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
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