Tempus Fugit

Even my avatar has gray hair.

Zwifted 40km on Zwift's Tempus Fugit (a favorite, partly because it has the lowest elevation, and the Latin has a nice ring to it). I've been cycling virtually in Watopia and Makuri Islands for a year now. Imaginary islands where I genuinely treasure some peace, playfulness, a sense of safety and a sense of living out a fantasy, while literally gaining power. Since it's Sunday, and there is time I can pass, I decided to go for a 5km run outside. I hop off the ride and went on to run. I just took off from the street outside the house. A young man's been following and running along, he calls me Sir and he asks if he can follow along. He looks really young and he says he's 18. Turns out we are neighbors. He's in Manila to study but he's really from the South, he says. We talk about Zwift, compare Hoka and Nike and our Garmin devices. We paced 5"27 for around 5k, and I feel that time really just zips by. 

 

Way Up High

 

This is around the time I. is practicing Czerny, Bach and Bartok for his recital. He plays Married Life, the theme from Up, and every time, our home is carried to Adventure Land by innumerable helium balloons. V. is practicing Somewhere Over the Rainbow for her voice lessons. The clouds are far behind us. 

We've all loved music, and here it is, finding its way to love us back. 

On Demo Versions

To A.,

I'm going to take advantage of the fact that the author of a book I read is on my messenger list. The entire book was highlight-worthy. An unembarrassed "catalog of endurances" embellished with well-earned gems and gold. With fond remembrance of P. (The Universal's full-orchestra opening still ringing in my head) and with gratefulness for being around and having read this book. 

 

I enjoyed so immensely that I couldn't put it down and practically just inhaled it. 

There are friendships we nurture, friendships we envy, and some we hope to rekindle further. I couldn't tell him how he's gone a long way from the Bolitas Boys, the byline they used in the school paper we wrote for, cautious that he wouldn't find humor in that anymore. It was that short, aphoristic style. So jeprox, our teacher/adviser criticized. (I don't know why I have such a penchant for remembering.)

We must all miss singing, I miss the comfort of being sad. 

The End of the Pursuit of what is Right and Low-Key

 

Writing breaks the silence of your heart. If you keep it inside, you keep digging that hole deeper. It comes out with brazen honesty. What I want to say is when the time comes, I want to go on my own, and make a brave and logical choice. Some of us find the serenity that things will no longer happen in this lifetime, or no longer want to expend any more energy to pursue such greater heights. It's not that we've given up, it's just that they've had enough. Enough joys, included. Some of us might use this as a way to escape. It shouldn't go that way. You can only go when you are fully decided to go, and for the right reasons. When those who you will leave behind also has a sense of readiness. When they're no longer be surprised by your decision.  

We don't want to grow too old.