Yesterday's bad hair day

I know I've been focused on something -- mostly writing or writing-related -- when my hair is a mess. I mean, I've always had messy hair, but it's something else when I've been writing.

Before going home last night, I stopped by the restroom to freshen up. And there it was: definitely "writing" hair. I'd spent all day writing and editing teaching guides, tracking documents, and finding missing images and pdfs.

It was not creative writing, yes, but it had required just as much focus, if not more because of interruptions that couldn't be ignored, and I'd completely lost myself in the tasks.

I must have stood in front of the restroom mirror for quite sometime, admiring, messy hair and all, the face of creating.

Mornings where I live on weekdays

Almost every morning where I live on weekdays, I wake up to the neighbor's children going to school. I never see them; I just hear them bidding their parents goodbye as they pass by my closed window. From their voices, I would guess that one child is in grade school, while the rest are either in high school or college.

The youngest would say, "I love you, mama! I love you, papa!" several times before leaving. The older ones -- I still don't know how many children there are; three or four, perhaps -- would say their shorter goodbyes (once, I heard what sounded like a teenage boy say, "We're going now, mama! I love you!").

It's a nice alarm clock, this daily chorus of goodbyes and I-love-yous. One day, though, I heard something better.

The children were saying their goodbyes, with the youngest delivering his drawn out I-love-yous. The older ones were already talking and laughing about other things when a strong male voice called out in a thick Filipino accent, "Goodbye, my little ones! Take care, my little ones!"

I'd never heard the parents' answers before.

My little ones. These are words few Filipino fathers would use to address their children. How lovely to hear it from the father next door.

Eventually

While talking to a heartbroken friend recently, I tried to remember the last time I went through my own heartbreak. I wanted to sift through the memories and dredge up what enlightenment I could, to share it with someone who needed a guide to the land of Eventually -- as in, that place where you get over a lover eventually.

I felt bad when my own recollections came up short. As clearly as my mind could recount the instances, my heart just couldn't conjure up the pain. And how do I help a friend navigate Heartbreak when the terrain had become a stranger?

Later, I wondered: Could it be that even after surviving my own bout with being broken, I had ended up with nothing, not even a single piece of wisdom, to give?

Much later, I realized: Yes, and no.

I know that I have arrived at my personal Eventually, that better future I had desperately hoped to wake up to one day. It had taken a slow, painstaking arriving -- days, and weeks, and months, and years -- but all that really matters now is that I am here.

Everything I had worried over and over about, like the guilt over leaving or the stress over the mistake I was possibly making, they all had, indeed, led me to nothing. But it is a beautiful kind of nothing where anything can begin and end up wonderfully or everything can begin all over again and end so differently.

And, after all that, I am left with only one remotely wise and possibly comforting thing to say to my friend.

If getting to Eventually still looks hazy, be sure of one thing: I am here.

This is a test post

I've been thinking of moving to Tumblr; in fact, I've gone as far as creating my own account. But laziness and loyalty have stopped me from completing the big move.

Laziness because my Blogspot archives date back to 2007. Loyalty also because my Blogspot archives date back to 2007, though I've had this account since 2004 or 2005.

Now I'm testing other ways with which I can update my blog so I can give it an nth chance at life. This is a test post from my Nokia E5.

English Trainer Chronicles: I have been arriving

Learner: I have been arriving since 8 am.
Me: Arriving? How many times do you arrive?
Learner: Twice! I arrive once physically, then once more mentally. It's a two-step process.

I do solemnly swear to be a morning person

I know I said I'd write about how I came to love myself while trekking to this country's lakes, waterfalls, and volcano craters, but that piece is taking it's long time coming--though I can see it taking some space in a travel magazine--so I'll have to wait until that one's ready to be born.

But I need to write and soon. It's 2012, and suddenly writing (and my MFA degree) is again making a lot of sense in the life of my dreams. Thank you, year 33, for the gift of clarity for year 34.

So beginning today, I shall wake up earlier every morning to write, blog or read. And have a real breakfast and some good coffee.

***

There used to be a time when I wouldn't last a day without checking my blog or posting something, even if I'd never really had a lot of people commenting on what I wrote. I was really enjoying having a conversation with myself about a life that I lived inward.

I think it's a good thing that my life now is lived mostly offline. I've had adventures. I've traveled some and loved much. Nevertheless, I miss myself.

I'm starting the conversation again.

Cold dry feet, introspection, and a cup of Sagada coffee