Drowning in Nostalgia

I’m curled up in a sizable sofa, lost underneath layers of blankets and comforters. I could hear buzzes of conversations in the background, as well as the faint sound emitting from a laptop’s speaker. My eyelids start to flutter as fatigue rears its head and the warmth of the sofa invites me to let go of the realm of reality and embrace the domain of dreams.

As I begin to drift into the land of slumber, a wave of nostalgia starts to take over me. Memories of younger Maris curled up in 5/54-Odell-Street and IB64-Betag sofas, wrapped in comfortable blankets, falling asleep in front of ongoing TV shows begin to make their way into my mind. I start to feel the same contrast of the coolness in my cheeks and the warmth on my toes. Then the same warm fuzzy feelings. Then the same comfort, like that which a mug of hot chocolate brings on a cold rainy day. Memories, memories, brought back again by my present realities.

Yep. I’m drowning in nostalgia. Been swimming in it actually, and now I’m drowning in it.

I’ve been been swimming in this sea for the most part of the month of August. Been having nostalgia attacks everywhere I turn. For the most part of the month, every sight, every location, and every experience would remind me of something that I had also seen, been to, and experienced somewhere and sometime in the past.

The cafeteria and hallway of Burhan reminded me of the Thoughts Beyond Culture 2, of that time that me and a whole bunch of my friends participated in that cultural and academic exchange that proved that friendship transcended distance, language, and culture, of that event that sort of started this all.

The escalators and walkways at Mines, Alamanda, and KLCC gave me a remembrance of my last months in the Philippines, of those moments that I’ve shared with a couple of close friends there, and those  hours that I spent bonding with them in the SM Ayala, Glorietta, and Greenbelt area.

And most recently, the cool air at the Cameron Highlands gave me a recollection of my last days home, of my last moments with my family in La Trinidad, Benguet, and of that final outing with my beloved friends and batchmates, of the laugh and cry-fest that we had those 48-plus hours together.

Cafeterias, hallways, escalators, walkways, cool air… and even more…. all these have sent in floods of nostalgia, waves of cherished memories that I have been drowning in.

But a gasp of fresh air and a sudden resurfacing leads me to sweep those memories back into my memory bank, grateful for them, but now aware that tomorrow will bring another day.

As my eyes begin to give way, I fall asleep knowing that I will awaken to a brand new morning. As the conversations and other sounds around me grow fainter, I acknowledge them to be the sounds and voices that I would be hearing for the next few years of my life. And as I sink deeper into the sofa, as I become truly lost underneath the blankets and comforters, I sink deeper into the reality that I am now here making new memories, lost in the fact that soon, falling asleep in big sofas underneath warm blankets would bring me back to this moment in the Villa Dahlia at the Cameron Highlands.

I sink deeper into this reality. New memories await. And if later on, the waves of nostalgia would come rushing back, I’ll have those new memories to drown in.

I’ll have those new memories to drown in.

Got to Write

My fingers are sore, my eyes are getting droopier and droopier, and tiny pimples are starting to sprout on my cheeks and forehead. And it’s half-past one.

But I have to write. I’ve got to write. Or else this flow of words will come to a sorrowful halt.

So let me type away. Type away about what? Well, what else do these fingers type about?

Life. Love. Leaving???

Sounds like Shiela.

But those are rather nice topics.

So here goes.

Life. Buhay. This Wednesday, I was able to pay the Philippine Embassy a visit. I went there with some Filipino friends and because of some circumstances, we actually paid the embassy two visits. One in the morning and another in the afternoon.

So there was a waiting period in between the two visits. Guess where we spent the waiting period? At KLCC. At the food court.

But no, we didn’t pig out on the stuff sold there. We just simply sat down. And did our own thing. While waiting.

The person I was with that time did some budgeting. I did some people-watching.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a stalker or anything like that. But our spot at the food court faced the park which was one or so floors down. So what else could I do but watch the people there?

There were these Koreans (or Chinese, or Japanese – I’m not really quite sure) taking some pictures of themselves with the towering KLCC towers as their background.

There was this guy walking briskly carrying some sort of briefcase or laptop bag.

There were these men in rubber boots walking all over the pond, scattering stuff over the waters.

There were tourists, locals, Caucasians, Asians, old people, young people – all there but all living their own lives.

It made me wonder. What were their life-stories? What made those Koreans come to KL? How long were they staying there? And what of that man? Where was he heading? What was running through his mind as he hurried across the park? Well he sure was a stark contrast to the rubber-booted men. Now did those men do the water-walking and stuff-scattering to feed their families? Or did they do it for the mere fun of walking on water?

So many lives. So many different stories. Made me think about my own life story. Made me think about those of my friends. Made me think about yours. So tell me. What is your life story?

Love. Pag-ibig. Storge, Philia, Eros, and Agape. I’ve written about storge, philia,and agape. I have written some stories about love of the romantic kind. (See: Marry Christmas – Ashley and Laura’s stories). But never talked about it directly. Never really shared my thoughts and experiences about it in a direct manner either. Well, not in this blog anyway.

And I’m not going to. Write or talk about it directly, I mean. Let’s settle for funny stories and metaphors for now. :)

Time will come when I would cut the metaphors and write it straight out.

Leaving. Pag-alis. Parting is such a sweet sorrow. But that’s life. You have to deal with goodbyes. That’s love as well. One popular high-schoolish quote goes like this: “If you love someone, let him/her go. If he/she comes back, he/she is yours, if he/she doesn’t he/she never was.” Or something like that.

So why this note on leaving?

Well, because this blog ends here. My fingers, my eyes, and my pimples can’t take it any longer. And now it’s half-past two.