Riding out, Bigtime

Courtesy of my brother, I've been able to sit on a carbon saddle/post, and ride a carbon fork, aluminum alloy frame road bike. It's still an entry-level bike and relatively less expensive, and I'm certainly not a racer. But it's exhilarating to curl your body up to an an aero position and speed up to 40+ kph with your leg muscles as the main engine. Moving your legs is literally walking out of anxieties. 

The pandemic sparked a cycling surge and Manila has more dedicated bike lanes. Drivers are better understanding the concept of road-sharing and people are rediscovering cycling both for leisure and for practical transport. These days even the small victories seem like incredible conquests. When we all wake up from this dream, I hope we remember a thing or two. People have paid for this with their lives. 

Recovering after a good (albeit short) ride is like a small victory. I re-hydrate at the coconut wholesale store at the public market, because they have the best buco juice at either 5 or 10 pesos a cup. I felt a little nervous about taking off my face mask. A woman and her son asked me, rather politely, for money. The son says he's going to buy buco juice. I ordered for both them. The vendor asks, 5 or 10 pesos? 10 pesos for each of them, I replied. Because of the endorphins, I was feeling bigtime. 

On the treadmill, the other day, I sang along, I don't want to come back down from this cloud. It's taken me all this time to find out what I mean.

I may have already said enough and writing wouldn't rid me of this anxiousness. I thought process-mapping this anxiousness and stepping away from myself would help, but it only temporarily addresses the gaps and failure points. I could never get to the root causes, why the human mind wired this way. 

Staying alive amidst this pandemic. Barely having any trouble with an all-too-familiar isolation because I'm with a loving family that has brought me unspeakable joy. And while it wasn't a lot, there's literature, literature turned into series, series, treadmill runs, Philosophy podcasts, Japanese lessons, distance learning, dark roasted Sagada coffee, frothed milk, dark roasted beer, citrusy craft beers, music, never-ending conversations with my D. and I. and V. 

I may have already said enough and writing wouldn't rid me of this anxiousness. So I write, because I will never be rid of the anxiousness. But it's not just the devil that's in the detail. Life, at best, is to live for these little stories.

It's V. telling us, "when there's no more virus, we'll go to the coffeeshop." She often says our house is like a coffeeshop. She strums her bright yellow ukulele. She sings You are my Sunshine.  

And don't worry if you don't write it all. You've lived. Pretty soon you'll climb up those anxious steps again. But now. Stay in the clouds. Oh it's so puffy. There there.