Breathing / Space

Breathing.

Space. 

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Imagine a busy train station.  People, places, lives.  Each entity with their own  crazy qualms and little  destinations, wanting to go someplace, wanting to go to someone.

I am here enough to have a usual spot.  The seat right in the middle, towards the sunlight, on the first cart -- exactly where it isn't too crazy on crazy days, and exactly where the cool air hits.  When the train starts down the rail, I fall into a trance automatically, drifting away.

So much has happened... so much is happening.  In my inattention, I find myself suddenly thrown to the crowd without notice.  Helpless, hopeless, and possibly in a matter of self-preservation, I let myself get carried away by the crowd. I've been pushed and shoved into places I've never been before -- to limits that don't exist, to orange lit streets alone (and lonely?), down 200 steps and into deep dark caves, late night car drives and sudden deaths (when is it not sudden?).  All in a matter of a few months. Life, unlike trains, doesn't run on carefully aligned tracks.  It is a great big jumble of things that just happen without consideration to the past, present or future.  It just is. So much has happened.  Somewhere in my blog I said that I write to remember.  I haven't had the chance, but here I am now while time allows me.  It's nice to finally be able to siphon through memories.

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Saturdays have been full, and Sundays empty (with sleep, with plates, with obligations).  The week in between filled with sleep, the road and the University. It was crazy. Crazy, with all the deadlines.  Crazy with people not caring.  Even crazier how I am 21 and starving for attention.

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I was selected for a competition.  We were a team of five. Obra Maestra is an annual inter-school Interior Design competition.  It was great stress but great fun and a wonderful experience.  We won the Grand Prize and People's Choice award.  (It's okay to be sad, it's okay to be happy.)

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On one of those nights from an Obra Maestra meeting, in the car with my brother on the driver's seat was a call, a grim face and "Kuya Paulo just passed away."  My mind couldn't process it.  Is this some kind of joke?  He was a funny guy, therefore this must be a prank.  The night grew darker, even in the midst of streetlights and headlights, the truth creeping up to us in the silence.  How could this be real?  He just turned 30, he had a wife, a son.  Nothing made sense.  (It's okay to be sad.)

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I've been to museums -- Yuchengco, Metropolitan Museum, Lopez (my personal favorite).  Art is amazing.  Manila has so much potential. I discovered new places, new faces.  I climbed down a mountain, got submerged in a river and went through a cave (or should I say, a hole).  All for Jose Rizal.  I broke the Law. I (It's okay to be happy, to be amazed, excited.)

&

I got pushed and shoved, and I let the crowd carry me. The trains aren't stopping. Here I am now. So much has happened. It's okay to be sad, it's okay to be happy.  Life is a big jumble of this and that.  Limits (sometimes) don't exist.