The Lion City welcomed us in its perfectly ordered jungle beaming with joy. It was our first time traveling abroad with no one to really guide us so it felt like we just got out of our own cage in the form of our country. Everything was new and exciting and wonderful. Everyone are different and unique and beautiful. Singapore is a fast-paced place best shared with friends and I’m very lucky to have traveled with mine disguising as wild creatures but with really kind hearts.
Camping is one of those movie scenes I want to experience and our short escapade to this little beach brought to life an unforgettable moment that helped build our friendship. The conversation we had may have faded just like how the fire eventually lost its spark that night, but the cold sea will remember our whispers, the wind will still carry our tears away, and the stars in the sky will remain witness to the special bond that was formed.
First times—things we never forget. The trip to Legazpi marked my first experience in riding one of the greatest inventions of all time, the airplane. And it wants to be remembered in a between-pesky-and-amusing way because before we landed in Albay we had to ride two airplanes with the thick clouds being the culprit, it was also the first time I kind of hated clouds for existing.
However, all our annoyance and discontent went away when we caught sight of the magnificent perfect cone-shaped Mayon Volcano. It’s so beautiful you would stare at it every chance you get.
This vacation also marked the first of the numerous travel I’ll be having with my loves, the Zizis. And unlike the deserted Vanishing Island we visited, our friendship will remain.
January 2016 was spent going back and forth the metro and the province of Rizal. Pinto Art Museum slowed down three hours of my life for its collections with a lot of pieces just drawing you in; Batlag Falls made my early birthday celebration extra special because we were the only ones who swam on its cold and turquoise water that day; and Pililla Wind Farm blew our minds off the problems we face at that time by reminding us how big and beautiful the world is (and partly scaring us with its giant windmills).
Upon looking at my travel albums, I realized I wasn’t able to put the pictures much into use. And when my two crazy-silly-helpful friends listed down the places I’ve been to last year, they jokingly cursed at me for not blogging travel guides. They said it’s not too late to do so but I retorted that’s not really my thing. So instead of guides, I’m just gonna be publishing photo essays instead.
Now, don’t expect too much from the photos I’ll put out as I’m an amateur when it comes to photography (with some pictures grabbed from my friends), but I hope they could somehow translate the feelings and emotions I’ve felt during my travels, which are all good.
This photo essay project from my 2016 travels will be aptly called #thestrangehertravels and through the following weeks I’ll be uploading them, maybe every Friday. Though the photo essay will probably carry on in this blog for all my travels. And so is the hashtag. Wink
Shadows, one of my favorite things on Earth.
There’s been a lot of stories about shadows and it’s surprising that I have only created a single poem about it and a very short one at that. Probably because my fascination with shadows give me joy, unlike the melancholic feeling I get with the rain, sun, or moon. And when you’re happy you rarely think of anything else, you just smile and take the moment in.
P.S. I have more shadow pictures but it seems like I’m only fascinated with my shadow lol.
It has become unusually harder for me to create bittersweet stories which evoke a bit of melancholia ever since pain stopped knocking on my heart.
I am questioning myself if I could still feel something, anything—anger, bitterness, frustration, shame, love, sadness—towards some certain people in my life and how important that emotion is in our relationship, but I’m afraid at times I feel empty because there is nothing to feel.
I oppose being empty, my mind resists engaging at the very thought of it, my heart stubbornly refuses to believe it is real, that it could happen, especially to me.
I who have joined the bandwagon of cold people claiming they have empty hearts when they are really just lonely. I who turned sadness into art whenever tears reach the tip of my tongue, or even when tears haven’t come. I who became overly familiarized with pain that I recognize it in other people’s eyes and understand it with my heart. I who thinks of welcoming pain again in my life, just so I could divert my attention in feeling nothing when there could be everything, or even just a thing.
The rain used to make my ink bleed with pain, now I’m asking pain to make my ink bleed when it rains.