A Year of Yes

THIS picture is definitely US. 

I am a straight line and only you can convince me to embrace the winding road. "Can we stop here to take some pictures and rest for a moment?" is a question you often ask whenever we're together. Perhaps in this question encapsulates our true story. 

Many years ago, my brother Manuel told me that love is when you can sit quietly with someone for hours and feel complete happiness in the simplicity of that moment. We had that, right from the very start. For sometime, it didn't make sense that that could be enough. So we lived our separate lives in separate cities, focused on our differences and not what makes us good together. And, occasionally, we traveled together. 

It Might Be You

"WHEN was the last time I felt truly happy?"

I was stumped, like a deer caught in the headlights, when I was faced with the question in an exercise during a workshop at work. In fact, I was multitasking that day. I didn't want to miss the workshop about goal-setting but I was knee-deep in paperwork. So I took my laptop with me, composing sentences in my head and typing away as I was half-listening to the lecturer and answering the exercises half-heartedly. Until. Until the last set of questions came up.

I was able to answer the rest: the last time I felt success, the last time I felt at peace and the last time i felt proud of myself. But happy? And that struck me hard. Because I always thought of myself as a cheerful person. I did a quick inventory of memories in my mind but I was coming up blank. My recent happy memory was when I was with my parents in Rome last year. I was happy then, but not completely so.

I didn't want to admit it but it bothered me so much because the truth is that all the happy memories I had were times spent with you. Since we broke up, I've stored all those moments and images in a place where I can't easily reach them. Because each picture, each trigger, brought back so much pain. I've been pretending to smile, pretending that I wasn't hurting because that's what grown ups do.

I never imagined that I would ever hear from you again. Yet there you were, like an apparition. For three days, I saw you.

Thank you for giving me back my smile. I was looking all over for it. I didn't realize it was with you all along.

So the answer to the question is -- WHEN YOU'RE IN MY LIFE. Yes life does go on without you. Yes I do the things I need to do because that's just who I am. That's how I deal with the world, everyone else first, myself last. But I am like an empty shell that gives without filling up again when I'm without you. 

I'm happy that you're in my life again. It's as if we're getting to know each other all over again, building from a place where we left off. Life isn't perfect and we are our own imperfect selves. But love, forgiveness and understanding repairs those broken pieces.

Let's take our time to get to know these two individuals. This time from a place of honesty and trust. Like you said, a new chapter. Know that I'm not going anywhere. Because why would I want to be lost again?

A Sight for Sore Eyes

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.

You Can Take the Island Girl Out of the Island

Harry and I bid so long to San Francisco the next morning. We were on our way to famous Big Sur. This part of California 1 was elevated. The drop from the highway to the ocean below averages 50 feet. At times it looked as if we were as high as 100 feet. We crossed Bixby Creek Bridge before noon. We stopped on the side of the road before we crossed the bridge to take in the view. It is a Big Sur landmark definitely worth taking in its full splendor.

We made it to Big Sur Bakery & Restaurant for lunch as we had planned. This little restaurant along the road had so much charm. The staff had flair. The food was excellent as well. We shared an open-faced pulled pork sandwich that had the perfect mix of flavors and spices that even my imaginative palate couldn't decipher. If you are ever in the area, definitely worth a too long lingering lunch.

It could have been the salt-water air, the clear skies or the blindingly bright sunlight. I couldn't tell for sure. But California invites you to take your time, makes you forget that you have miles and miles to go before the day is over.

Between Big Sur and Santa Barbara, we saw elephant seals lounging on the beach. Going nowhere. Cooling off on the sand. We watched black condors soaring the blue skies above.

If you look closely, you can see the Piedras Blancas Light Station, another historic lighthouse, in the photo below. We didn't get close to it because it was a few miles away from California State Route 1.

We saw the Hearst Castle from the road but weren't able to see it either because the grounds had limited viewing schedules during off season. So we found ourselves entering the William Randolph Hearst Memorial State Beach where we got lost in time.

