165- The Insatiable Drive to Disappear

Sideways. That's how I feel sometimes.

It strikes unexpectedly.

Just when things seem to be falling in line.

You get an itch.

To disappear.

What do I mean?

Read on.

This photo of me at Singapore's Henderson Waves from 2015 is quite telling. Wanting to vanish can be a headache. Wanting to vanish is difficult to manage. Life gives you a prescribed list of responsibilities. You want to vanish not necessarily to escape responsibility. Rather, you want to vanish because you get annoyed with permanence. You get irritated with being in one place for too long. You long for feelings and sensations- not necessarily for material gains.

Yesterday, I found myself looking through some old photos from my time in the United Kingdom. I couldn't help but wax sentimental. I spent part of December 2017 in the Lake District in Northern England. Boy, was that an experience. Tours through hills, through remote villages, and idyllic landscapes. Quite a way to cap of my year.

Today, I find myself in Manila- a concrete jungle, your typical "big city". I have much to be thankful for, but there are times when I imagine the sight of billowing smoke clouds forming above chimneys of old stone houses situated in the English countryside. I remember the silence- oh the wonderful silence. I remember meeting random people along the way (in the case of my Lake District tryst, I also recall meeting a few random farm animals along the way).

People tend to long for things we can't immediately have.

I know I'm part of that demographic.

During a recent trip to Singapore, I found myself- you guessed it- waxing sentimental. To me, Singapore had become a safe haven, a ultra-modern, ultra-organized, gastronomic cornucopia bursting with rich flavors. I would catch myself saying things like, "the last time I was here was in (insert date)...and this place used to look really different from how it looks like today". Reminiscing has always been my thing. Maybe I'm less of a romantic now- but still somewhat of a sentimentalist nonetheless. It's always fun to see "love" in a plate of Char Kway Teow, and "passion" in a serving of carrot cake.

So yeah, 2018's about to end, and I'm in Manila- but I have much to be thankful about. I still find myself with an insatiable desire to disappear, but, having some form of permanence can be good, too. Having a home, having shoulders to cry on, having a family you can bank on.

Once in a while, though, it would be nice to snap my fingers and to boldly go to places where I have never been before, or at least, haven't been to much recently.

Having a sense of permanence assures you of the fact that you can have somewhere, or someone, to return to once your adventure's done.

MC

164- Cuteness Overload

Deceptive, this post's title is. 

This blog has been on hiatus (again) for some time. Chalk it up to a bit of sloth from my end, and the fact that I have been writing- but mostly for work. I work in Communications and writing is a part of my everyday existence.

I recently came from Singapore. That was a great tryst. My fiancee was there (yep, I am engaged). My dad tagged along. Met some old friends during my stay there. As with a lot of my other trips from years back, I left Singapore wanting more. That is what I both detest and love about going on amazing trips. You miss home but you feel home away from home. Conflict much. 

I have no complaints about my travelling life, except perhaps for the fact that I must document my journeys better. I need to apply more structure to my media content. Time to get serious about this. 

Cuteness tends to fill people's minds with superficial thoughts. Death to cuteness, say I. Taste the cendol- but don't get distracted by the colorful syrup. Just savor the flavor. 

It's showtime.

163-- Dream Sequence

(This post is dedicated to everyone who helped me get to London, get a masters degree, and have the best 1 year in change of my life)

Moving to London was never part of my blueprint for success. Everything happened so suddenly- much like being awakened in the middle of the night by what you assume is a ghost (which in reality, could just be your dog bumping into a couple of boxes in your garage).

Before leaving for the United Kingdom, I had your typical corporate job for a top healthcare company. I enjoyed a steady salary, and lots of other perks. I had friends, a loving family, and an awesome girlfriend, in my midst. I was in my early thirties at the time. What I knew about London, and the U.K., came mostly from what I had read in books, and learned through different forms of media.

My parents had long nagged me about getting a postgraduate degree. “Why bother?” I thought. I made a decent living, and was busy with a whole host of things. I had built a life for myself in the Philippines, and was so deeply immersed in it that I couldn’t fathom going anywhere else.
In hindsight, deciding to drop everything and move out of my comfort zone was one of the best choices I have ever made. Learning tends to be a combination of two major elements- experience and theory. My placement in London brought those two worlds together.

