Friday, June 18, 2021

Today

Friday, June 18, 2021

Today I renewed this blog's domain name for another two years. I hesitated at first. I thought of shutting it down for good, but I know that you would want me to keep this, to continue writing even if that day will come when you won't be able to read what I write anymore.  

You know that I write mainly for you, right? You're the only one who has the patience and the inclination to read about my ramblings anyway. I thank you for that and for the many other things, honey.  This blog has been our thing for the past 14 years, and it will continue to be so for always.

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

There's a winnowing away

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

"The face that stares back at you from the mirror later in life is so different than when you’re young. There’s a winnowing away and a shutting down. A sense of something having been taken from you and you don’t know exactly what it is, just that it isn’t there anymore. What opens up to you instead is experience, is cunning, is foreknowledge. Nothing you sought."

~ Jeff VanderMeer, Hummingbird Salamander, 2021

Saturday, April 24, 2021

I'd Still Do It

Saturday, April 24, 2021

If I knew beforehand that I'd be stuck overseas for months on end with dwindling resources and no means of going home amid a raging pandemic that shows no signs of abating, I would still choose to go through the same thing all over again. Because if I didn't, I would've missed spending one glorious month with D. And I won't exchange that time with him for anything in the world. 

In March last year, the threat of COVID-19 becoming a serious global pandemic was already imminent and we could have called off our vacation. I am relieved that we didn't. I am happy that—flouting fear, caution, and reason—we followed through with our plans despite what happened afterwards. 

This transient life allows us only rare instances of true joy. If D and I didn't go to Costa Rica, we would've missed those moments. Those hours spent watching the sun come up, its yellow light saturating the sky, the trees, the rooftops, and then burning away the mist of morning; we'd sit there until the yiguirro's song ends and the world turns over itself, to begin again. Those afternoons that passed deliciously slowly—hours blending together into a sameness that is joyful and comforting. I relished those moments and wished that they'd never end.

Tuesday, April 20, 2021

How illusory the reliance on permanence is

Tuesday, April 20, 2021

"It’s human nature to want to bind ourselves to the parts of life we hold dear whether those parts are actual people, events, items, or dreams. We want to fasten them to us so they’re safe and near us forever. But this type of binding frays and tears until, even when we fight the awareness, we’re forced to see how illusory the reliance on permanence is. What we have, in all its glory, to hug and hold, to caress and learn, to feel and grow, is simply right here and right now. If we are lucky, the bond holds in the moment—and the experience of it shines and breathes and expands. Then our story can change in an instant, and we may never be given the gift of why."

Michele Harper, The Beauty in the Breaking: A Memoir, 2021
 
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