basangsisiw

Trails of a wandering soul

ONCE UPON AN IRISH SPRING

Like everyone else’s story, ours started with a simple hello. It was August and the rain has just started pouring in like needles falling from the sky. I barely remember how I exactly felt, but I did realize it was time to embrace the possibilities and gave myself another shot.

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However, our story isn’t like any other love story you read on fairy tales or fiction novels. Ours, I doubt, has something to do with love in it, even when you know how lured I am with the idea. Consumed in each other’s fondness for anything only you and I can understand, we sailed on a year trip to what we thought was a journey together that will perhaps in time, bring oneness and profound understanding of our own messed up selves, but still be able to accept all the more flaws we discovered every day of each other.

I could say it was you who found me…at that time when I was busy started making memories in an oddly different means. The time and phase of being there yet too far away for us to touch each other’s hand, it left me broken without you knowing it. I cried in my sleep for something I could not tell you and then wake up the day after feeling like all is perfectly okay. We laughed and had bitten each other’s tail when we refute, even minute subjects that burst out of nowhere. And we said sorry and got on.

With you at the other end waiting, I felt relevant and wanted, not because my feet are nice or because you think I am smart. By being with each other while everyone’s in slumber, I developed a yearning to face each day with a decent spirit because I know somehow; someone is struggling also—keeping up a fight on his own. I had to be tough. I had to be stubborn not to concede easily, to be what I am not in real life. Many times you said I was being stubborn or too confident. I said, no.

In truth, I was neither both. I was just slowly falling into the trap I knew since day one, I may have to jump into in time…which I now did. I was just sadly, trying not to fall in love.

And then there comes the consequences of going further to a point where the ideas already choked you. I contend not with the world to lose you desperately, but myself. Could it be pride then that forces me to do the unthinkable? Or was it something only I alone could feel? Whatever drove me to hit that send button last night to end it all, I know one day I will regret it as I did with Tim. I know the ghosts of my escaping heart breaking through the forest of solitude will come and haunt me time and again. The floorboards creaking in the middle of the night, even the sound of an alarm reminding me what time is it in a land far away or just seeing the movie we often talk about, would left me morose, perhaps even, angry at myself. I know it’s going to be tough but I am letting you go, anyway.

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The future sunsets I dream to share with you every end of the day as you come home tired from work, they will never happen ever. Not even seeing me barefoot with my oversized pajamas as I prepare our every late night meal in the kitchen. No more of that, darling.

No more dreams of Irish spring when flowers begin to grow again. Or winter or the happy summers together.

August is so close at hand. In barely forty days, my favourite month will come waving at me again with her hellos of rainshowers. The rain would be great. As a pluviouphile, it’s all I ever wanted to see after months of fighting the heat. But this year has been quite different. As it ends, I found myself coping up with the truth that summer is on its final stage. I felt betraying myself for loving the sun this year when I should only be comforted by the sight of rain pelting the dried dusty paths of the sidewalk.

In between every petty argument, I knew somewhere there was something none of us can do to pursue what we’ve started.  Rather, I felt a stinging blow every time you mention of our time together wearing socks or being barefoot exploring life in the future. But I do not live for dreams this time. I want it to be real. I shall be missing you then as soon as you relent to my request of freedom, but you know, I can keep up with this life still. I am good at that—pretending to be okay when inside, the walls are already crushing in on me.

To the Unforgiving Wind

There as the chime dangles unnoticed, I sensed a feeling of desolation that neither him nor anyone here could totally shaken up. The waiting time has been one of a terrible feeling to bear. It has been like this for over a year now. Silence upon seemingly perpetual bouts of silence that left me deaf of longing, of sadness that I could not fathom or understand. Like the many times before, it grips right on, so hard you only wish this whole thing never really happened.

But you allowed it to happen. Did you not?

I loathed the sight of sneakers even in the distance and dreaded monochromes that used to entice my palette for a more laid-back style in fashion or design. I could not look and admire a great art or photography without those thoughts sneaking up at me from some dark corners in my mind. Like thieves ready to snatch the reality of trying to live life as I should, without having to bother all of it might bore resemblance to something I am fighting to regain back. I lose sight of how to feel amidst the myriad of wrecking emotions that ensues. Sad even, I don’t know how to address them.

Tonight is another night where silent whispers and prayers are said. Where kisses are blown, there go some hopes drifting with the unforgiving wind, bringing a new era of excitement and liberation that somewhere beyond the sphere that separates us, you could catch them one by one and feel me as real.

Where Horizons Meet

So many questions lingered that may never find an answer.

Your mind sets adrift with every worry, of thoughts of mere abandonment you did not suspect would come, of guilt for not having the heart to say what needs to be said. The couple of months has left a feeling of being away far too long to ever had the guts to wait again, foolishly and desperately, hoping that behind those that are shown, one day, there shall be that familiar  bright red flag that tells me he was right here, sometime today.

