This is Not a Hopeless Case

So my cousins and I were by the lake. Out of the blue, a raft presented itself to us, complete with paddle. Of course, we said yes to the invitation.

We drifted until noon along with the prayers in Filipino broadcasted from the church nearby.

"Aba Ginoong Maria, napupuno ka ng gracia..."

Along the way, we made friends with a fisherman. He told us he would die if he had to live far from water. 

He mentioned about his ex-wife. "Meron akong asawa dati na nakatira sa loob ng bulkan ng Taal" ("I used to have a wife; she lived inside the Taal Volcano"). "I still visit her there once in a while".

Sometimes I wish I grew up in the province. I always love listening to their stories. A taxi driver from Leyte once told me:

"Hindi ako nakapag-aral kaya hindi ako marunong sa mga office na yan. Pero lumaki ako sa probinsya. Marunong akong mabuhay" ("I didn't get to study so I don't know much about office work. But I grew up in the province. I know how to live").

I tucked my phone away. 

It is disturbing to realize how unaccustomed I have become in allowing myself to simply breathe. 

And as if seeing my family again after a for a long time, I only started noticing now how much they've changed. They seem a lot different from how I've always seen them in my mind. 

How can we be updated in our virtual counterparts (our Facebook/Instagram/Twitter 'selves') when we cannot even stay present with the people we are physically with?

Going back to Pansipit, Agoncillio in Batangas (where SM and so-called "land developers" have not yet touched), I was reminded of how much love was shared and taught in this place- by our grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins. I was finally present with my family.

So pardon if you would find the next paragraphs "cheesy", but instead of cringing, I ingest these words with wine and maturity.

I would like to thank my family for reminding me that the world is not devoid of love.

Therefore, this is not a hopeless case.

My family shows me something light, fluid and golden. It pours out from our house, to our neighbors, to strangers, even rushing its way to our brothers and sisters in the mountains and farther shores.

It rushes farther from our bodies and beyond our polished, material selves. There is more than enough love to give.

My parents failed to teach me rules and religion (or maybe I failed to learn them). But I will always thank them for teaching me to just continue being a better person.

I can only hope that this is something I could share with the people I encounter, transient as we may all be. I'm sure you have a different definition. We would also like to learn yours :) 

Maybe then, we'd start floating out of our bodies, farther from our pampered selves.

Maybe then we'd start telling better stories- the kind that are suns and universes large that they crack not only the skulls, but the minds of every sane person in this planet... open.

We sat under a tree by the Taal Lake. There was a fisherman paddling from afar. We watched his gentle strokes form waves in the water. The soft waves reached the dock where we were seated. On our side was a raft, complete with paddle that's been washed to the shore by the current.

That was our invitation.