Musings

Threshold

This waiting game is getting me sucked in this paranoia of oblivion. The what if’s are just at bay. I am not flipping out. There’s this part of me that keeps on saying that something is beginning, something is changing.

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Over the past weeks, counting the days, being oblivious of time trying to let my mind off of my expectations and imagining the urban life I will endure again feels like at one point that I haven’t done anything at all with my life. Nothing happened. Nothing is happening. The time I have had my last job until today was like it just happened a few months ago.

Sometimes, I even still feel like having just graduated from college. Readying to face the world for my taking. On the other hand, I am at this race against time burying into thinking what could, should have I done in the past. The regret of unburdening myself to figuring out my exit on these gaps I myself have led on comes up whenever I try to resolve something. I might have not taken myself seriously but who does really. The intention of being serious is out though I have this pensive and serious look in my face. I am not just good with small talks so either I am taken as a snob or a bore. In all of these, I just know what works for me and what I can care less.

True enough, we are our own’s worst critic.

I know what I want now and I am keeping myself to doing just that. I sometimes tend to go in a bubble but living in the now is my banner. Accepting for a fact that memories create what we are to do next. Either good or bad memories, all of it happened entirely in the past. As much as we want to not consider it, what we see today and what will happen tomorrow is more than the reason not it. Cliche, mental but true. It happened and is happening in all of us. It is a constant push and pull. No other way.

So,that’s where I stick myself up because no matter how much of life we’ve been through, when we rebuild and choose our way to resiliency we have those memories and we can always start anew.

 

 

Renaissance

The quietness of my activity on this sphere is because of Instagram. The platform is a mine of all sorts. A simulacrum about life in general, I may say. My interest in this social media took off 3 years ago sharing a selfie as my first post. I was skeptic really of making, trying to keep this account active in the long run. What makes me skeptic is of my online presence. Maybe I’ve watched too much of Enemy of the State reruns in our cable TV, that’s why a stir of paranoia also hangs in the air.

Inasmuch I try to limit the breadth of my online presence. I’m talking about having accounts from other forms of social medias, chat apps, online music and video streaming sites. Aside from the paranoia, the mere memory of keeping your usernames and passwords get the best of me. It sucks when even for a couple of weeks you haven’t signed in, trying to remember it is enough to turn your brain upside down.

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Boracay Island, Philippines

Since last week I have been sharing these photos I took between 2013 and 2014. The time I was having this urge to go somewhere. Bonus was I got to spend some of these favorite adventures with friends and family. Capturing landscape and seascape reflected on my point and shoot camera and to memory as well.

My Instagram game is now fueled because of my elder brother. He sent his old smartphone home. It was in dire need of reviving. Something about it not turning on when one day he was using it. Out of his frustration and the lack of time to reboot, flash, root and all the possibilities of gadgetry magic, he sent it back here. He talked over our third brother to do all these tricks and crossed fingers that it may breathe back into the world of gadgetry. In no less than two days, the phone was lit.

Elder bro then Skype-d me enthroning me his, this smartphone. He added that I have a dope phone now once I start with my new job. I told him no. It just won’t be the case because I might end up being robbed. Well, I am being realistic here. Being guarded and cautious is what I have to deal with in the urban area where I will soon work. I only prayed that the new president’s will to combat crimes and enforce security will be apparent.

So I have this new old smartphone now. And what to do?

 

My bestfriend a.k.a. Twin S, talked about setting up our own coffee shop or cafe restaurant. We would be partners along with some other close friends. Dreaming of what our future cafe would look like I told her about pictures I searched and looked in Instagram. I was inspired by our dream to delve more into some interiors we might consider having in the cafe. A book shelving slash book nook inspired spot for our book lover customers. Or maybe a contemporary spot peppered with some magazines and arts for those who aren’t into books.

I too shared to her and to my elder brother the dream of developing an estate of my maternal grandmother. Mother owns a piece of it sharing it with her six brothers. I dream of building an eco-hostel. A sustainable farm resort where guests get to farm and be involved with the community and impart something. The idea of having, taking your vacation with a purpose.

 

This is how I am having my smartphone now. My skepticism and bits of paranoia sit on the curb while I continue to be inspired. And dream on.

 

 

 

Time & Chances

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Time makes memories more like an easy file stored in a drawer. A convenient tag whenever one would decide to retrieve and put it up for recall as to what have happened, what was in it and if there were differences to refer to.

We remember time. We make time. We spend time. Time is involve in our entire living cycle.

Mostly during this entire living cycle that we revolve in time becomes one of the reasons to make an excuse. We make excuses of all sorts that it sounds stupid to get a clear head out of it. Like when our parents back home deserve some few minutes of call or maybe a text from us, chances are when we make it on a later time, we say that we’re pressed for time and time caught us on a whim we are so just busy. Same thing with our friends and those next in line of our social lives.

We just can’t get a good grasp of time. Either we are having less, more or just enough of it is totally unaccounted.

