Radio Silence

A draught comes in through my open windows, stirring the stillness in my candlelit room. Outside, the silhouette of houses and trees absorb light and reflect none—pitch black, against a grey crop of sky. My dogs bark, their voices magnified by echoes. Distantly, another dog answers. But there’s no sound of technology: no televisions, no music, nothing save for the tapping of my fingers against the keyboard, the glow of my laptop illuminating the gloom. This brownout feels a bit like radio silence, a bit like the provincial quiet I grew up in. It feels like a much-needed pause, a break from a decidedly urban life.

And just when you’re starting to grow accustomed to the semi-darkness, to the silence, to the temporary disconnect, the lights come back on.

At least you’ve remembered something important: breathe. (Your old mantra, remember.)

Until next time.

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Novus

Albeit being the shortest month of the year, February is surprising in its capacity to hold so many experiences in such a limited amount of time.

It’s so rare for me, a notorious homebody, to be outdoors experiencing things. I’ve been really stressed this February for a lot of reasons (e.g., pulling my grades up so that I can still get a full scholarship next semester, and generally trying to survive the Biology life—which isn’t rainbows and butterflies, I tell you). On top of that, I’ve been engaged in a string of sleepless nights, which was really terrible. The fatigue really hollowed me.

Beyond all the academic humdrum, however, life is unfolding. 21-year old me is very happy, and tired in a good way.

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XX

It rained this morning on my way home from the university. It drummed loudly on the roof of the shuttle I was riding and it whipped against the windshield with surprising ferocity.

I was reminded of past rainy birthdays in Bicol. December days were wet, December nights achingly cold. I used to dislike it as a child. The foreboding nimbus clouds rained on my parade. Birthdays should be spent basking in sunrays and eating cake. I’ve never been fond of the rainy season, but as I rode that shuttle earlier today, it reminded me of how I used to be.

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Chapter XVIII

I was born on December.

Whether it was sunny or cold out, I do not know. I have no memory of my birth, of how my mother reacted as she first saw me under the glare of hospital lights, of how the sterile air tasted, of how various hands felt as they held me. What I do have is my mother’s memory: how she labored for hours on end to give birth to me, how the first thing she saw was the mole that stood quite proudly on my left arm, how she felt like I was a gift from God on that very day: her birthday, and mine.

And I just turned 18. Let me tell you the story on that.

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Potpourri: Sembreak, 2012

It really is a joy to have my days filled. Not  the schoolwork-filled kind—the fun-with-the-family kind. The onslaught of the first semester left me exhausted to the marrow, and the stress was beginning to weigh down on me, physically, mentally, emotionally. The first semester of my Dentistry proper hurt in both literal and figurative senses. I may have shed a tear or two (READ: weep) a couple of times during it. But there’s no point crying over spilled milk. The point is that it’s over and I’m free from school (in the meantime, anyway) and I’m just so happy I have a great family!

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Shibboleths of Summer

Two solid months of free time will be over after this day ends. Personally, I never want it to end. But like all good things, this too will come to a conclusion. This summer has been a terrific one because the seemingly endless stretch of time allowed me to find what I haven’t been looking for. Serendipity. Thank God for that.

This post is part-tribute, part-summary of how I passed these two wonderful months.

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