Did I feel fear and apprehension at the prospect of facing what seemed like a new, big, and bright, world? You bet. I suppose that stemmed partially from feeling like I had become so set in my ways as a resident of the Philippines that anything outside of what I had assimilated as the “right” way to “define” living, made me nervous.

Did I also feel an inexplicable thrill brought about by the prospect of embracing what seemed to be a galaxy’s worth of possibilities? Absolutely.

For the first time in many, many, years, everything felt like my first day in preparatory school. There I was, in Ateneo De Manila Grade School, in my wee white polo shirt, and khaki shorts, with tears streaming down my face, all because I didn’t want to go into my classroom, and move away from my mom and dad. An interesting cocktail do fear and anticipation, make. Initially, the fear you feel in these types of situations can be debilitating. The shock you experience can bring you to the point of utter paralysis. Once you get over this, though, you tend to embrace your reality, and work to thrive in it. All of this can be life changing.

I had been to Europe years before my U.K. jump for a family vacation. I have been blessed with chances to travel to the United States, and other countries in Asia. Living in the U.K., though, was a truly unique experience. I wasn’t there to just visit. I had the chance to actually claim to be a Londoner, a local. I discovered what it was like to experience British mornings, afternoons, and evenings. I reveled in tradition, and culture, spending many hours in museums, visiting castles, and going full on nerdy about the history of local railways. There were amazing feasts for the senses in places like Dover, Edinburgh, and the Lake District. There were tons of runs, and hikes, across cities, fields, parks, and other places I will never forget. Elephant and Castle, Wood Green, King’s Cross, Lambeth North, Oxford Circus, Piccadilly Circus, Kensington High Street, South Kensington, Euston. Trains. Buses. Sprinters and pacers. Fish and chips. Tesco, Sainsbury’s, and yes, Aldi and Lidl for saving a buck or two. Freezing myself silly in Norwich and in the Scottish Highlands, hiking 14 miles on new year’s day to places like Hawkshead, meeting amazing communications practitioners through the International Association of Business Communicators UK’s mentorship program. Getting to watch the Gallagher Brothers, U2, and getting to meet and absolutely fall for the work and personality of the wonderful Charlotte Campbell. Enjoying a rice bowl at Wasabi in Waterloo Station after training runs. For a year and a half, I got to quiet my mind, rest my soul, and just live.

Today, I watched my university’s graduation rites, via live stream, from my apartment in Manila. Talk about running head on into a wall of emotions. Seeing familiar faces, my university’s (UAL) emblem, and the Southbank, made me remember something very important.

Memories are like lovers. Your attraction to your lover is inexplicable. Only you and your lover really know of the intricacies of the ties that bind you. Being with your lover is akin to being in a field full of flowers. For those who have been to Belgium- think of it like being in Keukenhoff Gardens in the springtime. Being with your lover

is like being awash in beauty. Time stands still. Everywhere you look, you see murals featuring your happiest moments.

Looking back on my time in the U.K. reminds me of an iconic seen in the 1990s Peter Chan classic, “Comrades, Almost a Love Story”. In this film, long lost lovers meet again after near misses, tragedies, and triumphs spread across several continents. For the two who tried their luck moving from main land China to Hong Kong in the 1980s, the realization that all that mattered in the end was the thought that everything was meant to happen. From the time they both stepped out of their respective cross-country trains, to when they eventually reunited thousands of miles away in America- all of it was part of a grand plan. Now that I think about it, my time away, in a land where so many people go to find themselves, to better themselves, to escape from turmoil, to revel in the modernity of cities like London, and to embrace the stunning antiquity that exists in the very same place, was part of the “plan” after all. I just didn’t know it. I had always believed that underneath all of the layers that had made me a creature of habit, was somebody who just wanted to leave home and stake his claim elsewhere. I guess the U.K., London, Brighton, Edinburgh- all that and more- was me praying to a St. Elsewhere, living in a dream, within a dream, within what was real life.

