There is not only more to each soul’s journey than we imagine, usually there is more than we can imagine. –richard paul evans
Why is it that sometimes, my day seems so incomplete if I don’t share my thoughts here? I remember that one time a friend told me that “even blogging is a way of life”. Do you agree?
Five years, a long time to share one’s thoughts in cyber space. I never thought that I will last this long in the blogging world. It gets more addicting when you find new friends who really and sincerely admire your posts and read everything down to the misplaced comma or misspelled word. Maybe if I would collate all these from the first few lines I wrote when I started, I’ll have a thick book by now. Scattered thoughts, broken dreams, unfulfilled promises, disappointments, happy and delirious moments that I just have to write about because seeing them in print (even just in this platform) is the only way I know how. Somehow when you feel so alone in a crowd, you turn to something that would make your world a little brighter even just for a few moments. The good thing about writing your thoughts (but not necessarily sharing them to the world) is that you learn to cope with the dark days and see the promise of a new day. The sun always rises even if there is a storm but you don’t always see it. You look back and sometimes you wonder, did you really think that it would make a big difference to the world or make a dent in yours? I must admit, there is that kind of self-fulfillment when you write no matter how mundane or unimaginative your thoughts are.
Two nights ago, I dreamed of Dad. You know that kind of dream that goes on through the night and lasts till you open your eyes to the morning sun touching your face. It’s been almost seven years now since he left us one Friday night in a cold December. I miss those days when we used to talk a lot about anything under the sun, the way he struggled in life at a very young age because my grandfather who got married a second time when they were small cannot afford to send them all to school at the same time. They were fifteen in all (half-siblings included) and I was a year older than my youngest aunt. We were quite lucky to study in a prestigious university all through high school and college because of his efforts. He was a brave soul and I miss him. It is always around this time of year that I get so nostalgic and yearn for the good old days when he was alive. I always blog about him on his birthday and death anniversary.
This might seem a childish wish, but I want to see Ayala Avenue at night with all the twinkling dancing lights and sounds, some moments that would make a child wish for a starry, starry night. I asked Nissa if she could take a picture of it some time before they go home after office.
Life told, dreams shared, moments cherished. The journey is one long road of discovery.
(this is my 1,535th post according to WordPress)