175- Ooops...wait!

A lot has happened in 2020, foremost of which, is Covid-19. Covid-19. This has become the bane of our existence.

Empty streets. Uncertainty. People ill, people dying. What to do?

We need to fight the future, that's what. Fate dictates that we are on the verge of collapse. Guess what? Fate is a bowl of stale apples that you need not have with your milk in the morning. Surrender is not mandated. 

Travel is missed. If the world were normal now, a lot of us would be jetting off to great locations, enriching our lives with new experiences. But alas, the disease has gotten in the way. Perhaps this is a lesson for mankind. 

We need to slow down and buckle down to embracing the things that truly matter. 

The climb back to normalcy, or, to a close to ideal state may be tough, but in the end, it will be worth it. 

Let's ride. 

MC

Rebrand.

I think it's time for a reboot.

Cheers.

174- Steady as She Goes

Since I last updated this blog, I've gotten married, travelled to two additional countries, and found myself running and running and running. 

I think marriage has made me want to travel even more. The prospect of seeing the world with a running mate is tantalizing. I feel like I have been travelling by my lonesome for so long. Nothing wrong with that. It can be quite enjoyable actually. But yes, together. Together can be great too. 

And so it goes.

I have a few locations on my bucket list. I need to run the world. Taiwan is next. Who knows where I'll end up after that.

MC

173- Taking Flight.

Lately I've gotten around to dreaming about the UK. I haven't been thinking about packed cities like London, or Newcastle. I've had my mind on more remote places- like Kirkstyle, Thurso, and Corrour. You know, the types of places you'd like to see on a postcard.

Maybe I've always been a bit of a free spirit. When I say "free spirit" what I really mean is that I've always had a thirst for to explore, to really "see things". I respect and value permanence, but there are also days when I want to put on some trainers and, quite literally, "run away".

Here's a random place I discovered online - Miyazaki city.

365,000 inhabitants, a seaside destination, Shinto shrines, a picturesque gorge.

As with many places in Japan, there is a mix of old and new here.

Eastern and Western art also blend together nicely here. For reference, check out the Medikit Arts Center.

It's places like this that make you want to dream about being anywhere but here.

MC

172- Going Further

What does going further in life,really mean?

Does success point to getting that dream job, buying that dream house, and zooming off in that dream car?

Are these all illusions we conjure up to help increase our self-worth?

You grow up,you get married, you have kids, you get old, you die. You see the world. You sing. You dance. We all know it isn't really this straightforward a process.

Often times,there are bumps in the road, coupled with really big potholes. Who's the joke on, really? Those who conjure up illusions, or, those who are deceived by them? Are parties 1 and 2 actually the same people?

Maintaining your poise in a world wherein being off balance almost feels like a given, is a tall task. Tall,but not impossible. But what is it all worth, really?

That is a darn good question- with a thousand different answers.

MC

171- A Marathon Cut Up Into Scenes

Scene 1: The Beginning

You're born in Manila- a city teeming with people, pollution, cars, buildings, shanties, and oh, have I mentioned people? It's a mad world out there.

Scene 2: Elevation

You wear your compression gear, shoes, and grab your plastic tumbler containing a cold isotonic drink. You look towards an empty road. You do a mental map of the route ahead. You nod your head, as if to signify your willingness to accept the challenge of running for an X amount of hours, or, through X number of miles.

You start moving, and whisper to yourself, "This is what it's all about."

Scene 3: Constant Bliss

You get your run going. You find your bearings. You set a steady pace. After a while, you begin zipping by those who are a bit more "relaxed" than you are. After all, this is a competition, not a beauty contest.

You see empty roads around you. You see trickles of walkers and wanderers on the sidewalk- some cheering you on, others obliviously going about their business.

The sun is still sound asleep at this point. It's part of the natural progression of things.

The transition from darkness to light during these races is absolutely beautiful.

Scene 4: The Tough Part 

You've trained long and hard in preparation for this day. Some pain here and there, some cramping, but all in all, you're good. Nothing to it.

Marathons can be traitorous. No doubt about it. One minute, you're running like the wind. Nothing can stop you. Next thing you know, you're limping like no one's business- in spite of having trained like a madman in the months prior. You've been shaken, but not stirred enough that you want to quit.
You can't quit. You won't quit. It's just NOT your nature to quit.

Scene 5: Redemption 

You realise that you've hit the tail end of the race. You see the proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel". The best way to describe what you feel here is, "so near, yet so far". That can't be stressed enough.

You hear cheers from the people around the last mile or two. It helps egg you along the final stretch. You see the finish line arch from around the last turn. You're so close you can taste it.

