"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:
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.