spent yet satiated. These, among all others are what my muse does to me whenever she visits.

Other writers talk about having writer’s block. I’ve had my share of that too. I define it as the time when my muse refuses to reveal itself. She hides in the cupboards. She veils herself beneath my curtains. And she holes herself under the bed. During these times, no matter how hard or pathetically I beg her to show a glimpse, my muse holds back. She remains stubborn and strong -willed, uncompromising and selfish. And I end up staring at blank walls and white screens – numb, unfeeling. Zombified.

So you see, my muse and I have a love – hate relationship. It has been this way for so long that I wonder if I would ever get to keep her for good. On most occasions I have almost given up on her. It seems like for the longest time, I have been chasing her and I have come no closer in capturing my most elusive inspiration.

But you see, last night the muse visited me. I was on my way to work, and just a few seconds before I stepped inside the cab, I had the sudden impulse to write. I didn’t have anything in mind, nothing concrete really. But my muse egged me on, not wanting me to lose the momentum. She wasn’t very patient, and during the 5 minute ride to the office, she has threatened to run off yet again. I couldn’t afford that. I could let her escape this time, after such a long time of waiting. So when I got to the office, this post was the first thing I did.

She’s left now. So end of post. Until then.