When you read a book, you usually don’t linger too long on one chapter, no matter how beautiful you think it is, or how wonderful it makes you feel. You move on to the next one, because you want to know what happens next. And you don’t dwell too long on a single chapter, just because you can’t get over the sorrowful turn of events. You may find yourself going through past pages, reliving what has already transpired, but you don’t ever stay stuck on one page. No, you simply must move on to the next one; you have to know what happens next. You have to know how it ends.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wondered whether or not I should go and 1) register a unique domain for my blog, or 2) create a Facebook page. My reasons for doing any of the two would range from the simplistic (It would be really, really cool) to the strategic (I would be able to get more views). Or, it was probably because for the longest time, I wanted to reach an audience. Continue reading
FIVE BIRDS BY THE NORTH GATE
Chapter 3: Drifting Away
There she goes.
From his new perch at the Aviary, the Red Owl watched silently as the Green Eagle flew past him. It was her last day today, and like Blue and Pink before her, Green was also setting out towards new horizons. I wonder if she’ll bump into Pink over the border, thought Red. The Green Eagle didn’t tell them much about where she will be settling in, only that it was beyond the border, more or less near where Pink was. The Red Owl found this amusing, this secrecy. He once thought of telling Green about it, but then decided against it. He didn’t want the Green Eagle’s last memory of him to be mixed with lingering annoyance.
The Green Eagle was nearly at the gate, when the Red Owl remembered something important.
Stars. Tiny little dots that light up the night sky. Sometimes, you’ll see clouds. You know they’re clouds, because of the illumination brought by the light of the moon. Hah, the moon. I could just stare at it for hours, and I still wouldn’t be close enough to reaching it. It would be just like when I was a kid, wishing to see space using a high-power telescope. I’m still light-years away from realizing that dream.
FIVE BIRDS BY THE NORTH GATE
Chapter 2: Branching Out
It was around three or four o’clock in the morning when the Red Owl first woke up. The moon was still out, and the stars still filled the night sky. There was a gentle coolness in the air; the kind that gave his feathered body a soothing chill.
Today’s the day, huh, thought the Red Owl to himself. Shaking the last ounce of sleep that was still in him, he readied himself and set out for the Aviary. Like the Blue Peacock, another one of his friends was going to leave.
It was Pink Parrot’s turn to say farewell.
As you get older, there’s always that slight chance that you get more sentimental. The pictures on the table speak of a thousand tales, of happy memories from a not so distant long ago. Little knick-knacks become more than just souvenirs; they’re like Horcruxes, bearing the soul of the one who once held them. As you hold one of the pieces in your hands, it’s as if a home movie plays in your brain, and you find yourself smiling at the sudden rush of nostalgia.
Unfortunately, where there is good, there will also be bad. Sad, painful memories that silently slice your heart. And probably even worse, those beautiful memories that leave you in a state of motionless delusion, forever longing for something which will probably never happen again. With each slice, your eyes, and most of the time your heart, can’t help but shed tears.
Good thing there’s The Onion Philosophy.
“Nag-field trip kami nun dati sa Corregidor.. tapos me tunnel dun sobrang dilim na sa loob na pinasukan namin.. tapos me isang lugar dun, parang labas yata ng gubat, me camera case; di namin alam kanino yun o bakit nandoon yun..”
That was the last story I’d tell my father. He passed away that morning, and as I desperately tried to revive him, all my untold stories were replaced with unanswered questions. There was no sense in fighting the tears that flowed; I was hoping against hope that he was just sleeping. There was no feeling in the doctor’s words when he told me that the slight movement I saw at the morgue was just rigor mortis. It was as if the sliver of hope that I was clinging to was cruelly snatched from me.
I close my eyes, and I listen to the sounds made by the rain as it falls on the roof. My mother is listening to a radio broadcast, but the words are just a buzz of incomprehensible chatter to me; I’m currently lost in my thoughts.
It’s the new year.
I can still remember a time not so long ago, when our apartment block was filled with the noise, sparks, and smoke that fireworks bring. There were more people occupying the units back then. If I recall correctly, one of our neighbors would go and light a firecracker on every corner. It was for luck, I think. Some sort of holiday tradition. I just thought they were being noisy.
A few years ago, I was also among those who celebrated the new year with lights and sparks. Mine was harmless though, compared to theirs. I just lit up those rockets that shoot a fountain of sparks probably up to 2 or 3 meters high. I wasn’t the one that bought those rockets. They were gifts, and it’s a shame to let a gift go to waste. They were beautiful to look at; it was as if each spark was a symbol of hope.
This is where I ended up before, after sending off a friend towards a very long journey. A year has already passed, and I’m here once again. Though I can always say that the bond remains, truth is, things are not the same. I’ve grown tired of the pattern, and I’ve grown weary from trying to make excuses for all the crap I have to deal with. As I make my way inside this hallowed sanctuary, I marvel at the events that have happened since that day, and at how it has led me back to the same path. Hopefully, it has made me a better person, or else this whole journey was all for nothing. Then again, maybe this whole trip is a prelude to a whole new exodus, and I have yet to place my foot towards that path.
I might as well head home.
And I think it’s gonna be alright
Yeah, the worst is over now
The mornin’ sun is shinin’ like a red rubber ball
-Red Rubber Ball by Cyrkle
We rarely get the chance to rise up from our downfall. Sometimes, we get used to the idea that we can never come back that we lose all sense of hope; our spirit quashed and laid to rot in the desert of depression.
But just when we think nothing seems to work, we risk our lives on a gamble, on a wild idea that forever nagged you ever since you thought it plausible. You don’t even have time to cross your fingers. The first step has been taken; might as well continue forward with no regrets.
To your delight, your gamble pays off! The mad theory that you conjured has been your redemption. You are now given a clean slate, ready once more to start anew. This battle may seem repeating, but you will always press on, because the rewards far outweigh the struggle.