There are so many details related to the time when my soul was whisked away from my life in the Philippines to the brave new world that was the U.K. I could go back, I could wear the same “hats”. Despite this, it will likely never feel the same. Return trips just won’t be able to approximate what “she” and I had. Narrative details tell you where to go, what to do, who to speak with, how to walk. Those details, seen from a specific set of moments frozen in time, never again to be set loose, tell you what to feel, and tell you what “living” really means. That’s the sort of thing that can never be taken away from you.

So what is this piece really trying to say? Nothing, and not nothing. This isn’t a prescription of any kind. This wasn’t written to one day be part of a guidebook to the U.K. This is a unique retelling of a dream I once had, a blip on the radar, and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it walk through SOHO, and Camden Town, and Holyrood Park, by night, and with a beanie and trainers on. Living in the U.K., to me, was about finally giving in to the inevitable. It represented my world expanding, and, because of what I studied, folding back into itself. I have left the country with more opportunities at my doorstep, and fewer roads to walk on now that I’ve “subspecialized”. This may or may not mean anything to you. If it does, well and good. Then that means I’m not alone. That means someone understands. That means that maybe, I may get to return to London one day, and live out a new dream sequence- one that will feature “hand-in-hand”, “for a lifetime and a day”, and “all storms, truth and beauty, withstands”. 

162- Minus The Fanfare

Who would have thought that the city could offer a sliver of peace.

Temporary tranquility.

He walked through the Chinese market. He had a satchel in tow. The smells of different raw and roasted meats filled the air. The heat as of late had sliced itself through any sort of clothing. Lots of women parade by. Pretty, fair skinned, all dolled up. Can't tell if they're after peddling themselves on the streets, or simply after a fun night out. 50-50 chance of winning and losing.

Hong Kong on a Friday night could be a mixed bag. Through no fault of mine, I had left London, seemingly on a whim. I had learned many things on my travels- foremost of which being the need to always keep your eyes open to opportunity. Here, there, everywhere, could be a pretty neat story.

I first came to Hong Kong in 1989. This was well before the handover back to China. As a young boy, I had gotten lost near Ocean Terminal. I was afraid that I had lost my mom forever. I was fearful that the perfume and makeup section had kidnapped me from reality. Fortunately, I was young, innocent, and in hindsight, somewhat stupid. Yeah, stupid.

Sai Ying Pun. 2016. I arrived in the neighborhood on a rainy Thursday night. Lots of complaining from my companion. I had made it a habit to reflect on my existence during days fraught with inclement weather. I realized that I had never really seen Hong Kong, never really lived life. I had spiralled down a rabbit hole of infidelity. I had forgotten to be faithful to authenticity. I had forgotten how to embrace "moments" at different times of my life. I had tried. I had failed. I had failed. Perhaps, I hadn't failed as badly as I had assumed. Who or what would judge this, I wasn't sure.

Fast forward to an overcast day in a non-descript beach. I am not a fan of the beach, nor of the ocean. I am only here because of the people around me. I did choose to be here though.

While this is not such a bad deal, I once again find myself wanting. Wanting what, or who, I don't know. It's something I have to discover. Sans fanfare. Quietly. Without restriction. Without hesitation.

MC

161- The Next Phase

There comes a time when you realize that you need to go all in, otherwise, you get bought out. Put your money where your mouth is. Cliches. Making bets. Taking names and hopefully winning big.

I got to visit Las Vegas in 2012. A typical office bloke like myself couldn't help but marvel at the amounts of money being thrown around within mere minutes. What could these guys be thinking? What would it be like to live with a seemingly unlimited credit line? What would it feel like to have the ability to buy away your blues if you wanted to? Or at least, create the illusion of your blues falling prey to whatever currency you pledge allegiance to?

Everything in life is a gamble. Fortunes can change in the blink of an eye. Good risks are taken by those that see potential in sticks, stones, and piles of mud.

But what of risks that are fluid?Risks that are hard to quantify? Risks that you can't simplify? Those are the types of risks that tend to keep those with even the most brilliant minds up at night.

