The Angel

The first milestone I had was when I graduated in prep school. It was made more unforgettable because I sung onstage. Long before The Voice Kids  or Tawag ng Tanghalan Kids  happened, I tortured my poor classmates, their parents and guests, and my teachers with my voice. In my defense, my teachers made me do it. The succeeding milestones in my life were all that--graduations. From elementary, high school, and finally college. I say finally  because I'm glad that my formal education is over. I have no plans for further studies, except those short courses online that tap into my neglected creative side.

On my way to work today, an old, familiar song played on the radio. It was not the original but an even slower interpretation, as if at 5AM I needed to hear lullaby. Nevertheless, the recognition pulled me back to when I used to hum it. I was so much younger then, in high school, seemingly with an entire life ahead of me. I could see myself in the attic of our house watching the sun set over the horizon, an incomprehensible melancholy washing over me.

Did you ever wonder, he said, why we didn't become a couple? No, not really. I replied. Sometimes I do, he said. Why didn't we? I dunno. We were at different places, I guess. Really? You think? I don't know! I've never thought about it. Haha.

I took this picture using my phone when I was flying to Houston, Texas during the first weekend of October. It was a small plane with three-seat columns, one on one side and two on the other. The plane flew low and I could see the distant landscapes below me and there was this tug of war between the light and dark over the horizon as we went back one hour in time. I could see the moon clearly from my window and the setting sun on the other side. The clouds were above us and the land below. We were in the middle of everything and I thought, this is why I love flying. It gives you a perspective of the world that you cannot see when you're a part of it. It makes everything small and it gives me a separate peace from all the mess below. My mind feels less cluttered, as if nothing can weigh me down and nothing really matters. There's a great distance between me and my life below, as if when I'm in flight I do not participate in my life. It's a pause, a way to see thing...

I love how a shaft of light enters my new room to tell me it is morning. It reminds me of my old room when I was younger; how I can lie in bed and stare out the window, watch the sunrise or sunset or moonrise.  I had a view of the skies and the stars and on bad days I used to wish upon them even though I know it’s all malarkey. There’s something about being a kid that’s simple and provincial.  Whatever loneliness is washed away by stars, popsicles, and ice cream. It’s so far from that now.  I haven’t stayed or slept in that room for a very long time, not since I graduated from high school.  It has become an empty room, a storage for old, unused things.  I used to visit it when I go there, but I never stayed long enough to sleep.  Sometimes, I’d sit by the window at night and watch the people passing by below like I used to.  The view of the sky hasn’t changed much.  The stars, the ones I used to wish to, are still the same. Only I felt different...