"All I really need is a pen and a paper. And the ocean in front of me." (Journal entry; November 2, 2007).

I remember this day, it was one of those postcard-perfect afternoons in Half Moon Bay. I wanted to write a poem but I ended up spending hours staring at the water, taking a couple of pictures, flipping the blank pages of my journal every now and then, burying my feet in the sand, spying on seagulls - I hadn't written anything, but it was the possibility of words in those empty pages that made me happy just to be there.

These days, it's not as easy anymore. I even wanted to start this entry with an apology for not writing in weeks, for being such an absentee blogger. Truth is, the time that I spent home in the Philippines shook me more than I ever thought. It was certainly hard coming back, not only because I didn't want to leave my family, but more so because I was so disconnected with everything. I felt like I was "between worlds" or places, if you will, not really belonging here nor there. For awhile, I even flirted with the idea of moving to another city again.

I don't really know. Its seems premature to make decisions when I still can't figure out what I really want to do. But I am hopeful. I know everything will fall into place somehow. Just like I am hopeful that one of these days I will start writing again, when my muse will come and take me to that place in my heart that desires to write. Ah, to write.

In the meantime, I find comfort in this poem by
Mary Oliver:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


  1. it was the possibility of words in those empty pages that made me happy just to be there

    You've made my day by sharing that sentiment. It speaks volumes about the sincerity and the passion in your spirit, which makes me all the more grateful to have made your acquaintance. ;)

  2. hi soulless!
    its so good to hear from you! thanks for your sweet comment. and same here, i'm so glad to have met someone as talented as you.

  3. All I can say is thank you.
    Thank you because I needed this picture, viewpoint today. Thank you because I needed Mary Oliver's words to remind me to accept me when I can't get it all done because I am "in the moment." I should not feel guilty for sleeping in to enjoy being in my husband's arms or for wanting to talk on the phone with my dad and my daughters...or for just being and drawing and doing the things I love best...and lastly, thank you for the reminder that sometimes we don't get to those pages we like, but we write them on the pages of our memory to be rewritten at a later, slower time.

    I'm so glad you got to journey home.

  4. sometimes its the times when we're not writing that give us so much, spying on seagulls is a lovely activity, I do it myself a lot.

    Glad you enjoyed your visit home,