Wait, that taste in your mouth is saliva, mixed with sweat, and Gatorade. But I digress.

People think that recreational runners cross the finish lines of races without paying mind to their finish times. Not the case. In fact, it's recreational runners who tend to be ultra concerned about performance. It's recreational runners who are the nerdiest about watches, shoes, and other gear. It's recreational runners who, perhaps, tend to savour victories and get bummed out about defeats the most because they aren't sure how much longer the can sustain being as strong- or interested- as they are about maintaining an optimum running standard. Don't let the word "recreational" fool you. The training done here is far from "recreational".

You get your finisher's medal, do stretch your muscles out, and head home.

Another day in the office done. Another race completed. Another moment jotted down to memory.

MC

170- Influencers: The Future of Tourism

Lately, I have found myself watching a lot of Youtube videos, particularly those featuring travel vloggers. For those of you who aren't familiar, a vlogger is someone who chronicles his/her activities periodically through compelling videos. Technology has made it possible for anyone to become a vlogger- from stay at home moms to couples who decide to quit their corporate jobs and travel the world.

Speaking of the latter, I have recently stumbled upon the Youtube channels of George and Lucy (from Brighton, United Kingdom, aka "Juicy Vlog") and Nelly and Mike (from Austria, aka the "Making it Happen Vlog"). These guys have become ridiculously popular in the Philippines lately. Their videos are like good burritos- humor/wit, information, and compelling narratives, all rolled into one.

Watching their material's gotten me thinking. The future of tourism lies in the hands of social media influencers.

While government officials are busy bickering among themselves, gearing up for the coming elections, and doing whatever else government officials do, influencers showcase the best the Philippines have to offer day after day.

Critics might say that the opinions expressed by influencers are filtered, and disingenuous. Filtered, yes. Disingenuous? Not necessarily so.

There are so many reasons to believe organic messaging shared by influencers. Their thoughts reflect the sentiments of the common person more than official, "curated" statements from state agencies and big corporations.

I love how people react so genuinely to influencers on social media. Forget the poser type influencers. I'm talking about those who stand for something significant, special, potentially life-changing. People on the street say hello to them, engage in lengthy conversations with them- even give them hugs when appropriate. In the Philippines, in particular, where people are bombarded with one packet of noise after another, the presence of the "right" type of influencer, is a breath of fresh air. Anytime you have the chance to go against the grain, to disrupt the "process" towards squeezing better performances out of people, and getting people inspired to "be more", you take it.

Of course, one has to still be discerning about what he/she hears, but hey, we live in a brave new world- teeming with the unbridled promise that innovation brings.

MC

169- The Art of Learning

                     I spent many a day at UAL campus libraries during my time as a grad student. 

Many people seem to detest learning new things. I suspect that this might be because of the fact that learning heightens expectations. There isn't anything inherently scary about taking on something new. People tend to build fear out of "fictional monsters", so to speak.

I read a lot, but, I tend to jump from one piece of content to the next. I chalk it up, partially, a short attention span, and I may just need to pop over to my local optometrist and get a pair of prescription lenses. Everyone has a different modus operandi for learning, for absorbing knowledge, for enrichment.

I love learning through experience, and reading compelling content of modest lengths on a variety of subjects.

One day, I might read about abandoned historical landmarks in Singapore- a country that seems to be engaged in a perennial push and pull with urbanization and the preservation of artifacts that ought to be passed on for future generations to appreciate.

One day, I might go to a random indie pop music gig and encounter a future star. Case in point: Freya Ridings and Charlotte Campbell in London. They were, and still are, absolutely wonderful.

It's ironic, really, that we tend to go about higher education so that we can come up with simple ways of explaining complex things. Sometimes, the harder we try to be simple, the more complicated we tend to make things.

In this life, there are instances when the more straightforward the road, the better it is for everyone. The writer in me took a while to have that sink in. I've become much more pragmatic over the years.

Learning is a multifaceted exercise. It involves a defined rhythm (processing and absorption, underscored by goal setting), but does not always have clearly marked beginnings and endings. One is a day's work for some, ends up being a 5 year odyssey for others. That's sort of what makes learning beautiful- the fluidity of it, its lack of borders, and its lack of absolute structure.

In the past couple of years, I have learned a lot by seeing new places and meeting people from different walks of life. I cannot understate the thrill of being able to wake up and not have a cut and dried set of errands to do. I am not saying that I don't like having plans. That isn't necessarily the case. What I am saying is that sometimes, it helps to let the world come to you. You gain more sometimes by letting things come to you because you are forced to think on your feet and forget that there are boundaries to anything. In a weird way, it's akin to running a marathon. There's a cadence to it, and predetermined distances and routines attached to every race, but, every foray into mountain trails or city streets is different. You plan, you train, you book ahead, but at the end of the day, every journey tends to have its own, unique, flavor.

