baliswa

01/1/12

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 You didn’t realize that it’s the last day of 2011. Maybe for you- it did not matter much.  You moved fast as you were running late, shook the table accidentally and Hyacinth’s mug of coffee dripped. You said sorry.  You don’t believe in age that much but for the record, she’s 18. She’s going to Japan, her third country visited -July. You are to be interviewed.

“What drives you to go out there and help?” It’s one of the many questions. And there she clicked her phone to record everything. Ryan was smiling, doing some hand signals from  the barista corner. You were holding a mug of cocoa. You could not even come up with a definite reason why you were there, in that moment. To be interviewed. To be the answer of most youngsters in your little town. You found it a little over the top. A little weird, but yeah you feel in awe for such a surprising invitation.

You told her it’s a tough question because the answer is just too abstract. You told her it’s a gravity that remains nameless. A feeling that blossomed somewhere from the inside. Maybe for others it’s passion, for others- it’s a calling. For you, it’s something that melts and dances. And there you go, holding a hand, listening to a dream, sharing a hug. In a hasty recall, you told her about walking from the Sitio to the town proper just to go to school, flying kites, going through being a money-making robot, being on the road for 6 months alone, living intensely mad, living in seclusion near the hills and the sea, being breadwinner, being detached a bit, being in a great loving romantic relationship, being depressed, being just anything- label-less, tagless, box-less, nameless…and so forth.

The interview lasted for minutes, the entire “talk” for hours. You listened much. She told you about this far-flung barrio that she’s been to and how an old man from a hut shared to her what they’ve got- dried fish and instant noodles. She told that you with magic in her eyes. She also told you about the ills of the government, the tea pots in South Korea and the planner from Starbucks. You told her something about Starbucks and you sounded preachy. haha. So she left to the hills with her churchmates to share gifts with the aetas.

And on the last day of 2011, you finally talked with Ryan. He and 3 of his friends built Le’ Art Cafe. He wants it to be a venue for young people who are interested in the arts and dreams because he feels that maybe, the next someone larger than life is just a little boy in Barotac Viejo who needs some encouragement. You missed lunch for stories. And so there you go again, mental holes. You listened much, learned : coincidences, kindness on the road, first-hand experience over books, culture vs modernization, capitalism, a copy of a copy of a copy, trimming inessentials, humility, real love vs pop culture, spirituality. And soon, hit the road again with no expectations - with him, your sister , your cousin , and a step backward from a day job.

You spent some moments serving frappe to customers and went home walking alone. Then a flash of thoughts ran in your head, a flash in a beautiful slow mo: hundreds of one-time encounters with chitchats, places that made you commune with nature so intimately, a series of lows, mini-eternities and natural highs, lovely lovely people whose names echoed in your head and suddenly you wanted to tell them i love you i miss you thank you, soft kindness, this and that which strengthen the mind, soften the heart, destroy the wall between the yours and theirs, the tamed and the wild.

And while walking you smile at the thought of a porch, friends, some stars, talking about war. 5 or 10 years later. War. Not because you were soldiers but because you’ve lived.

 

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