My Playground, My Refuge... Recycled, Retold and Still Sentimental

This used to be my playground.

This used to be my childhood dream

This used to be the place I ran to

Whenever I was in need of a friend...

Why am I writing anyway? For refuge, shelter from the storm that's been going on in my life. Since I am writing for refuge, why not write about my refuge. With all the consolation it has offered me, I owe that much.

My literal place of refuge is in Batangas where roads used to be unpaved and malubak. Up until late 2001, pahirapan maghanap ng signal. It was a place where you could think because of the silence. At night, all you can hear are the crickets and the occasional singing of the Lasinggeros (wow, parang boyband) belting out "Jingle bells, jingle bells, it's Christmas time in the city..." in the middle of May. It was the typical setting of a rural community where all the people know each other and are somehow, by some absurd way, your neighbor turns out to be your _th cousin because his/her lolo was the sister of the friend of the cousin of the aunt of ... you get my point right?

This was the place I ran to whenever I felt down. I didn't need to talk to the people, although sometimes it helped because they made me laugh with some of the advice they gave me. All I needed was to sit on the steps of the flight of stairs in my aunt's house after a satisfying meal (drown your sorrows in food) and stare into space. Somehow, after that, things cleared up for me.

That was my refuge. I always found time to go there when I needed to think or when I just had enough of the crazy world I lived in, especially in college when all the things went haywire because of the org, acads and every other relationship (romantic and non-romantic) fell apart.

This used to be our playground

This used to be our great escape

This used to be the place we ran to

This used to be our secret hiding place

It was a year after my college graduation that I went back there to confirm the fact that no place stays the same forever. The people I used to know have either moved away, gotten married and don't have time for silly stuff anymore, or passed away. The roads are still narrow but paved. There is a cellsite right in front of our house there so there's really no need to press my face into the window or go near the Godknowswhat tree to get a signal. Heavy traffic has already reached what we called the highway which used to be no wider than half of Mendiola. There were no 13 to 15-year olds playing badminton or riding their bicycles in the streets anymore. Most probably, they were all inside their houses, sending text messages to each other or in front of the television, watching cable TV or having a session with the Playstation. I did nothing that day, just sat on the steps for a couple of hours staring blankly ahead. In a few moments, I seemed to have left all my troubles behind and saw the bright future I had ahead of me.

The last time I went there was a year ago, although there were many times I was tempted to drop everything and run there to cry, wish the ground would open up and swallow me or just to sit on the steps and ponder upon the meaning of life and other things we all think of. But then I thought that if I turn my back on everything and run there every single time I think that I cannot go on, it will not be my refuge. It will be an excuse to run away and it would just ruin the value of the place for me. I now go on day after day thinking that when this is all over, I will go back there and cherish every step I take on the now paved road, every minute I sit on "my" steps, every breath of fresh air I get. Somehow, I have turned it into the light at the end of this long, dark and goddamned tunnel. That was my refuge. That is where I found the strength to go on and it will continue to be what it has always been for me.

This used to be our playground

This used to be our pride and joy

This used to be the place we ran to

That no one in the world could dare destroy

-For Threz, May 28,1995

-submitted to http://www.peyups.com/ a few years ago
Link: http://www.peyups.com/article.khtml?sid=3523

Patience is a virtue...

A lot of things can happen while waiting.

Yesterday, I was waiting for a friend somewhere when a girl approached me. "Excuse me, miss. Can I take a couples of minutes of your time?" I managed to put on a straight face and make a gesture to the effect that she can indeed take a "couples of minutes" of my time but inside, I was screaming OH MY GOD, worthy of Janice from the sitcom "Friends."

It turned out the girl was doing some fundraising thing... selling pens with calendars and all but I didn't understand another word she said, not because of the constant chatter of the people around us nor the music from some loudspeaker or another but because my mind just stopped understanding what she was saying and focused on every little grammatical error she made. Yes, the Grammar Nazi has returned. Funny things happen to those who wait.

Waiting. I hate that word.

Waiting. If you really want to torture someone, make him/her wait for something (or someone). You'll never know what the future holds and you can't do anything else but wait. It's the most horrifying word in the dictionary. Waiting.

Waiting.

That was what a girl was doing late last night by the Manila Peninsula. I was dropping my friend off at the taxi stand near the hotel so I slowed down a bit since I wasn't too familiar with the area. A girl in black was there, smiling in the general direction of the car and I thought that she mistook the car for someone else's... thinking it was her sundo. But then, she waved her hand in a way that I could only interpret as a pick-me-up signal. I wonder how long she's been waiting in that very spot and how long it took before another car came after me... one that would take her up on her offer. It's fascinating how tomorrow's bills will be paid by waiting by a lamp post at 11:30 p.m.

Waiting.

It's what I'm doing now... waiting for the COMELEC Precinct Finder page to load. I keep on thinking about a lot of things while waiting: how much I actually enjoyed taking up the 6 units of Filipino, Eric Bana as the father of my future illegitimate children, that I need to remind my groupmate to email me the powerpoint presentation for Tuesday, Eric Bana, the poor girl that offered me the pens but I couldn't blurt out anything coherent because I was trying so hard not to laugh..."

Waiting.

The most painful thing in the world. The worst way to torture yourself. But here I am, inflicting pain on myself.

I've been waiting for a lot of things... a lot of people for most of my life. But sometimes, waiting just isn't enough. A lot of things happen while we wait around-- life happens. And now, I'm ready to be part of what happens outside the world of waiting.