This is sort of like my Vegas. Not because I will likely end up in a "drive-in", but because sooner rather than later, I will find myself at the start of a long road-in a brave, new, world.

I will not be alone.

That in itself gives everything meaning which, similar to the risk alluded to above, may end up being too infinite to really quantify.

MC

160- City Running

I have friends who love running through trails. Off road running and hiking possess a unique, often muddy, charm. I'll give it that.

Running through city streets, however, also does sing quite the siren song.

Years ago I told myself that I would see the world on the run. Such does not imply that I will never stop and smell the roses. Moments of reflection help make journeys worthwhile. Those are the times when emotions, tidbits of reality sink in.

"I'm here. I'm actually here."

"I made it. I finished a marathon through Brighton."

"I never thought this would happen, but hey, it's happened and I couldn't be happier."

City running involves a lot of music, and talking to one's self. Music gives your run an infectious type of cadence, a soundtrack for every moment you hammer down on concrete. The talking part does not always involve talking as in "talking per se". It involves being able to see your thoughts with utmost clarity, and being able to equate your thoughts perfectly with what is happening on the outside. Synergy. The cold, the rain, the blistering equatorial heat, the feeling of water running down your running shirt, every ache that comes with every step. Every sensation has an equivalent fragment of speech, an association with a language that only you can comprehend.

One of the perks of having lived in London was having the privilege of running through such a beautiful city for hours, days, and months on end. Even mundane segments of the metropolis- little pocket parks, thoroughfares near residential areas, back alleys near old factories, ancient tunnels, bridges over the Thames-would often give a runner enough sensory pleasure to last a lifetime.

I have also run in less glamorous places, though. Manila suburbs. Around old buildings in Taipei. In Sai Ying Pun, Hong Kong. In districts far from the glitz of Singapore's central shopping and business areas. Etc. etc. There isn't anything quite like taking in a place at X kilometers per hour while in compression gear and with sports drink in hand.

Hard runs and training weeks physically exhaust me, but I NEVER grow weary of running, and of seeing the world one streetcorner, one city, and one country at a time.

I will never stop running away from living.

Doing otherwise would be ridiculous.

MC

159- Stuck

A bevy of motor vehicles rampage through the city streets. Jaywalkers flood main thoroughfares like ants scurrying away from fire. Manila is lit up by many a light, and yet, it too is enveloped by a darkness that seems all consuming, and very, very, real.

Buxom prostitutes mill about back alleys and streets lined with bars, hoping to snag a tourist looking for an evening of casual sex. Nearby, a group of shirtless men play poker, and drink gin. Karaoke sessions abound, pushing dated standards deep into the night. Somewhere, a teenager dreams of a better life. Somewhere, a once vibrant voice is silenced by abuse.

Millions are spent conjuring up ideas for how to beautify our back yards and make onlookers' eyes sparkle. Polishing our respective dressers- that's all well and good, but of what use is that if our youth remains uneducated, uninitiated in the ways of real life. Familiar only with hard knocks, and melodies of losing faith and the sound of bones breaking upon unforgiving pavements.

People travel, or want to travel, for many different reasons. People go on trips to celebrate successes, and mask failures. Some fly off to escape prosecution, only to be reeled back in by, well, extradition. Travel ensues because of work, because of cravings for pleasures of the flesh, for peace of mind, and spiritual well-being.

What happens, though, when "travelling" is equated with fleeing from life itself? From everything one had ever been exposed to?

In this world, colors easily fade, and musical brilliance metamorphoses into chaotic beats.

When one is unable to leave, he/she does not just feel disappointed at the absence of a luxury that may be deferred. They lament at the demise of all hope, the cementing of an identity that may forever be defined not be stories, but by statistics.

They feel "stuck".

"Stuck" is really the worst place you could end up being in.

MC

158-Fun Times Running

One way to see a new city without breaking the bank is by running in it. Seeing a city this way can provide a fresh perspective on things. Pound pavement instead of being stuck on a tour bus. Pass by little alleyways and marketplace stalls as opposed to just being confined to main roads. Feel the true pulse of your new city instead of just imagining things.

