The silence inside you is comforting when you hear everyone speaking in a different dialect. It cements the fact that you understand very little about everything. Even if I was just a mere 1.5-hour flight away, I was an outsider.
In a little over 24 hours, I accomplished everything I was set out to do.
- run out of town
- work remotely
- quench my craving with craft beer from a microbrewery (just one and not too many)
- perk up with a good flat white and/or pour over in a decent cafe
- books (I finished a short one) and music all along
- come running back home
I was telling myself that age is catching up on me. I've forgotten to mention how it also equips you with a decisiveness, with brevity. A familiarity with knowing what you want. And at this point, I know it's going home to family.
You're also quick to decide that you've become a more fragile little piece of flesh. Walking back to my budget hotel, I sprained my ankle on a deep pothole. Shocks. It was pretty bad and I was ready to give up on the race. After some stretches, some unscientific assessments (otherwise known as listening to your body), you summon all your experiences about being sprained, or sleepless and pained. You pump enough adrenaline and gas to drag on for one more morning and worry about it later on. That throw-it-all-away ability to say fuck it. I dragged on for 16 kilometers at a 6:53 average pace and it was as if there wasn't an exhausted bone in my body. I breathe deeply and it was nothing but a good run.
Waiting at the boarding gates and sitting on the plane is a time for reading and music. Passengers no longer seem fascinated that we're all together floating on this tube at 20,000 feet with coffee and snacks. Sayaka Murata's Convenience Store Woman was perfect because it was eerily easy to relate to. A mindful joy of loving what you do. We arrived after sunset. Manila's lights honestly looked pretty and all of it is winking at you.
Maybe we'll do it again next time, with a little more sleep and without breaking any ankles.
