I’m a very happy bunny. God knows his stuff.
It’s been a while.
The past few
weeks months have been a blur.
It’s been feelings upon feelings,
and upon feelings.
An in-between mood still lingers in the air,
not leaving—just there.
Oh, but the smell of possibility is nearby–
far off, but I get it in whiffs.
That’s not bad, at least it’s there.
There are new people in my life.
People that I have to depend on.
must choose to trust them,
I do so—
fearfully, as most people do,
with fingers crossed,
eyes open and afraid,
hands pulsing between clenched…and less clenched,
stuck in the feeling of being just after breathless–
taking slow but less labored breaths,
and only just the occasional sigh.
It’s 6:28pm. I’m in a cafe in BGC, waiting for 7pm because I have to attend a Christmas party event thing for a local airline. And I suddenly find myself feeling something that I haven’t felt in so long.
I am in the mood to write.
Which tells you that I either have free time in my hands, or I feel inspired. I’m neither, to tell you the truth.
Perhaps its the lovebirds in front of me, extraordinarily young things that gab a lot about life, or their version there of, or maybe it’s Jeeves, my husby sitting beside me to my right— looking stressed about a missing unfinished article—I don’t know.
But I’m in the mood to write.
Perhaps I can write about what I’m feeling — this strange feeling of in between that has been with me since — I dunno— months before my wedding? Perhaps I can write about wanting to drink the plum sake I bought from my honeymoon — I can imagine sipping it — sweet and tart — smooth as silk — down my throat it goes —
oh wait, the kids are leaving.
The view’s clear — I’m at the second floor, I look down and I see — a lot of people walking, some sitting, and a lot of lights. Christmas lights, it’s the holiday season after all.
I’m in between, and even though I’ve been in this place a lot of times, I can’t get used to it.
Jeeves interrupts, asks me what Chef Claude Tayag’s restaurant’s name again. I tell him — “Bale Datung, Balay Datung… I dunno.. google to be sure?” which basically sums up everything, I guess.
Unsure, yes. Scared, yes. And a lot of people might think this is about marriage, but it’s not– not entirely. I’ve stopped crying and being homesick for a while now, and I can’t seem to sleep in our room without my husband beside me. Yes, clingy. (I know!)
People are leaving my life. Special people. Staple people. The people that I thought I would see grow old, as they’ve seen me grow old. You trust in a higher power that this is how it’s supposed to be, but just like any ending– it still hurts. That little sting that won’t go away.
There’s other things — family members that disappoint. Family members that are hurt. But the universe gives you what you need— always, and that’s why I think I’m teaching Emotional Intelligence these days. First thing about that — self-awareness.
Which is perhaps the reason for this need to write, this mood to express — self-awareness isn’t much if you just think it. I don’t know if that’s scientifically proven, but I feel like it’s supposed to be that way. Although putting into words these feelings is hard, even futile sometimes– these complex bastards change as often as one breathes. Something really fast– in between heartbeats, a heart breaks. Ganon.
My husband just asked me about how to make Chicken Gallantina. I answer him — traditionally, you take a whole chicken and you take out the bones — from the inside — you reach in with your hands– one by one you take the bones out — all without tearing the skin. Then you stuff it with a forcemeat of pork and chicken, a few veggies, and you can put eggs in there too, I say. Then you tie it. Then you steam it. And there you have it! Something that at first glance may look like an ordinary/pale boiled chicken dish, but when you cut into it — it’s so much more.
There should be an analogy about what I’m feeling and that Chicken Gallantina right now. Something profound and exciting, I’m not in the mood to make it though.
And there it ends, the mood to write.