HAPPY ARE THOSE...

Sometimes, there come those days when something so strong tugs my entirety; a push so powerful commanding me to go out, wander about, without at all, a raison d'être. I hear its voice. A fluid, hypnotizing voice that whispers, “Something is bound to happen. Get up and be anywhere but your comfort zone.”

Ah, comfort zone. That very familiar word. That very, very familiar place. A splendid manifestation of what I call my life. Recently, at least.

Hence there are those days; today, for instance.

But just like in the olden days parallel to this one, the voice was never true to its word. There was nothing extraordinary about the experiences of today. I didn’t see anyone I am acquainted to, nor have I bumped into my elusive soulmate. I haven’t discovered a potential dish to satisfy my gustatory requirements, all the more an encounter worth a page of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez book. As Sunday approached its culmination, I went back to my comfort zone; empty-handed, more indifferent.

But.

Had the voice been lying to me all along, or was I not trying hard enough? If I am searching for meaning, purpose, and happiness, why wouldn’t I take the risk? It might be that if I have chosen to roam around a more unfamiliar place, I would have come across a delectable meal which might be able to finally replace my recurrent cravings for Shoti tempura; or if I have made efforts to initiate a conversation with that smart-looking guy at the bookstore, consumed at reading a Chuck Palahniuk novel which I consider to be a literary inspiration, I might have made a new friend who possesses an interest akin to mine. After all, when Paulo Coelho taught me the value of taking risks in By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept during Sophomore year, I instantaneously considered him my hero.

But no, I have been that person before. It wasn't a piece of cake.

---

I have never been proud of the so-called risks that I did in the past. Have you ever experienced being in the midst of a heated argument, only to be told upfront by the person who meant the world to you, that he doesn’t love you? Or, have you ever tried that popular scene in movies where the leading man would stand in the rain for hours outside his heroine’s door crying, just to apologize for something he never thought was wrong? The pathetic female version of it, yes. All in the name of taking the necessary risks to save le amor. I remember a friend told me once that  I was being uptight. Probably, this was the reason for that. Build your walls high, no one will ever have the chance to hurt you.

But on second thought, maturity might have taken its place in my life now and already have taught me the difference between false risks and calculated ones. If I never took risks in my lifetime I wouldn't have discovered my value, and might always be that damsel-in-distress. If I didn't pursue an independent path beyond the comforts of my territory, literally and figuratively, I would never have that perspective of the world being big enough for me to find wonderful opportunities and come across experiences that will alter my life for the better. In a sense, at the very least, I made an effort, took risks, in order to lead myself to taking that path to finding purpose. If I would forever sulk in the corners of my comfort zone, maybe, just maybe, I’d forever be in a state where happiness is nothing but a work of fiction.

Okay. I get the point. Challenge accepted.

“A fall from the third floor hurts as much as a fall from the hundredth. If I should fall, may it be from a high place.”

HERE BUT THERE

1:13 AM

 “All this time, I still remember everything you said. There’s so much you promised, how could I ever forget? So listen, listen to me...”.

I still can recall how this melodious line reverberated through my hazy consciousness as we were riding our way home. His head was on my shoulder; the weight, the smell of alcohol and the heat brought about by the dampness of his sweat made me aware of our nearness, physically, one cold November night. Not sure if he was feigning sleep, or indeed there was truth in his words about his low alcohol tolerance; but either way, the whole duration of that taxi ride was spent without any exchange of words. Apart from the song there was only silence, and the sound of his breathing.

"I know you're going, but I can't believe, it's the way that you're leavin'. It's like we never knew each other at all..."

And at one moment he separated himself from me. He looked at me in the eye.

“Phil Collins. That’s a Phil Collins song.” he said.

----

Most of the memories I have about the person no longer give me nostalgia. I was well aware that I never had the intention to make him an important figure in the course of my life’s history, nor I reckon a come-across in the future. Although he did left a mark in me probably more than I did in him, for me, he was no more than a transition. He was a temporal, evanescent element who passed by at a certain period when I, incidentally, felt empty.

---

But this particular memory still lingers in me sometimes. I never realized this before until now, that the aforesaid moment manifests how I have this ability to detach some aspects of my existence from each other. My ears was in connection to those saccharine sweet words from a ballad it has never heard before, and my tactile senses tell me that I was with someone; someone who was able to break the walls that I have had purposely have built to protect myself. Yet my mind was somewhere else; somewhere which might be beyond the geographical boundaries of the archipelago where we currently stand. Somewhere, separated from time and space. Somewhere, making me slightly oblivious of sensations I had at that present moment. Somewhere, that even though I was aware of my presence in this current state, all along, I was with you.

Came along with my mind, was my heart.

---

“All this time, I still remember everything you said. There’s so much you promised, how could I ever forget? So listen, listen to me.”