An Anthology of Rains I

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We are used to the rains. My family, my neighbors, my countrymen. The rains take turns with the sun in governing the world we live in. Some times, it proves to be a burden. Some days, it is a beloved gift of comfort and seasonal rest. 

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When I was young, once it pours, all occupations will be halted. (Occupations being going to school and doing the school life). Since my mother also frequents the school, as a teacher, once cancellations happen, we would all be huddled at home seizing the "yey-no classes" day/s.    

There was this one morning when my mom, my siblings, and I were all already up when it was announced that classes were cancelled. I was probably in my third grade (what a bad year it was) at the time. My mom told us to go back in bed and thereafter, joined us. A rare sight! For at that age, I almost never saw my mom being anywhere else in the morning other than the kitchen and the dining areas. But she joined us and playfully tickled us. Maybe she was also tired and maybe the cancellation also excited her. We would never have known because we were so keen on consuming her. But I 'm grateful that that morning, she also chose to rest. An indelible moment. Maybe because I felt safe then. Safe and happy--an uncommon feeling for me in my becoming days at school. What a glitch the rains could offer.

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The rainy season happens in conjunction with the summer days. They alter in that pattern in our side of the world. It begins when my siblings and I were still in Pangasinan back in our childhood days. Days in Pangasinan meant that it was schoolbreak for us. It was a tradition. There was no summer spent otherwise, at least for me, until my early years in college. Once the first rain of the year happens, my cousins and I would find different ways to entertain ourselves while all cooped up inside my bae's (grandmother's) house. Some days, I watched the rain embellish the trees and flowers with those drizzling sparkles. Some days, we all exchange jokes among each other. Most times, we were all just entertained by one box, all of the family glued to the television. 

Those afternoons were particularly dark, because the rains were gloomy. We were not allowed to laugh. We did that secretly. We were not allowed to sing. We listened to the thunder instead. We were not allowed to make fun of the raging skies. Because it will get even angrier. My bae taught us to respect its wrath. So, we would just look at each other while being under the shadows of the wall, and keep our laughters to ourselves. Because, for some reason, kids always find something to laugh about and at. Even when the skies loom dark.

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To my grief, the rains shifted away from being equated to pausing when I started gaining more years. 

It became an obstacle to overcome when I have to get to work despite the weather. Or a source of worry if I wasn't prepared with supplies or if there are areas for repair at home. Some days, it ceased bearing any meaning to it. It is just another day in this ever repetitive world that demands sacrifices for a life well-lived. 

It became a hopeless symbolism when Filipinos' homes started getting flooded. It became a reminder of the relentless and remorseless corruption that hovers over the lives of my countrymen. These days, I call it the litmus paper that dampened the opaque walls and made what happens on the other side visible. The rains showed us how much we were/are being cheated and how much we are losing while we are making the sacrifices we were deceived to make. 

Tragedy, tragedy, what a comedy. 

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On some days when I can catch up with life, I spend the days reading while listening to the howling winds, while being embraced by its cold. These days are quite elusive now. But these are days I beseech God for. 

Can You give me the quiet rains today? 
Those gentle hums that chase my fears away

Can You make it a little bit colder?

That warm embrace in this world that makes me wonder

Can You make the skies look a bit gray?

A sheet of restedness when there's not a lot to say

Oh, gracious. What a ~

Oh, gracious. What a life. 

I've spent the past hours rummaging through my stuff, random social media accounts, and my thoughts. It seems to me that I am fumbling for something, but there's this unsystematic way in how everything has been placed that I do not just know what exactly it is I am looking for, I also do not know if I really should be looking for anything. 

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As I breathed in the chaos, I lied in bed and to myself. "These things are just trying to find their footing." It's as if I mystified the truths that have always been plainly peering at me: I am painfully thriving in being all the things that I am. Wow. Just typing that makes my eyes water, my fingers shiver. I am tired. 

I cannot be tired. I have to be grateful. I cannot be exhausted. I am exuding life. How often could one live a life dreamed of--with every job that the heart could account for all laid down on the plate? I am living the dreams and the beginnings of all/most of the things that I have imagined my life would be like. I cannot cease my labor, I need to seize my labor. 

My head is throbbing. Oh, gracious. What a life.

There's something undramatic in the way one realizes her life is steep. She pauses. Stares at the pathways that look ever so hard. Rolls her eyes. And breathes, "Here we go again." Just like that, she looks around and proceeds with the uphill treading, unsure, as usual, but always walking onwards. 