 

What I am saying is, with time we have this tendency to wait. We either find ways to kill it or let it live. Well I think killing time isn’t really spending just to let it pass because every moment counts though how silly, mundane or serious it is. We choose not to tag it under our watch really. We have this thinking that we have other time to spend something on but will come on a later period, let’s say meeting and sharing good coffee time with a friend.

Waiting. There is time there. We make time there. We make ourselves available to let time go and yet it keeps on coming. Ironic and mental in a sense.

 


 

As I turn yet another page in my own book of life, time and chances have always been my reason and excuse at the same time. Coming to terms with how I want to live independently and get the life I want involves getting back on track and find myself working again. Becoming too complacent and at times just feeling stuck, I reason that I still have my time. In my own I can do it because I got the time. On the other side, I excuse that it isn’t just my time yet knowing that I haven’t really done anything about it. It’s like getting ahead of what might happen and I am just crystal balling my chances, potentials and entire experience.

The gift of time and chances has arrived for me. It did not come in a fancy wrap still it did not discount me to feel truly grateful. To God, to whom I offer all my success. I am thankful to myself of keeping the game. A big thank you too to people close to me—family and friends— for staying closer in turn making them my perspective to view things that life will lead you somewhere so long as you know what you really want.

This is what I really want. To get a move on; be ready for the new job awaiting in the corner, relearn to storm the urban jungle and find the heart to give myself more.

 

 

Outside My Couch

OVER THE WEEKEND I had the chance to gather my backpack and put in my hammock. This weekend is about family time, sharing company and making memories. I was with my maternal uncle’s family hitting the road at dawn on the way to a beach I have never been to. Excitement ran through me.

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Just for a couple of hours I can get out. Feel and commune again with nature solely this time. Nothing in mind but spare leisure time with people you get along well. Adding to this was the food we brought. Home cooked meals that is thoughtfully made by a mother longing for her children’s hugs and banter while they live on their own at the big city. Holiday breaks is the only time of year they get to come home again and reunite.

She cooked for their missed out staples at home. Meals in the city doesn’t come close to the warmth, the memories that every flavor it brings out. That distinct home cooked flavor. That smokey taste and aroma of wooden fired stove. Indeed, food is memories.

Memories about family. Memories of having the time together.

The sea breeze smelled of moss. Really it was weird not to smell of salt but it was refreshing. By the time we waited for the sun rise, walking by the coarse sandy shore, the water is cold. Enough to what we all wanted, to cool ourselves from the hot weather of this year’s dry season. Intensely mad heat it was the couple of days past.

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While we were settled at the beach hut I saw a boat loaded with men and a woman approaching the shore. We all thought that they have already with them some fresh catch. My uncle intends to buy a tuna or anything that we can feed to the grill and eat comes lunch time.

As they offloaded and docked their boat, we saw them with a wooden contraption being turned. So much like the reel of a fishing rod where you spool the string once you caught something. This one is huge and it is attached to a net. They are hauling their what could be a big catch on that day. A couple of men, women, some kids and dogs gather round on the shore as they continue to haul in the net which they might have cast the night before.

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This sight was never new to me but it amazes me every time I have the chance to see fishermen doing what they do best. My younger years I was exposed to doing some farm work during summer time at my paternal grandfather’s. I learned to sow corn seeds on a freshly plowed earth. I wanted to learn how to maneuver the plough pulled by a water buffalo.

My grandmother begged off because I was a little bit small and she feared I might be pulled by the animal if I called out a wrong command. I insisted that the verbal command is easy. I just needed to learn how the rope works because it is where the buffalo relies on. How loosely or tightly you pull and flick it sends signal to the way it walks through the field.

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I am fascinated how they live their lives out here. How they thrive and sustain. I’ve learned from the books since that this sector of our country is left out and measly a fisherman’s income isn’t enough to earn a better keep for himself and his family. The irony of how rich my country is when it comes to our marine resource. I can only say so much because I don’t want to get so serious on this.

I went my way around them, taking their picture in their state of busy-ness. I felt excited seeing the net get closer to the shore and see if we have, I mean, they, have a big catch that morning. My excitement transcend to an urge inside me to help in hauling out the net but I restrained myself in doing so because I don’t want to feel intrusive. I contended to just taking some more shots of them. Watching their faces and actions as they continue to pull in.

More of them gather round where the net finally was hauled out and unfortunately it wasn’t a big of a catch. Sighs and low quips could be heard among them. From where I stood I clearly heard some of them that they might have reeled the net too quickly. Then the group dispersed quietly. My cousin went near the end of the net and found that small fishes and a squid were caught. Not even a pail could be filled of it.

My uncle walked away knowing we don’t have a fish to grill. It was his birthday that day. He too was excited to buy some fish but there’s just no fish to his wanting. He still got cake though and his birthday suit—rash guard and walking shorts.

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We returned to our hut and change to our beach wears. I could still see them afar that they put back the net on the boat and will be casting it again. I hoped they got lucky the next time they hauled it in.