Thinking of this brings me back to a trip I made to Taipei earlier this year. I made sure to sneak in a run in the Zhongshen district before taking the express train to Taoyuan airport on the day I flew back to Manila. 6am. Monday. Stall owners cooking breakfast fare. The streets beginning to fill up with cars. The urban landscape beginning to percolate. Dogs, students, people filing into fast food joints and convenience stores to grab on-the-go breakfast meals. There is something strangely beautiful about seeing all this while moving X kilometres per hour courtesy of the legs God gave you.

Running somewhere also tends to improve your reflexes. You become ultra alert and learn to dodge obstacles like you're the rotund plumber in Super Mario Run. Okay, may Sonic the Hedgehog would be a more apt reference, but, you get my drift. There is nothing quite like experiencing the irony of running fast to see the world in slow motion, and in utmost detail.

I want to run the world. I have an insatiable need to experience. That is really what makes my life difficult. I am constantly restless, unable to reconcile being hire, with potentially being there. It's tiring, that type of life. I will figure everything out eventually. I need to.

Take those trainers out for a spin. There's a decision you can make without hesitation. It's free. It's here. No downsides. Only upsides, and downhills.

157- Different Time, Different Life

I gasp as I awaken to another morning in Walworth Road. I gaze out the window of my flat. That condo across the street has been put up in a flash. It only seemed like yesterday that it seemed ages away from being built. Now the thing practically stares at me every day like a creepy neighbour.

I scrounge around for that box of pancakes I had purchased the evening prior from Tesco Express. I like the fact that my gym is only a stone's throw away from where I stay. I get to pass the grocery after I do my training runs and a some free weights.

Once in a while, I visit the East Street market and tell myself, "Boy, these are things I could use. Or not." The place tends to be full of bric-a-brack that one gets around to needing only when one finds himself/herself in quite the financial pinch.

CeX. Ah, CeX. I would always pass the place, but would never buy anything. Used CDs. Video games. Rare movies. Video game systems. Cameras. Bargain prices. Nothing ever in the "bring me home" bag.

That Korean restaurant near CeX. Always full. Tried to eat there once with my Filipino schoolmate, only to be disappointed at the lack of seating.

Burgess Park. I had run here a couple of times. Nice place. Greenery, scenery, sometimes, tomfoolery. A good place to visit in the local area.

Pretty girls milling about. Some students, some working folk. Some at the pub, some at the library, some at the gym. All with their own lives. All doing their own thing. All singing their own songs and humming along to different storied melodies.

The balcony at Dashwood Studios. I'd go there once in a while to get some air and just gaze upon my part of the city. You go places, you see faces. You say hello, and you reluctantly bid farewell. You go home but then, hey, what is home? Am I really home? Am I supposed to be here?

The search for meaning doesn't end with compromise. We only compromise because, as the word implies, we sometimes grow tired of searching for truth amidst the lies. We need to make a living. We need to meet expectations. We have to eat. Oh yes. People love to eat. We may feel full, but are our souls satiated? Do we really find fulfilment in trying to make the number work? To hell with the numbers. To hell with the odds. Once you find yourself in the middle of the wilderness, staring death in the face, will all your riches really matter?

Probably not.

When confronted with the truth that says that you've run out of time, that you've spent all of your gold coins on moments you can experience once and never get back, you can't help but sigh.

Different time, different life. There is no fairness in line with strife.

Different time, different life.

MC

156- Random Coffee Shop Musings

Today, I find myself working in a neighbourhood coffee shop called Seattle's Best Coffee. No, I am not in the United States. The Philippines features many U.S. franchises which have been transplanted to the archipelago to, in many ways, address Filipinos' long standing obsession with all things Western. Hey, I'm guilty of it. It isn't necessarily good, nor is it necessarily negative. It's just the way it is. Certain products and services from the West really are superior to what you can find in other parts of the world. In the same vein, just because it's from the U.S., U.K., or Germany, doesn't mean it's the do-all and end-all.

But I digress.