But there are seasons when she's immobile, with no motion left in her being. So, she pauses. Stares at the pathways that look ever so hard. Rolls her eyes. And breathes, "Here we go again." Just like that, she looks around and sleeps. A long one. A beautiful one. With an extent of forgetfulness. With an extent of satisfaction. Because sometimes, the only way to get to walk forward again is to just stop for a moment. 

For a moment. Oh, how long do you think would that take? When I think of it right this very moment, I crave it with all of my soul. I want to be in the moment when I am not anyone else but this woman who is cradled in poetry and music, who is mesmerized by books and cups of tea, who is entertained by waves and trees dancing. But there's a rope. Maybe it's invisible. But it's pulling me. "You gotta get going, always going. Because you are committed. You are promised. You are expected." 

Oh, gracious. What a life.

I am confronted by two roads often travelled. One says, go. One says, rest. I look at the two of them. I cannot make a decision. So, I tarry. I sit by the intersection. And get my phone to scroll because maybe I need to be entertained. I do not have the calibration to go. But I would feel guilty if I rest. I did something my brainwashed brain thinks would be a way to recalibrate, while not being fully detached. 

Oh, gracious. What a fool.

My head is still throbbing. And maybe it is not my head. It may be my heart. Or my conscience. All I know is that something rhythmic is disturbing me and calling my attention. To do what, I am still not sure. Because I am waiting. To be able to find that mythical footing. 

There are no resolutions found here. I cannot summon my will to please people. Or traditional writers, in this sense, where writings are concluded by lessons and hopes for the future. I am just being. 

Being lost. Being tired. Being sleepy. Being happy. Being expressive. 

And maybe this is it, gracious goodness. What a life, indeed. 

Debunking My Personal Myths

This morning, I hear the neighborhood taking it easy. There's a kind of noise that informs what kind of day it is. Today, I hear murmurs of children playing, of quiet and limited banters among neighbors, and of animal sounds that turn up occasionally. It must be a day of rest. Well, for others. 

I started my day mingling with my thoughts. My introspections brought me to questioning my own motivations, digging deeper into my exhaustion, and analyzing my choices. I tried to understand some of my beliefs and how they influence my lifestyle. You see, I haven't been very proud of my life's structure. While documents would say that I am a very productive ~professional~, my cats and I know so well how every move requires me long hours/days of rotting towards recovery (30s people might know). Along with this, I started to perceive how the days pass so quickly that I get surprised and frustrated by it all, that I feel a sense of longing for the days that went by without me fully being there.

Maybe this is how adulting feels like. Maybe I have done this to myself. 

Thus, the introspective wonders. How have I been living? How have I been counting my days? Why am I living like this? What is my end goal to everything? Should there really be more? Or is this how things really transpire when you're older. Would it worsen as I carry on? 

Until I recognized a phantom that has been residing in my head. It seems to me that I have been living with this sense of transience that limits me from truly embracing and seizing who I am in the season I am in. The imagery that came to mind when I tried to imagine myself is of a person waiting at a lobby. 

My last decade, as an adult, has been met with various tragedies and postponements. Contrary to the vibrant days of my younger years, I ached with unbearable pains that were beyond anything I could have imagined. Most times, they happened when I least expected them to. Maybe that's one of the pangs to it, the shock that comes when something painful happens. Little by little, such experiences taught me of the impermanence of happiness. I found myself distancing from whatever it is that I do because I am not sure how long I have to linger in my present hallways. And although I have such vigor over the choices I have made, or that I have my glimmers in these spaces, the anticipation for the worst keeps me on my toes. 

While I understand the fancies and foibles of man, I still cannot move past these fears. Any day of relaxation or even of routine could lead to a day of disaster. I have to keep myself guarded. I have to keep myself ready to spring up for the worst. And the dreams and promises I so desire for myself? I acknowledge their ephemerality. Oh, but I do hope for them with all my being! I yearn for them with every strand of my consciousness! I remain with them even in the bleakness of it all. But... I do acknowledge their ephemerality. 

The person waiting at the lobby of an establishment waits with anticipation for the next instruction. Lingering there, but not quite belonging there. That place is no one's place. People do what they can to while away the time there. With no sense of finality to it. Because in a beat, they would have to proceed. 

Some wise men's words tell us that if we live with the consideration that time is fleeting, we live with ardour and substance. Although this is the highest of my dreams--to live meaningfully--the sense of impermanence took a turn that is impeding me. I live my days with the thought that I am merely whiling my time away, scared that if I proceed I am going to be caught off guard again, that I could get hurt again. Of course, I am with jobs that are not for whiling away anyway, but how I feel when I do them comes with a sense of detachment. How I spend the gaps in my days lacks the intention that comes with using each piece of time to build your life. 

