Day 47 to Day 52: On Traveling, Before and After The Middle

Sometimes, it surprises me how this has become an actual thing. It exists. It continues to exist. And somehow, over the past 3 months, I did manage to write about more than 50 things, beautiful and true. In and out of the water.

Here's to writing 50 more.

 

47/100 → We both know it: I'm not your master. You don't roll over for me unless you know I've got a tasty treat, and not just any boring treat, it had to be extraordinary, like lamb or liempo or lechon. You don't go "out!" for me and you don't stop digging through the trash no matter how many times I hit you-- lightly. Okay fine, I can never hit you. Which is maybe why you only run to me when you know you did something really bad, like chew on Harold's shoes, and he's going to discipline you so you cower behind me and lay flat on the floor for a belly rub. "I'm going to be disciplined!" Your eyes widen as you tell me how afraid you are, you funny dog. But I rub your belly anyway and I tell you "it's okay" until your tail is wagging again and off you go, happy to forget me for the next couple of minutes until you knock over the bin or bite the mattress. You'll come back then.

And I'm okay with that. As long as you know I'm part of your life, whether it's only for comfort and love, Nica, I'm fine. 

 

48/100 → Today marks the end of a month of maybe's. The waves are back and all is right in the world again. Food tastes better, work is easier, and even just laughing along to nonsense seems profound. Things are right when they feel light. And what a light-filled day it has been. 

 

49/100 → I'll go ahead and claim it: this has got to be one of the best birthdays ever. In the entire world. And it wasn't even mine. We drove down from L.U. to see if any of the spots in Pangasinan were working, and they were. Then we had time to go all the way down to Zambales where our favorite left (or mine, at least) was firing like nothing else. For two days straight. And we got to see so many of our closest friends that it felt like a grand reunion of south swell seekers, of the truest sea brothers and sisters you'll ever meet. And then there was lots of pizza and lots of cake, and lots of stories and laughter and moments that are so incredibly pure. 

It was just such a good two days of surf and friendship that I won't be surprised if we were still smiling about it a year from now. It was the perfect way to grace the world another year and I'm absolutely happy that it was yours. Because people who love as hard as you deserve only the best birthdays. May you have perfect birthdays every year, H. I hope to be part of all of them, haha! And may we take better pictures with Nica because it seems she learned the command "hide!" here. That silly dog.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, H!

 

50/100 → I admit I was being ambitious when I started #100DaysOfWritingTrue. I would have bet against myself about reaching the halfway point, but here we are. The trouble with these creative projects is you don't feel creative all the time, and you will find yourself weighed down by the unwritten standard of 'not good enough.' But I realized three things, with these fifty entries so far:

1) To be creative, one need only create. There is no standard other than 'you simply have to make.'

2) And make it real! The pressure of finding something inspiring everyday will only achieve the opposite. You will be disappointed at how plain or painful things can be, and that's okay. Write true, not write pretty. And to write true, you have to write bad too.

3) Throughout the days I've been posting for this project, I've seen other people start something beautiful of their own. What could possibly be more worthwhile than this? To be able to awaken the urge to move and be moved in other people. Do it, so others could do it too. 

Here's Harold taking pictures for his project, #100PostsOf3Photos. I love seeing him inspired. :)

 
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51/100 → A friend told me this morning that she was going away again, and when I asked why she had to leave so often, she said: "We are most ourselves when we travel." 

And how true. It is when we become unhinged from routine and familiarity that we settle into our most natural form; we let go of all the roles we assume to just be ourselves and nothing else.

We are not who we are when we work, and maybe not even when we love. We reset into ourselves within a quiet point in transit, when we look out windows in between bus stations or airports, when we gather the self split by cities to finally take just one seat, and be all here. This is me, timeless and placeless. This is me, whole.

Photo by Rey Surf

 

52/100 → Of the many ways you can express and experience love, perhaps nothing is as deep and humbling as cleaning the house together. It's the perfect picture for patience and teamwork-- scrubbing away dirt for the comfort of the other person. I used to think poems and love letters were the grandest manifestations of love, but trust me: nothing says I love you better than a newly mopped floor, a squeaky clean sink, and things returned properly to their shelves.

Thank you for these simple yet glorious moments, @haroldcrisostomo. Let's see how long until entropy kicks in, and we'll need to clean again.

 

Waves, lately. #westcoast

Wearing the Shark Mid in Yellow Green and White. Freestyle Watch PH.

Wearing the Shark Mid in Yellow Green and White. Freestyle Watch PH.