Tonight, now sat at my desk, contemplating whether I should break the tradition of The Weekend Closing just as I regularly do with My Week in Tweets. I had the words I wanted to write five minutes ago, and now they’re gone, but the feelings stayed there; feelings of immense gratitude eating me up from my stomach to my heart, like my insides bloat with this indescribable, irrepressible joy, and for all I knew, I just lived. In this house. In this room full of cracks and watercolor paints. On my own. Lately, it wasn’t that way. It was me and other human beings whose lives were interwoven with mine; those walking across the street, hands inside pockets, ears pressed into music, eyes somewhere other than straight. They were there, inside those houses, inside those jeepneys, inside those cars when I darted past by recklessly, being an amateur driver that I am. They were there, and so was I.
My only prayer is that whenever, wherever our encounter, it would be the good kind.
I could not be more appreciative of this little life God allowed me to live. Little, in the sense that I have only a small space, not much smaller than a master bath, and that’s where I dwell breathing galaxies in words. I have little contribution to society; I write selfishly. But I give; oh, I would like to give well, that one day I would be as purposeful as the farmers hunch on their back, producing food for the nation, or even the men who venture out to sink deep into the sewer to clean a property’s hidden dirt.
By driving, I wish to be a part of society; the kinder, wiser, and hopefully, more focused kind. I would not be driving for myself. I would be driving to serve the people who pulled down a little piece of heaven on earth for me.
This place where I am, this small, cramped room, is a heaven I celebrate, not because of its comforts, but because of the love. Because of the songs. Because of the laughter and stupid jokes and afternoon entertainment on television. It’s because of the worn-out photographs and yesterday’s food in the ref. Nope, we don’t have much, but to me, this, here, is a privilege.
I just had to share that I drove, a bit, dad’s car this afternoon. Just past the block before the car, err, I, decided to swing by the leftmost corner and almost swept the hedge before I paused to an unlucky brake. Not the starting point I had, but when I told my dad all about it, all he said was, “Good. Keep practicing.”
Always, I would wonder what privilege I have being breathed out into this family. And I take that privilege out, carry it in my bosom as I walk into society with a grateful self-esteem. I wish, though, that I will have a stronger hand to pick someone up and warm them during their coldest days. Even for a few seconds of encounter.
Excuse me, I must be rambling about the little things again. I am a small person. I love little things.
What I am really about to close this week:
Here’s to another month of managing the sleep-related blog of a beautiful luxury clothing brand, joining the content crew of a female-empowered company, and, perhaps a few more car practice days to finish my sesh? We had our passport renewed this week, slated for a May delivery, and I am excited for the decade to come, hoping that we can make more trips as long as our parents are healthy to have it!
This week, God taught me to listen instead to look. The sign is already there; it’s not glaring in bright lights. Listen. Just listen. What we see is deceptive, but the sound of advice, of compassion, of love and joy, are all true.