I used to work in coffeeshops a lot, especially around 5 or 6 years ago when I worked as a consultant and didn't have a permanent office address. You could easily whip out your laptop, sit on your front porch, and sip on a cuppa Joe you made yourself. That's all good, except that at home, you don't really have a "working ambience". The enzymes in your brain that tell you that it's high time you got your fat butt out of bed and onto a computer chair don't always kick in like alcohol for the heartbroken. A certain amount of prodding needs to happen.

I had a discussion with a colleague at work yesterday about how people buy "experiences" rather than "products". That is so true, and true it is on so many levels, and for so many industries. Kids want to buy Nike basketball gear not necessarily because it can make you shoot better, or run quicker, or jump higher. They want Nike because they put themselves in the "shoes" (pun intended) of Durant, Jordan, or Lebron- the focal point of an isolation play set to unfold over the last 13 seconds of Game 7 of the NBA Finals. Quite the rush, right? People go to Starbucks or Seattle's Best to have a cup of coffee or tea not because they can't have one at home, or because what they can get at the said shops is miles and miles better than what they can get at home, or from some shack in the middle of nowhere. People go to these places because they're well lit, because they can hear sometimes-cringeworthy bossa nova music that purportedly makes them relax in the same way ASMR can make them relax, and because spending 5 dollars on a cup of coffee while chatting with friends gives some a badge of legitimacy. You've made it. You throw good money away on an Americano you can prepare in your own kitchen just because you can. Grab yourself a BMW instead of a Kia. Why? Just because.

I find myself in coffeeshops more as a matter of circumstance rather than because I feel like "I need" to spend time in such places. Sundays with the parents who want to have something sweet after a heavy lunch meal? Let's go to the nearest Starbucks. Need a quiet place for a meal and some contemplation? The nearest Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf might do. I don't splurge when I'm at these places anyway. I often end up getting the cheapest fare. Because. Just because. Because association dues are expensive and because inflation is totally whipping me around like no one's business.

I have found myself in these havens for serenity all over the world. Some branches have been nicer than others. Pret A Manger near Trafalgar Square in London. Starbucks in Schiphol Airport in the Netherlands. UCC cafe in Rockwell Center, Makati. The neighbourhood, cinema-themed, coffee house right beside Turnpike Lane station in North London. Many faces, similar fare, different locations, same search for peace. We all seem to be in the same quest for that perfect spot for reflection. We all seem to be lost about where to find it.

Some might say that I'm a bit too stream-of-consciousness. They're right. I've lately become very fleeting with what I want to say, and who I want to talk to, and why. That's how life tends to be. At first you want a cuppa Joe. Next thing you know, you realise that you are not supposed to be spending a chest full of coins on one.

You move on. You start over. You vocalize your frustrations. You hop on a train. You arrive at your destination- or so you think.

Then, it happens all over again.

You wake up and find yourself still in search for that perfect caffeine rush.

MC

155- Focus

It has been raining again in Manila. Rainy days like this drive people towards introspection. It's natural. It's to be expected.

I have experienced rain in the Philippines, rain in Cambridge, rain in London. It's all the same really, save for some of the aesthetics. A building in Makati is a building in the same, generic, way a building is a building in Bangkok. 

Focus here is focus anywhere. It is the ambient noise that varies from place to place. No two places are the same because of this. 

We are in the midst of typhoon season in the Philippines. When I look out the window of my flat, and look at all the raindrops that have built little water tents on glass, I am, for some odd reason, brought back to footage from Anthony Bourdain's final trip to Hong Kong, months before his untimely demise. He sits onboard Hong Kong's iconic Star Ferry, musing over what it means to see the world, but feel like you really haven't seen a damn thing. Travelling can be the greatest, and the loneliest thing, all rolled into one. 

I have been fortunate enough to have seen quite a bit of this world through my travels. There are times when I feel less thrilled to be someplace because of the nagging reality that in the end, something will be lost in the retelling. Hard as I may try to tell my parents, or my friends, or my significant other, about the sight of amazing fjords, or the smell of the air when standing close to heritage steam trains, nothing will ever compare to the real thing. Reality is the champion of the focus game. It never loses. The sensations associated with reality are unparalleled. 

