Once, it has been a decade

You are 19, Jennifer Lawrence is bagging her awards from the Oscars, you were discovering Bon Iver and music that sounds like him, e-books are easily downloadable, Tumblr and Pinterest became your virtual world. You are one year into writing on your blogger site, a half-decade late from when the pioneers began. The world looks terribly calm and generous. It is not huge and yet it is not small. It is deep and it is not condemning. You hunger for saltwater every now and then, you cannot always go when you wish to. But at least, the lush greens around you makes a pact of beauty with you. Here in this world, no one knows you. Fiction is your best friend. The world unfolds and you are taking it a laugh at a time, one day at a time. 

The real world is extending its hands towards you, but it cannot touch you yet. Not yet. But it is so close. You cannot see it yet. Not yet. But soon, its form will confront you. 

How did you dream then? Do you still remember? Do you remember the scent of the winds? You thought it would last forever. You thought that you were getting the best out of life because you were in the middle, halfway through everything. You were not at the beginning, you were not yet at your destination. For some reason, it was the best weather you were under. 

How did you talk then? Do you still remember? Do you remember the way words were woven into your heart? You thought it was the maximum. You were glad, but you feared that there's nothing to grow anymore. You had this assumption that you were living the best life yet because everything seemed so colorful, everything seemed perfectly created for your heart. No one knew it then, but you were satisfied. You thought that it was enough. 

Fiction was your best friend. That should have been enough. But the real world was extending its hands towards you. 

No one would be able to stop it. No one was able to stop it. No one stopped it. 

-

You are almost 29, Asians are bagging awards from the Oscars, you are discovering children's music, files are easily downloadable, your responsibilities are your world. You are one year away from your next transitions in your career, a half-decade late from whoever went ahead. The world looks terribly... terribly. It is huge and yet it is small. It is high and it is scary. You hunger for slumber every now and then, you cannot always do it when you wish to. But at least, the lush greens around you makes a pact of beauty with us. 

Here in this world, someone may know you. Fiction is an old friend. The world unfolds and you are running with it two seconds at a time, two days at a time. 

Fiction is extending its hands towards you, but you cannot touch it yet. 

How do you dream now? How do you talk now?

Beginning Anew

Today, a day that is non-incidental to any of significance, I claim that a new year begins. 

via

It is not that I would like to veer away from the beauty of the recent days that have passed. In contrary, I have found multiple opportunities to rejoice and consider greatness, for miracles have unfolded before my very eyes. It is just that I desire to fully embrace this season and make fruitful out of it. It is in great excitement and gratitude that this new year begins, so that I could treat it with a renewed mind and renewed ways of approaching it. 

For what does the newness entail, but that of replacement of things past and of seizing things present? It is that of each phase the moon undergoes. It is that of each path the strong winds walk. 

What belongs to the new then? Wouldn't it be filled with new hopes accompanied by new plans? That instead of waking up at 7:00 in the morning, I vow to start my day at 5:00, before the sun rises. In this hour, I would praise the Creator with waking roosters and chirping birds. To which He would respond with light that pierces through the glasses of my home. 

That instead of browsing through my electronics in every space between (and more times, within) activities, I would resolve to thoughtfulness and to listening. That I would not consume images and stories that are unnecessary. This reminds me of when C. S. Lewis told Walter Hooper that not reading newspapers is "how I keep myself unspotted from the world." It is not that I would embrace ignorance, but that I would limit the spaces for irrelevances, so that I could contain more of what is profound to me. 

Oh, and that instead of exchanging the fruits of my labor for momentary bliss sold by pleasurable packaging and words, I would store them for things that would last. 

What else in this newness do I want to exercise? Would I be able to follow my timetables as written? That I would learn to keep my vows to myself, so that my body and mind wouldn't scream at me for rejecting my own intentionality. 

That my thoughts that are to be formed may not be stifled by my laziness and complacency, always thinking that tomorrow may be a better day for me to do this and that. With that, here I say that I make a new oath to use this platform to release reveries (fiction or reality) twice in every week. 

My, my. Just thinking about these and just imagining how life would be, I get the discomfort that comes from starting anew. It is the fear that I would not be able to do as I said I would. But then, what makes me up but every substance that is human? With this, I know that growth would take a day at a time. With such wisdom comes grace to myself for her weaknesses and grace to time for its speed. 

As I write now, I am getting more minutes behind my schedule. Allow me to ink this with expectation that I will do well and that the beauty that comes out of my resolve would glow ever bright through me.