So really, learning is what you make of it- and what fate chooses to have you learn (and how).

What we know isn't necessarily about "what we know". It is, really, more about how much we choose to know.

MC

168- Airport Stories

Above is a snapshot of one of the waiting areas in Singapore's Changi Airport. I've been to this airport a handful of times in the last ten years. The place never ceases to amaze me.

So onto the topic of airports, we go. As a Manila resident, I've gotten used to being forced to fly through crappy airport terminals to get to where I need to go. Sounds harsh, but let's be realistic now. You all know it's true. Philippine airports do leave much to be desired. Couple that with a unapologetically chaotic transport system, and what you get is a desire to find the next teleportation machine to a land where urban planning is actually considered a priority.

Airports are, ultimately, the reflection of a nation, in the same way its transport grid is. Airports act as people's first point of contact with a country, and their last point of contact as they say "good riddance" or "I wish I could go back here".

I remember landing in Rome's Fiumicino Airport one late April evening in 2013. It was crazy. Our family's prearranged transportation never arrived. My mom was in a panic. There were taxi fixers milling about (a familiar sight in Manila, too). My mom ended up giving into a 100 Euro offer from one of the cab drivers just so we could get to our hotel in town. The usual fare would have cost half that.

Hong Kong's old Kai Tak airport also rings a memory or two in my head. I was 5, and it was my first time to go on a foreign trip. For a week or so, my mom and I stayed in a friend's posh flat near Victoria peak. Being a kid, I didn't really have a full grasp of the concept of foreign travel. I thought everyone spoke English and Filipino everywhere I went. Instead, locals spoke Chinese, which to me, felt like hearing a language straight out alien characters on Star Trek. I dialed my grandma's Philippine phone number on a Hong Kong landline one night. A Chinese man answered my call. I hung up immediately. It was then that I realized that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Our trip came to an end on a Sunday, and mom and I took an HK cab to Kai Tak airport, a facility which has seen become defunct and has been replaced by Hong Kong International Airport on Lantau Island. I recall that mom bought me a red biplane in one of the airport shops- one that resembled the aircraft featured in the Disney series "Ducktales". I loved that little trinket- for all the 3 hours that I had it. Our flight to Manila was delayed. To while away the time, I walked around the airport with mom. By that time, I had already missed home. I had begun to miss dad, lolo (grandpa), lola (grandma), and our old house in Quezon City. It was high time that I returned to more familiar surroundings.

As we boarded our Philippine Airlines Boeing 747 late that afternoon, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was finally going to get to sleep, then wake up in the Philippines. The calm in my head was shattered by the realization that my red biplane had gone missing- lost in Kai Tak for all eternity. I feel like I had left a piece of me in Hong Kong. My mom assured me that it was okay, and that we'd buy another one in Manila. This helped me feel better, but, I continued to feel somewhat at a loss. Maybe this lost biplane incident is the reason behind why I have a strange affinity for Hong Kong. I could go back there 1,000,000 times and not grow tired of the place. I've gone back to Hong Kong around 3-4 times since 1989, and each trip back's been different, been exciting. Each trip back since 1989 has not featured Kai Tak anymore, though, and has not led me to buying a new biplane. Maybe I should get a toy plane next time I fly over.

Then there's Heathrow Airport, and how it underscores my mad love affair with the U.K. To me, Heathrow was my portal to a brave new world, a kaleidoscope of sensory triggers I had once only dreamed of experiencing. Good old Heathrow was also the site of me having to toss some old clothes I had packed up in my suitcase as a bade London farewell in January 2018, and was set to return to my homeland after a year and half as a graduate student. Yes, I hadn't planned the whole "make sure your bag isn't overweight thing"- hence the need to go through the unpacking chicanery. All in all, it was a good reminder that you really can't everything from one phase of your left, to the next (although Filipinos are pretty well-versed with the art of the "Balikbayan Box").

I look forward to passing through many more airports before it's all said and done. I feel utterly peeved that I can't travel now, as in now, but yeah, my boarding call will come sooner rather than later. I can feel it.

MC

167- And We're Off...I Think

I've begun shooting videos for my would-be Youtube channel.

I wonder how this will turn out being.

Good or bad. Only one or the other.

In terms of the energy and authenticity I've put into the content- I don't think there's any question that the stuff's brimming with those two elements.

Bigger issue here's how I'm going to get around the editing, and me finding time to come up with brilliant content ideas on a regular basis.

Let's see how things roll.