Rain here, is rain anywhere. It's the noise that makes things distinct. There is real, and there is man-made. Focus, in and of it self, can be relative.Maybe if I focus on the performance of memory, the relevance of both the content, and the performance, to who I'm talking to, I may be able to steal some focus from what is real, and make my version of experience, a little more compelling. 

MC

154- The Revival

This blog is not dead. I'm not dead. 

Well,that much is obvious. 

Despite the fact that I have gone domestic for the last few months, I have not lost ny passion for travelling. I guess I've just had to be more wary of a shrinking financial cache, and have had to allot time to adjusting to a new job. 

Whenever I harken back to my days in London,the first place I think of is the Elephant and Castle. I remember the place to be old, somewhat grimy, and in need of repair. From what I have managed to read,the Southwark council has made attempts to kick start full scale redevelopment in what was once dubbed as "Picadilly Circus South". These efforts have been stop-and-start at best, mainly because of opposition from residents and local business owners. 

My presence at the E&C represented this South London transport hub opening its arms to an international audience,as it had always done. I did notice while I was there,though, that the locality had begun to get younger and hipper while in the process of welcoming visitors from all over the globe. The infamous Heygate Estate had been knocked down between 2011 and 2014, ushering in the first major signs of gentrification. 

The Elephant and Castle is a reminder of the resistance that has long met efforts to embrace the future. The brutalist box type building is dilapidated, highlighted by a Tesco and a Peacocks,and connected to the E&C's tube and Thameslink lines. I spent a lot of time in this antiquated consumer paradise, often restocking my pantry after days of eating while slaving over coursework. 

Across the Shopping Centre, we have the London College of Communication. Mi casa. The site of many a fond memory, a heated debate, and second, minute,and hour spent studying. Renovating LCC- and putting in new, more reliable lifts- would be very much welcome. Sometimes though, we cling onto things from the old world not necessarily because we like what we see. We hold on, perhaps, because these types of aged monoliths remind us of simpler times, and emotions and sensations you will never find in their original incarnations anywhere else. 

My heart still has a firm grasp on London, nearly six months after flying out of Heathrow and back to the Philippines.

Like a forlorn lover, how I long to dash into the arms of London again- sooner rather than later. Tomorrow. At a moment's notice. As quick as a dream that makes you feel like the world shines, and like the hymns of angels line your fondest days past.

MC

153- It's Been a While

I have found myself tossing and turning in bed and missing London.

Normal? I suppose so.

MC

152- Next Stop: Taipei

So I have been back in Manila for a little over a month, and I must say that I have gotten back into the swing of things fairly quickly.

The explorer in me refuses to rest, however. Next stop: Taipei. Who knows where I will end up after that.

More bananas and berries on this to come soon.

MC

151- Odd.

Being home makes me feel lost and confused. This is one of the oddest feelings ever.

MC

150- What is Home Anyway, Part Two

Home feels strangely unfamiliar. Maybe my mind and heart have become reprogrammed to recognize Europe as a place kinder to my spirit.

Mind, body, heart, soul. All these things are seemingly saying the same thing.

I need to keep moving.

MC

149- London Southbank

When I first arrived in London, I used to spend my free time taking strolls (or doing training runs) along the River Thames, at London's Southbank. From what I know, the area used to be rife with criminals and vagrants. It has since metamorphosed into a haven for art, food, and relaxation.

I never really felt lonely in London, not because I always had company, but rather, due to the fact that I am used to existing in solitude. Walks and runs help me clear my mind. To go on such in utterly scenic surroundings helps calm me even more.

I'll miss going to the BFI centre to watch free archival film footage, and browse through the institute's gift shop. I'll miss getting mulled wine from stalls during the winter time. I'll miss looking at the city lights from across the way.

Where words fail me, memories and the radiance of the future inspire me.

MC

148- Musings on the Home Stretch

Less than two weeks to go in the UK, folks. Homeward bound in a blink of an eye. I am thrilled, but not thrilled.