But he never had since then.

My mind wandered aimlessly at the harsh truth that he may have grown tired after waiting for answers I did not give, for not listening to the whispers of sounds echoing from deep within the abyss of a soul who may have been wretched with sorrow or grief of which I would never had the chance to know or console… or even heal, for not seeing what was obviously being laid on the table, or heeding at the voice of the universe. The waiting has left my heart prostrate. No clues. Not even a parting word.

A ‘goodbye’ would have been much easier to swallow and accept.

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Every time the sun sets right at the horizon that I had adored since young, I sank at the idea of you drifting away. The horizon becoming so clear in the distance but void, like the moments that seem to have waded to oblivion as you left me unwarned. I have wailed at the top of my lungs in silence hoping somewhere beyond the lands and waters that separate us, there where the horizons met, you could hear me. And I will see that bright red flag again and that eye beaming at me in silence at the other side of the screen, waiting.

By that time, an honest answer would be enough to suffice this waiting.

Estrangement

To those who have not known yet, five years ago I wanted to become a nun. At that time, that was what I think and feel God was calling me to do. The life of the religious that I have personally witnessed awakened in me a familiar desire not alien to my own fervent longing to serve.

If I had chosen to pursue that desire, I would have been in the convent by now, doing and making my aspirations a reality. But for more than two years that I had discerned, things had unfolded itself and I was shown a path, possibly the one true path I am called to live in this lifetime.

God has a way of showing me where to tread. I am currently making my way through unbeaten paths which may seem unlikely for me to outlive but at the end of my daily journey, I realized it is not my feet that’s paving the way for me to see where the paths lead, but God.

I have not been quite active in church activities lately. I seldom go to Totus Tuus Journey sessions at Montfort or visit the Daughters of Wisdom convent to check how the nuns had been. There shouldn’t be any excuse for this that is why I feel bad for drifting away from the company that had etched a special place in my heart for years.

The people, the place—all of it—they seem too far now, or late to reach out again as the moments drift faster away than I could ever manage to catch up, though I need not to. I once left pieces of my heart in those places. I once thrived because I knew some people where there willing to pick me up from my brokenness and make me whole again. I laughed and cried with every good and not-so-good memory I had been blessed to share with some of them.

The occasional detachment will not last long I know, but until I make it a point to find time to squeeze them again into the present life, I shall feel contented being reminded of what life was before Woven.

A life devoted to service cannot be possible if without grace to sustain the flame. My fire has not been completely extinguished but when it becomes too overwhelming too bear, that’s when I push myself back to get a fuller view of things.

The sight of the smiling foreign nun I often see on my way to work everyday—who always sees to it every passenger gets a fair share of space in the jeepney, our dear Sister Carol—who despite her completeness, makes my heart ache for something stronger and heart-wrenching than just what compassion can bring, by her works and gestures of gratitude and simplicity— they make me see and feel always connected to the home I have become occasionally estranged from.

When these emotions befall, realizations came crushing in to remind me that I needed not where I had been before to experience God for He is with me. Yes, all this time.

Becoming an Alien In My Own Home

Nothing has ever made me feel so strange and baffled than that moment I got back from there. My heart is still continuously and strongly pulled to embrace a world I had just wandered by luck. And nothing felt more strange than being in a place that has served as my haven for the longest time but now feel unusually unfamiliar of—what used to be the room’s familiar smell, the monochromatic drapes that hang just above my headboard which I used to love, even the covers that has comforted me when no one else does—they brought in a feeling of unfamiliarity and indifference now.

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It’s almost a month since we returned home from Palawan. With barely a week staying in a place fit for introverted souls like me, I could not blame myself why this feeling of separation is messing up my life now. At some point, the trip brought me an epiphany of what I really want and love to do. It rekindles my need to find my place in the universe.

But obligations and priorities stand in between my dreams, that is why I am fighting the urge to flee and fly away. The reality of the life ahead is daunting. I shall help myself cope up with these endless clamors as longer as I can.

For the past weeks, I have tried getting new stuffs to do at home or at work. I had redesigned my old nook, made some adjustments which I carried out solely. I took some time off to do something productive every weekend in the hope that perhaps this is just another boost of adrenaline calling me to be more upbeat which will then die naturally once fed… But even then, I could still feel the heart slowly breaking into pieces.

Everytime I glance at the endless horizon that had stood witness to my fervent longings, I see nothing but possibilities I am trying to drown because of fear for the uncertainties. It is for this reason that I unabashedly say, I am sad beyond words are able to explain.

Reverse culture shock is killing me. Fernweh… it breaks my heart like it used to.

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