MC

166- Snapshots: Places I've Been To

I've been fortunate to have been able to travel to some of the most breathtaking places in the world. In 2013, I got to travel to Italy. While there, my eyes shone. While there, my soul was refreshed.

*My day trip to Capri Island was particularly memorable.

Views from Villa Michele. An island with its own brand of expensive charm and yes, a lot of tourist traps. Best to be wary of these when you visit.

*Singapore. How I love thee.

I don't just like going to Singapore because of the amazing hawker cuisine/culture, and the abundance of shopping options. I like Singapore because of how wonderfully efficient and tidy everything is.

It isn't perfect. No place is. But heck, it does come close to being the ultimate "well-oiled machine".

Favorite hawker haunts include Serangoon Gardens Hawker Center, Maxwell Road Hawker Center, Old Airport Road Hawker Center, and the little places around Yishun. You can't go wrong with the aunties and uncles there.

On a slightly "athletic" note, I'd love to race there again. I run with an inextinguishable passion. In Singapore, I run passionately, and sweat profusely (it is so hot there lah).

*Kota Kinabalu tested my skills- when it came to safely crossing roads.

I could be wrong, but, it seemed like there were never any proper crosswalks around town. It also seemed like there were no other ways to get around town effectively except for through taxis. Buses were frequently late. That's a no go. After running the Borneo Marathon in 2016, I did get to explore other parts of Borneo. I went on a tour that promised that we'd see Proboscis Monkeys. The monkeys never emerged. Hey, my trip to this part of Malaysia wasn't a total loss. I got to spend time there with loved ones, and go to run a memorable half marathon. Priceless stuff.

*Whitstable was surprisingly breathtaking. I never expected my visit there to be as fun as it turned out being.

After doing the Brighton Marathon in 2017, I told myself I'd keep travelling around Britain. This was too beautiful a country to not see.

Going to Whitstable was a random move. A lot of my contemporaries were going to more well known tourist haunts at the time- Oxford, Bath, Edinburgh. I decided to go off the beaten path and do Whitstable. I did not regret my decision. One thing that is foremost in my mind whenever I harken back to my day trip there is the silence that just embraces you as you walk through the pier, the beaches, the quaint little town, and through the grounds of Whitstable castle. I am a city kid, so, the notion of tranquility is important to me. The scenic vistas around Whitstable and Margate gave my senses a treat. I wouldn't mind heading back down there for a run, a lazy vacation, or a day taking photos.

*London was home to me for nearly 2 years.

I started out as a resident of Elephant and Castle, then after eleven months, I took my talents to Turnpike Lane in North London. So many amazing memories here. The late night gym sessions, the runs through London CBD and its Royal Parks, the happy drinking sessions and dinners at local pubs. Then of course, there were many amazing days spent as a grad student at LCC (London College of Communication). We had quite a strict lunch lady during mine and my friends' days there. She'd look at you funny if you didn't return your trays and utensils to the right cubbyholes after your meals. The process of finishing my dissertation was difficult, but beneficial. The entire process reminded me about the value of thinking, and of deep reflection. Far too often, we get caught up in the process of execution- of simply doing without necessarily considering the implications of our actions. We tend to be in such a rush because of a debilitating fear of failure, of "missing the mark". In an ideal world, it shouldn't be this way. We should have the freedom to think for the sake of thinking, and harness our foremost ideas for the greater good. We must be afforded the freedom to "walk out of our homes naked". What this means is that we should be given the space to allow for the fusion of our beliefs, actions, and thoughts. This world tends to be too judgmental to allow for this type of openness to take shape.

*Last but not least for this entry- Baguio City, in the Philippines.

I've been to Baguio over 20 times in my life. Baguio was the first location outside of Manila that my parents ever took me too. In the old days, there was no large shopping mall in the city, nor were there McDonald's outlets. Baguio was an alternate dimension- a place awash with pine trees, and winding mountain roads/paths. I never thought the place would ever resemble the craziness called Manila in any way.

While Baguio now tends to reek of commercialisation, and overpopulation, I believe that some of the old charm can still be found in certain nooks and crannies. The old, presumably haunted, white houses, remain. Baguio Catholic Cemetery is still ridiculously creepy, and a testament to a bygone age. Session Road has become a cacophony of noise in recent time (watch out for pickpockets, too), but, a lot of the old buildings are still up there. The old branches of Tom Sawyer and Star Cafe are long gone, but, it still does given you nice views of Burnham Park, and access to the iconic Baguio Cathedral. The public markets continue to offer a wide variety of food, military themed items (I'm not kidding), and all sorts of other kitsch. I haven't been to the Big Bagle in over 2 years and hey, maybe it's high time I drove back up there.

MC

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