Travelogue

Thursday, October 8, 2015

89- Sinfully Yours: A Moment of Self-Reflection

I have committed a grave offense.

I have forgotten what it means to be an artist.

Say that I've become guilty of complacency, or, of thinking that has tended to remain in a box rather than anywhere out of it. This is a first for me. As people age, we tend to become satisfied with the ordinary, for fear that anything outside of squares and circles would surely lead to the death of practical arrangements. Such involve risks that most do not wish to take, and risks that people would not dare take, also, for fear of criticism from those who relish being extraordinarily ordinary.

I used to be a person who danced, sang, and frolicked with, and like, the sun. As of late, I've become someone who, while happy, has marched to the beat of someone else's drum. I feel like I've somehow lost a sense of originality, a semblance of authenticity. The once vibrant (albeit emotional, for better or worse) lad has become someone who has done things in a structured, and disciplined manner. Walking in a straight line isn't bad. Being responsible is not a problem. Losing your passion for the essence of art, is frustrating.

I used to hate being on the sidelines. I felt like I always had to "be in the mix" In many ways, I'd still rather be a "do-er" rather than a "viewer". These days, I am wise about which battles I opt to fight. Being safe is a positive, for sure, but being safe also- in an ironic twist- lessens the chances that one will be able to encounter a truly spontaneous experience on any given day. That can pose a problem to the adventurous, and a seem like a typical day in the mines, for those who pray against rain because the think that water kills on contact.

A recent encounter with the brightest of hues has made me remember that it isn't always a swell thing to hide under umbrellas, wear N95 masks at the sight of some smoke, and shriek and act like a bomb went off whenever you find a pair of trousers that used to fit, but, is now too tight for you to wear.

I "embraced" art again for a fleeting moment earlier this week. I have become reminded that while my life in years past tended to look and feel chaotic, I too had moments in my previous incarnation which pointed much towards "realness" and "truth". Those are two things which I should never compromise in full, ever again.

MC

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

88- When Do You Know?

When do you know when you've got magic on your hands?

I suppose it is when you see something like this.

Here's something my mom took. Something from France.

Breathtaking.

I'll see you someday. :) :)

Monday, July 27, 2015

87- Malaysia Memories: Cendol and Malaysia

Ah yes, Cendol. Ah yes, Malacca. Such wonderful memories from years past.

In 2013, I was fortunate enough to have been able to go with my Malaysian friends to Malacca, a well known tourist/cultural destination and UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Malacca is located 148 kilometers away from Kuala Lumpur. I rode with my friends Sharon and Chak there. There's nothing like a trip with friends that promises good dialogue and good food.

Cendol is a lot like my country's Halo Halo (in the Philippines). Condensed milk, sweet beans, flan, fruit, ice cream, and other wonderful bits of sweetness that complete an all in all amazing experience for your tastebuds.

A return to Cendol-land is due.

I'll be on my way back sooner rather than later.

Friday, July 17, 2015

86- Singapore Memories: Lost

The year is 2009. I was in Singapore with my dad, and youngest sister.

Dad says,

"You guys have been out all day. That's alright. Just be careful, and meet me in Chinatown at 5pm."

Simple enough, or so my sister and I thought.

This trip was my mine and my sister's first time in the Lion City. Needless to say, we were in awe at how organized everything was. We were used to dirty MRT stations and overspeeding jeepneys killing it on the roads. Here, things were neat, and in order, and yet, still teeming with life. All in all, everything was beautiful.

So sister and I made it to Chinatown MRT by around 430pm. At this point, I really was not very well versed yet on so Singapore hawker food culture nor was I all too aware of how it was to be anything more than a lemming-ish tourist. I went with the flow. I followed along- for better or worse.

This little tryst with my sister and my farher, though, was a deviation from the norm. In all honestly, all this was fun, despite the fact that my sister and I had gotten scolded in the end for "not paying attention to instructions".

"Meet me by the pagoda in 20 minutes."

Sister and I looked around, and discovered that there were probably 5-10 pagodas in the district we were in. Dad was starting to panic like parents often do. Panic, panic, panic, then, boom! Sister and I finally find where we need to go. Enter a walkway, a mall, then, an escalator. Oh look, there's the pagoda!

Wait, where's dad?

Wrong spot. Uh oh.

Look around again, kids.

We keep scrounging around for answers. I am of the belief that finding the actual meeting spot got harder because of the fact that we knew dad was in panic mode already. After 15 minutes, a period of time that seemed more like light years, we finally found dad.

"Where've you been?" dad said.

"Sorry we got lost." I said.

What followed after this conversation was a great dinner at a restaurant called Yamcha and a lot of laughs.

You've got to love family, family trips, and good food. And oh, Teresa Teng music was playing in my head during the whole thing.

All in all, a great day in 2009 Singapore.

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

85- Fondest Memories

My fondest travel memories have been those that have involved a backpack, a bottle of Gatorade, a sandwich, and whole lot of walking. The splendor of the open road is one that knows no bounds.

To run, to ride, to fly, to be part of the journey- such defines a full life. Sunrise and sunset- these beginnings and endings speak of true cyclical beauty.

My next adventure awaits.