The phantom of the belief that surfaced as I tried to understand myself is finally visible to me. I shut my eyes tightly and took a deep breath in recognition of these. I do accept the person that I am in the middle of these beliefs that developed over time. And just now, I think of how healing could probably look like this: days spent in uncertainty, days spent being on guard, until I find a safe space for landing where I could run free again. I do understand this person. Believe it or not, allowing her fears to linger felt like a protection, a form of precaution.

But she has to proceed. She has to know that she can proceed now. I have to know that I can proceed now. 

The time spent at the lobby is a meaningful time of whiling away. Ha! From outsiders' perspective, it may not look like whiling away at all. I'm thankful and I'm glad I had the space to be scared, to be unsure, to be guarded. But healing is also moving forward, finding the courage again, and rediscovering my hopes. 

Allowing my personal myths to surface is significant. Understanding them is pivotal. But it is important for me to challenge them. It matters that I conquer them. It matters that I overcome them. It matters that I pick up the pieces again and acknowledge that what shattered me are no longer part of my life and that they are the ones that are not permanent. 

I am going to trace my steps forward now. 

The day is still unfolding and I can still hear the neighborhood resting. New sounds from thuds of what could be minor repairs here and there are now heard. Subtle laughters are adding to the music. Animals are slowly getting more giddy, barking, chirping, and meowing. The day is proceeding. The day is preparing to face what comes after resting.

Much Ado About Nothing

I sighed, "I need to love myself better". 

On the wee hours of a Sunday morning, I found myself doomscrolling again. Attention caught by these seconds of entertainment, emotions wheeling from "aww, that's cute" to "what the~" to all other possible feelings one could summon... in a few minutes. This has been going on for quite a while now.

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It hasn't always been these short reels though, there'd have been those times I'd see an informational video that would lead me down into a rabbit hole only for me to end up not doing what I intended to do for that chunk of the day. Or those times when I'd turn on my phone to message someone, only to get harnessed by these colorfully stimulating videos, with me ending up forgetting whom I was supposed to talk to. "Bakit nga ako nagbukas ng phone?"  

Oh, these tidbits of a virtual world that feign existence! 

What would have I wanted to do if there's no work for me to do? In my head, I dream of prairies of words and streams of art. There's always this hope to read all I want to read when time permits me to. There's always this hope to create something and just get that imagination candle lit up. Oh, the notable films and works that I could immerse myself into. 

The other day at the university (where I work part-time), I had the chance to have a table talk with some of our veteran professors. Well, we've always had discussions on various dealings, where I've usually just been a listener, but this particular talk was memorable to me. It was about the black-and-white films of the old days! I was caught into the conversation because I used to love watching the older films. There were even celebrity filmographies and lists I used as my reference to my film marathons, when I was still in my teens. Just thinking about it now reminds me of the delight I was in when I'd be immersed into my films. Anyway, I was just so glad to have had significant contributions to the conversation because well, I really was interested in the subject. One of the professors even told us that he would just go on his movie marathons renting videos on Youtube to seize his days. 

At that point, envy grew in me. I envied the veteran professors whose attention spans can hold watching movie marathons. I envied my old self who was able to sustain interest in things. What beautiful brains might these be, to be able to live in the moment and to remain living in the moment. 

When I think of how I let my brain rot, I realized that I do not seem to care about me. When I should have been shaping my brain breathe, I let tricks and ploys captivate it. When it should have been resting, I keep it stimulated, letting all its activities sap the energy out of me. 

Thus, I need to love myself better. 

I thought about this when I found myself doomscrolling again just a few hours ago. Oh, the urge to even not let my phone in the way as I finish this post (I did succumb to it once, for a minute). 

I wonder now what I should do. And allow me to identify my resolve, that I may trace the path to it as I proceed towards the weeks to come. 

I vow to (HAHA):

- water my brain garden by reading books instead of using my phone when I have gaps in the day.

- let my thought vines crawl seamlessly by writing the immediate contemplations that express my feelings and curiosities. 

- study the skies and the birds when none of the prior commitments seem to hold my attention, because if I must be bored, I must allow myself to be entertained by the gifts of our nature.

- let the sunlight in by delving into physical activities, such as walking and/or running.

- love myself better by letting every unit of my system seize the day and remain in it. 

I do not know who I would be in the following hours. Of course, there is no way of telling how long until I get these mastered or if I'd even try (sorry na agad, Skate). But probably, as long as there's intention, my hopes may still be realized.