I WAS GROUNDED at home a few weeks ago. I woke up that morning with goop on my eyes, and upon visiting the doctor, he confirmed what I had suspected. I have the pinkeye, sore eyes or more scientifically called conjunctivitis. He ordered for me to stay home till he could see me again a week after. No clearance, no work. To top it off, my recent asthma attack escalated to a full on cough and colds. It seemed the Universe had conspired that I stay home that week and stay home I did.
If it weren't for the tight deadlines of our current projects at the animation studio, I would have tried to sneak to work yesterday or today. But I knew better than to disrupt the delicate balance of creativity and stress that has filled the studio for at least 3 months now.
On Day 5 of being grounded, I finally learned to relax. For the first 2 nights, everytime I closed my eyes, I would dream about work, my pending projects and 101 ways that they could go wrong. I woke up mentally tired. My waking hours were accentuated by my intermittent coughing. My sides were hurting from the effort of coughing. I tried to escape to the nearby Starbucks, disguising my pinkeye with the coolest and cheapest dark glasses that I never use. But I kept coughing the whole time I was writing on my journal in the midst of law students studying quietly on the second floor of the cafe that I decided to finish my one-page and walked back home.
So I told myself, Enough. I decided that I was shutting off from the world and getting my much needed time off. After 3 visitors and 2 good night's rest, I finally woke up more like my old self. Did it have anything to do with the fact that it was a Friday? Was I faking any of the brain-shaking coughs that had me spewing out my lungs, my appendix and FIRE? I think not. Besides, the doctor said, "Maybe I'll give you clearance on Monday. Sometimes these take 2 weeks to clear."
***
For months now, I've been trying to understand the meaning of mindfulness. I've been trying to change my attitude and motives towards things but finding myself going back to the old habits of a workaholic. Meaning keeping busy equals being productive. But oftentimes, I was exhausted without actual results.
Things do have a way of happening all at once. During the week that I was out of commission, we had 2 deaths in the family. Two of my cousins passed away suddenly due to a heart attack. Both of them in their mid-fifties.
The signs were very clear.
It was a reminder to live a more purpose driven life. Since returning to Manila in 2013, reinventing myself in my career, caring for my 84 year old adopted mother and recovering from 2 breakups last year, sometimes it's easy to ride the tides of life and forget to paddle against the waves.
I have to admit that I fell into a psychological depression when I turned 45 this year. I felt like I had somehow missed the boat somewhere in between building my career and shuttling back and forth between Manila and Toronto. While I was making up for lost time between my biological family and my adopted parents, I had forgotten to build my own family.
***
Last night, I slept in my new home for the very first time. I woke up this morning in the quiet space in disbelief and awe that the place was mine. My mom, her caregiver and our home helper won't be moving as of yet. There is still work to be done in this apartment, brand new, tabula rasa. I'm still designing my kitchen space.
As I walked around the 3 bedrooms, admiring the view from the topmost floor, I had this warm fuzzy feeling in the middle room, which I'm turning into my creative space. I have been spending weeks browsing in Pinterest and Instagram for this home project, and I kept finding myself drawn to pink. I don't intend to use pink for my bedroom. Gosh, I can't even remember the last time I had a pink bedroom. Way back in high school, I think. My current room is blue and my new room will likewise be blue. But lately, I've been looking at pink rooms, pink flowers and colors that go well with it.
As I was standing in my creative space, while slowly turning right in the center of the room, I felt that this room could be perfect as a nursery someday. Where that came from, I don't even know. I have read somewhere that when considering adoption, there should be space intended for the baby. I quickly brushed the thought away.
For now, I am building this space as my writing nook. I have spent enough time proving to myself that I am a left-brain thinker. Most importantly, I've proven to myself that I can be an adult. During my sick week, I read and reread books that reminded me that I should live the kind of life I want to write about. Most importantly, that I should write. While living, here and now.
So here I am. I am back. I am writing. I am home in my own skin.
