It could mean as simple as moving.
Keep moving.. Keep moving on…
No, she doesn’t need to be an “artist”
She could be the one who shares good reads from Thought Catalog.
He could be the travel buddy who is brave enough
to say that he felt loved by you.
Or a dance buddy who risked losing his identity on the dancefloor,
and make you rethink the alignment of stars.
She could be the eccentric who loves great films.
After encounters, you’d find yourself pregnant with words
that fly away too quickly so you need to grab a pen.
They’re all good for your soul, for your art.
Four months out of the dark days, I feel like walking on an old, wooden bridge, careful with every step and aware that I could fall off and into the abyss again where there is only confusion and victim-mindedness. A kind of darkness that wraps like a bubble where the only source of hope is optimism and matter-of-fact knowledge that everything will pass, like anything else.
The Universe led me to this municipality, Liloan, with its tagline Live.Love.Liloan. Oh! I almost forgot that it birthed me here. I remember travelling to the countryside and breathing deep into my lungs when I see province-living. Now I’m convinced that I’ve been called here.
The past four months have been quiet and simple, with a lot of smiles to give, friends to make, unarmed with my big ideals. Last night I missed those big intelligent/culture/big-picture talks, but as soon as I read economic/political/progress discussions, I was a kermit retracting to its shell. Do you remember my post Living a Monk’s Life? I wanted such kind of detachment and never knew it was possible in the social world.
But tadah! What makes this downfall and restoration sweet is a new strength gained from knowing thy weaknesses and accepting thy human flaws. Maybe Fergie’s song is for me, “The love bug crawls right back up, bites me and I’m back.”
So I guess I’m just gonna cross them bridges and spooky trees. The Universe always covers my ass anyway. Trust. Live. Love. Liloan.
**I feel sorry that I get back to blogging at long intervals. Writing this piece felt like the first day of work especially with the new WordPress layout. How long has it been?
A few months ago, it was unimaginable. To take photos of the Bangsamoro Islamic Armed Forces (BIAF) of the MILF. These photos were taken during the Grand Kanduli, a thanksgiving celebration for the possibility of peace, which I happened to witness yesterday in Maguindanao.
Learning about what went behind the preparations makes it 10x more of what it already is. I thank all the people who made it happen, people who think outside the box, and understand justice, imposition and trust.
To everyone who stand for peace, you are a gift of god.
It was not a show of force. It was a show of slowly building trust.
I regret that I didn’t see the Army and the BIAF eating together, armed, but only eating.
There was a boy who met a girl…
… so that’s how Den wanted me to start telling this story, if indeed this is already a story.
We met on the 16th of May after a peacebuilding mission on a mountain (to gloss things up a bit), while looking at this view, posted immediately on Facebook with the following caption:
A stranger… That stranger came to Manila 15 days after having dinner and 4 bottles of beer with me. A stranger who claimed to have fallen in love. Who in her right mind would buy that?
He had a plan, and a number of backup plans. He said he was sure, I believed despite my doubts, but my doubts were apparently right (men!).
Four bottles of beer and he wanted to marry me. We met again a few days later, him in his mask of certainty. At the back of his mind, “10 days might just be too much.”
Then 10 days stretched into what seemed like forever. Both anticipating the worst, the best was yet to come.
Yes we started off quite foolishly, but maybe gratitude brews foolishness into grace. Maybe he was sure after all. While I thank the mask of certainty.