..wake up call..

It's still dark outside when I woke up, literally dark in the sense that it's only midnight. And once again, I put the blame to my aging limbic system for a dysfunctional sleep-wake pattern. I grabbed a cup of milk straight from the fridge and settled at the empty couch in our receiving area. I envy the ones who are in dreamland this moment of dawn while I am leisurely in a pensive thought. The previous month just culminated to a good close and another one set out casually. At the start, September wakes me up.

The silence is cajoling for another article with the absence of cacophony and the right atmosphere. I came to think of the passing days, which is indeed faster to someone who is: consciously making oneself busy, forced to become busy, or all of the above. Whatever is your situation now, step on the break and loosen up. Like you have a time to check what a cacophony is, or reading a good book to increase your word bank, or refining old skills like cleaning out and tidying your closet, setting aside social gossips from news feed of which contents consist mainly of "feeling--". That's what democracy tends to snap away. And I'm guilty as charged.

It's dawn, and the moment is riveting to count the leaps and bounds of grace we received passively. There could be moments we felt our spirits are at the lowest ebb or situations that are seemed impassable. But the day closed to a night, and the night ends to another day. 

When I first learned to drive, I used to complain when I'm hitting roads of many bends. Because it's a lot easier to manipulate a car on a fine road. But it depletes you of a chance: a better driver (in my case, without a license..but this is between you and me).

Consider those awful days like you are driving to a road with humps, lots of it. And what do you do when the car is nearing a speed hump? You slow down, you grip tight. Because a smooth road will never make a good driver. Just as an easy life will never make a tough warrior. I don't know if it's a good analogy, but our moments of undulations are wake up calls to see things around, feel things around, and love things around.

I love when I'm awake at the middle of the night. Things are slowing down. Things are quite different.

Happy Sunday! =)

  

..from afar..

The hazy surrounding makes it difficult for me to see his face. But my  heart recognizes his vague motions. I was surprised how he'd knew my whereabouts since it's not kind like of me to tell him what I feel. I am comforted with the space he left many years back. I knew I went off to bed with all those additional weights of thoughts on my shoulders. And I'd like to keep it to myself as much as I can. You know, to prevent the spread of contagious negative vibes. Of course, an optimist does have that. I reckoned he figured out my mixed emotions, and in many occasions, when he is less felt, I'd like to think he trusted me enough. But sometimes, how I wished he doesn't. And this day is one of those. I rarely had time to have a private conversation with him, simply because we were used to that.  I don't want to give him the impression that I don't need him anymore, or that he was forgotten of any sort. Or that I can always stand on my own. Because when no one is looking, when the light dimmed and I needed to shut my little world to my own space, the man I rarely talked to held me from afar. It's as if he knows what I'm going through without me having to tell him, it's as if he knows my struggles even though I have aptly hid them. And I find it strange being a daughter. But not until I realized that I still have a father..watching me from afar, praying for me from afar, intervening for me from afar, trying to get through me from afar.

I shed much tears since I left home, but I haven't felt so comforted; that in all my bearings and burdens, in all those unspoken cry for help, when my buoyancy fails me at times, and the abating strength is at its verge of succumbing, from afar, he made me feel that I can be brave again. Because he taught me to be the day he left.

And again, I feel strange. I missed him so much...

..Chuckie and the pink bag..

I am standing on queue waiting for my trip back home. The weather is gloomy, and the drizzles just started. I can still feel the effect of the hangover from the previous night of "occasional drinking". I left my heart to that place that so far made the best of my vacation. There's a small grief while I'm clutching the pink bag that was given to me. I feel like upon returning from that trip, that something was left behind, and that the days are over to retrieve it. My attention was transfixed to those afternoons of watching waves flippantly chasing one after the other, the grandiose clear sky my hands are incapable to put on a canvass, the laxity of time that passed gracefully because you are at the moment detached from the world's uproar, the silent moments you count your blessings and thanking God for all the undeserved explosive gifts. I will always treasure those mornings of sweet waking, of getting up with messy hair just to watch the sunrise among the calm horizons, watching people walking on the sand because it is their joy, people walking going to work, and I honestly don't envy them, people walking to stay fit, people walking because they needed to. And me, there at the beach side, forgetting about what walking is and simply being taken away by serenity. Those priceless nights where you cannot gauge how wide the sea is but you believe anyway that it has no end, the lights you cannot appreciate by day time, but only when the darkness sets in. Those, I wouldn't exchange for the world...

The little boy's voice interrupted the ripples I am savoring. It's started to rain, and he was consuming the limited space of shade outside the gate from where I am standing. It's needless to say what he wants at the moment, for his hand was shaking while he lay it open wide for something. I grabbed the Chuckie drink I put on my pink bag and was about to give it when the woman on my side prevented me. Don't tolerate them, she casually told me. I waited for sometime and watched the little boy. I can feel a connection, probably because I feel gloomy within. "Hindi ko kaya", I told the lady beside me.  I handed him the chocolate drink, and he ran away. She just stared at me, and I looked at the direction to where the little boy ran. Jesus would do that.

Among the crowds that day, how many of them are having drizzles within? How many are on the battle of walking through tough past, inconceivable future, and a puzzled present? How many are rejected just because we are heading other's voice and not ours? How many Jesus would you turn your back to?

Thank God for Chuckie and the pink bag! 

..let the rain fall..

It was one afternoon of no turning back. I sat on one of the empty chairs being the early bird. The wide transparent glass gave a view of the mountain hiding behind the formed clouds. The scenery of grass-covered field is at its greenest while the sun joyfully hailed its rays in the sky. My flight has been delayed, and  it's tempting to fall asleep. But I'd given homage to the sight right before my eyes. The parched runway slowly turned gray as the sun seemed to be a little bit shy it slowly lose its splendid glow. The clouds became heavier covering almost half of the mountain's sight. It's obvious what transpired in the next few minutes. The heavy downpour started. I sipped the can of soda while my hand is shaky probably due to the room's temperature. I watched the grass standing still despite the blow, receiving all that the sky is pouring in. The once soul-soothing landscape is now all in the memory. 

I waited in patience, trying to figure out a "kick" from within while finishing my brownies. Slowly, the tip of the mountain appeared from where I am settled. It's like a curtain was removed before the great show. And there it was, the sun peeped in a lazy manner. The picture in my memory formed real again, bringing back the soothe in my soul. 

Like life, we cannot guarantee a safe ground for almost everything. One instance everything is sunny, another instance, our world becomes gloomy. Downpour can shake the landscape of security we have, and rain will fall somewhere, eradicating our ideal view of the world. It's easy to throw a thousand why's and wallow in defeats, but we can choose to be sober like the grass. If your life is being raged with all the problems in the world, remember that usually, the grass is at its greenest after the bouts of heavy downpour. Allow God to wash you, let the rain fall.