The giddiness I felt after getting sand in between my toes and getting them wet on the ice cold water stayed with me long after we left NorCal. After that, we drove straight to San Diego to my childhood best friend's home. We had finally reached the part of our trip when we would be spending time with family and friends who are like family. We stayed for three nights and three days with Cris's family in San Diego. For our last two nights, I watched Harry shine with contentment as he bonded with his sister, Chrissie, her hubby, Sam, and his nephew, Ian, in LA. On our last full day, we saw three more beaches, namely Redondo Beach, Venice Beach and Santa Monica Beach, in California.

One truth I learned from this trip -- there is no such thing as too many beaches, too much sunshine nor too much happiness.

Memories fade. Photos and timelines get confused. But one thing remains. Love, baby, love.

California 1: The Pacific Coast Highway

We snuck out of North Bend while it was still dark out. As we watched the sun rise on the road, I thought to myself that this is the stuff that dreams are made of. Being in the middle of nowhere, with a view that refreshed to something more magnificent than the one we just passed, with my most favorite person in the world, and with the rising and setting of the sun as our only time constraints.

How do you commit to memory those images that a camera couldn't even capture? That moment when I looked at him and noticed beyond his shoulder an egret skimming the surface of the river running parallel to the road. That moment when I saw an old man on his bicycle riding at 10 kph, hauling a cart behind him full of goodies and his dog trailing right behind him. Was he making a delivery? That moment when we stopped at a view deck and I saw a pod of seal lions swimming a few meters off the shore. That moment when I saw a solitary fawn standing across the road, in between a rock wall and the cars that zoomed past. It was Bambi in the flesh, just standing there looking lost and scared that I was afraid it would get run over. Or the curious case of rows of mailboxes on the side of the road with no homes in sight. But what about the moment we saw dinosaurs along the road?

I swear, as soon as we crossed the borderline between Oregon and California, the sky cleared and the sun kept us company all the way to San Francisco that day.

We stopped at Battery Point Light. This lighthouse is historically significant because it was one of the first lighthouses in the California coast. It stands atop a tiny islet that is only accessed on foot at low tide. It is a bit of a walk down from the parking lot, across the beach on sand and loose rocks and up the steep hill to the lighthouse. 

"Your Chucks aren't the best shoes for hiking, are they?" he said smiling as he extended his hand to me. 

"These look better on pictures," I admitted as I took his hand.

After we took pictures and played around with the video mode on his iPhone, we continued to drive on to San Francisco.

We drove thru a giant Sequioa at Drive-Thru Tree Park. To get in the park, we had to pay a minimal fee to the park keeper. You wouldn't believe it but the keeper was this adorable little old lady who wanted us to stay and chat about her flower box full of Violets in bloom. If I didn't know any better I would think she was one of the faeries living in the forest.

We took a detour through a portion of Redwood Forest.  Can you find me in the photo below?

We were still over 200 miles away from San Francisco. But we carried on, literally chasing the

sunset. Because we extended for a day in Portland and didn't plan for how much distance we could cover by driving in twelve-hour of sunshine kind of day, we agreed to skip sightseeing in San Francisco so we could head out to Southern California early the next day. Harry and I have both visited San Francisco separately in the past. So it was a great surprise that Route 101, known as California 1 in this part of the coast, and our rented GPS led us to the Golden Gate Bridge on our way to the place where we were staying for the night. There are no words to describe the feeling of crossing the longest, most recognizable suspension bridge in the world at 60 mph or 100 kph. It was a welcome that was uniquely San Francisco, the city that was named after St. Francis of Assisi.

Be praised, my Lord, through all Your creatures,

especially through my lord Brother Sun,

who brings the day; and You give light through him.

And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor!

Of You, Most High, he bears the likeness.

- St. Francis of Assisi, Canticle of the Sun