Some fool is probably going to say that I am being less than patriotic by saying this, but, seeing the world tends to muddle your notion of the value of home. Family, loved ones, and other interests aside, I don't really know of anybody who would want to go home to horrific traffic on a daily basis, a system of government that seems to built of corruption and the systematic pushing of deceit unto its people (for many administrations now), education and healthcare structures that leave much to be desired, and an abhorrable lack of planning that simply makes one wish to shake his/her head and say, "What were they thinking?" I know the answer to that. They weren't thinking.

Sadly, all the rubbish I've just mentioned refers to my home country, the Philippines. My motherland has struggled to get on its feet for so long. And yes, many of us have gotten justifiably tired of waiting. Maybe if the reasons for failure weren't "self-inflicted" and done by some in the name of absolute self-indulgence, then, people might be more forgiving. In the same vein, many have become afflicted with an odd form of amnesia. People complain about systems, governance, and all the bits and bobs related to hot issues such as poverty alleviation, peace and order, etc. People also elect the same officials who had gotten the country crippled by stifling social ills to begin with. People stand idly by and allow decay to happen. Those who care, then, slowly begin to care less. Being among the minority who care is a lonely battle. At some point, you have to lay your arms down and think about how you're going to earn your keep, and the sort of world you want your children to live in.

Sure, I'd love to see people I care about, and experience things that are familiar to me, but for the most part, I feel like I am done with all the stupidity, immaturity, and chaos that my country has made all too familiar in the minds of its people. Again, this isn't because I am unpatriotic. Like many Filipinos, I have just begun to think more pragmatically. We are always told to try and "suck the marrow out of life". Well, you can't do that if you choose to stand aloft a slowly sinking stone, can you?

It's going to be an interesting next couple of months. I want to be happy to be on my way home. I do feel a sense of bliss, of accomplishment that my time in London has borne fruit. I too, however, know that I have changed since two years ago, and no longer wish to have those I hold dear be burdened by the "limitations" which "life as we have known it", has tended to hamper our horizons with. I am unaware of what all this means in terms of concrete plans and next steps, but yes, enough is enough. Life is meant to be lived. Play the game. Don't let it play you.

MC

147- Displacement

Every person yearns to have a center, a place he or she can call home. What happens, however, when the notion of "home" is muddled by the reality that one's place of origin is no longer hospitable enough to be called "home"? Does one's newer, more resplendent environment, then, become "home"?

It's a problem many an explorer have dealt with for what seems like an eternity.

MC

146- Impatience

I like to read. I m fascinated by the stories books tell. I am, however, notoriously impatient when it comes to going through thick volumes of text. I have come to a point in my life wherein I just can't stand extremely wordy bits of text. My eyes hurt whenever I go through diminutive lines of text. My head aches at the prospect of reading something 500 pages long. I often find myself wanting to learn- through bite size pieces of knowledge, anyway.

I love that London seems to put a premium on providing the public with access to information. There are libraries everywhere. There are museums for most every topic one can conceive of. It's beautiful, really, that emphasis is placed on broadening one's horizons.

I visit libraries here once in a while to stimulate my mind. I ocassionally find myself reading a book in bed, or at a branch of Pret A Manger. My impatience leads me to go through several books simultaneously. This isn't the ideal setup, but it is better than a total mind block.

My restlessness might be a generational thing (my predisposition on digital innovations which tend to totally smash a person's attention span), or a byproduct of my insomnia, or, being a daysleeper. Maybe it's because I sometimes prefer to do rather than to bask in the glory of reflection. Both avenues have their share of merits, and downsides.

Writing this blog post, in itself, has tested my patience. It is not because I hate writing or am unwilling to share my views on matters of note. It is more because I have a trillion different things on my mind now. I'll be leaving London soon. That too has made me restless. I want to get all the packing and sightseeing and final commitments, over with. Shed the tears, say your goodbyes, and fly. I know I am just saying that because I immersed "in the moment". It is in hindsight when we often realize that the roads we take en route to our final destination are more remarkable than we had ever considered them to be.

Enough with this rambling. On to the next task. My unrelenting debate with productivity compels me to find something to do.

MC