For most people, Spring is a geographical concept: an event that happens to someone else, somewhere else.  Since I was born, I got used to life in the tropical Philippine climate, which would always be only either of two things: too hot, or too cold.  Spring is alien to me; it is an imported idea that I know but never feel.

The Fukushima disaster is of the same sort: something that happened to someone else, somewhere else.  And for most of the world, we only knew what the media allowed us to know.  You'll only really understand the impact, the human toll, when you see it in the faces of those who lived through it. And what I saw here, a year later, is there is hope--and plenty of it.

To be a flagship of all those aspirations by offering fresh perspectives to its readers, this issue continues. As editor in chief, I hope to bridge the geographical divide through culture, and we've brought to you slices of life from both Japan and the Philippines; put a human face to both.

And with time, despite the weather, despite Earth's rumblings, we'll know each other enough to be kindred--if not in season, then in spirit.

Signing-in,

dean

Mainam din malimutan ang langit.  Pabayaan muna natin ang mga ulap at bitwin makipag-habulan. Dito na muna tayo, mata'y malumanay, nagsisikap at nagiimbak ng tagumpay sa mundong ibabaw.

Mainam din sigurong malimutan ang mangarap.  Magtanggal ng relo at hayaan makatakas mula sa palad ang mga sandali.  Lumatay muna sa lupa, nang buong batok, bisig at binti, at punahin ang walang-hangang patintero ng kalangitan.

Mainam din kayang ilimot ang pag-ibig.  Ipagpahinga ang pusong abala, at matutuong magmahal imbis na makipagsapalaran.  Maaari din sigurong tumibok ang puso sa marahan na tugtugin, sa payak na ligaya.

Lahat ng naantala ay pansamantala. Sa bingit ng pagkalimot, likas na sigurong mapalingon sa naraanan at tumingala sa langit, dala ng pusong maligalig; matingkad, malinaw, at tumitibok-tibok.

There are trees that wait in natural silence along the old-bridge that leads to the subway.  With withered arms outstretched over sleepy pedestrians, they stand frozen in time. I find comfort in their shade as I walk wearily past them.  There is something to be learned from the steadfast posture of these riverbank trees.

Even with mottled bark, they never tire underneath the sun's glare or the wind's heavings.  Their only revolt is a stray leaf gently broken off their branches, a part of itself separated in homage and humility.  Cushioned by warm gusts, with flickers of stray sunlight caught on morning dew, this offering is accepted and rejoins the earth with blessings.

There is a nobility to withering, and abandonment is a bittersweet exercise that I'd like to learn for myself, as well as the forbearance to endure those troubled times that lay ever ahead.

But what is left to be endured when everyday there is joy and laughter to be had everywhere.  Nearby, the grass sways in tune with the silence left by the birds and the chilling melancholy of Autumn, but are evergreen.  I suppose for those who are planted firmly in the earth, life is a gift that's never exhausted.  

And I've found that land that nourishes the soul so keenly and fills my heart with aching mirth and wonder.  I'll gently lay my roots down and find a sturdy foothold here.  I'll surrender to the Seasons, yearn for the Spring that comes, and walk underneath vibrant foliage pregnant with new blossoms.

The good doctor labored endlessly on the dread machine.  This rigid framework wrought of the world's lightest alloy and a white sail spun from spider-silk would serve as my prison for the next few years.  He was far too old for this enterprise, too frail to pursue his dreams.  So in his stead, I will climb into that blasted contraption myself.

They despised the machine as well, the Conclave, when he had first purported to them that the sky was a dome. There were no stars, no clouds, no moon, and no sun, he had proposed to the assembly.  With worn hands, he gesticulated towards the crumbling roof, the soiled walls. It was all a glittery facade, a beautiful enclosure, much like the room they stood in.

The eldest member, donning the traditional white smock of their order, rose and remonstrated that they have built great ships, countless probes, and sent them above.  All these have returned to corroborate this one truth: above our heads awaits eternity.

There was a fire in the doctor then, a passion he branded all his work.  And with that same passion he had declared he would build a craft within 6 moon-cycles that would vindicate him.  It has been 5 cycles and a gibbous since that day.

I was a peasant in the nearby village. And when I heard of the doctor's story--it spread like a coughing fit--I sought him out and found him at the old lighthouse on land's end.  Until now, a fraction of me believes that only when he opened the door did he finally decide to make it a manned mission.

"The conclave has sent countless circuits and much gadgetry into the heavens, yet their truth is intrinsically separated by degrees.  Through your eyes, I hope to prove what is empirical, as we have always done since long ago to discover what has ever been."

Tomorrow I will climb into the dread machine, be one with the lightest alloy and join with the spider-silk.  I had known little of this world. But, I know enough to contemplate escaping it.  Now, was egress worth placing faith in fiery old men, fused metals, and frail weaving?

If the old man's words were true, then there really is no escape. His midnight equations and craven whisperings spoke of the physical limit to dreaming, an inviolable range to all hope, and an edge to all things.

But I believe that there shall always be more. I am young. Fate has brought me here and I believe she would not lead me down a path so limited.  There must be an opportunity to exceed somewhere waiting to be sought; a door for the faithful; an opening in the wall; a crack through which peeks destiny.

My name is Icarus, and tomorrow I will journey into the light.

Some say there is no such thing as time.  Time, the distance between moments, is a human construct.  It is all we remember, all we expect, and the brief opportunity to smuggle the latter into the former.

This blog is a journal of all those attempts, as well as a physical record of all the joy, anger, mirth, and depression that went into each success and failure, as well as the simple discovery of which was which.

8 years of that journey are incompletely chronicled here.  History, I think, is the human attempt to structure and encapsulate time.  In recording, there is a hope to find a reason to all things.  And I've gotten used to judging my life by its progress, like a movie plot.

So far, it's been a dreary screening--my writing as of late is telling--and it strikes me as wasteful.  Shit happens, everyday; and miracles, too, just as plenty.  For something so arbitrary, I think it's a mistake to attach value to life as a whole.

I realize that the good and the bad are separate, distinct, and equally meaningful. They are meaningful because we learn through them. Nostalgia is probably all the mixed emotions we feel when we uncover a little of our truth as we sift through the past.

So let's not spend effort on defining who we are now, but instead find pride in who we've been, and nourish anticipation for who we'll become. And what that shall entail will always be a personal decision. Somehow, life is a constant attempt at defining who we are.

So to all things I hope for and fear for, to all I cherish and regret, let this be my binding vow to bear witness to life, and to chronicle through imperfect words my imperfect perception of all its meaning, one second at a time.

Oh, and happy 2000 main-page hits!  Because where there is drama, there will shortly follow an audience.

With all the rage for discounts afforded by such upstarts as Ensogo, Pakyaw, etc., we forget that one of the first enterprises into en-masse purchasing was Groupon.  So it took me by complete surprise that for a more senior company, they'd have such sordid write-ups.

Ang unang-una kong bibilhin ay bookshelf sa unang-una kong suweldo, yung maganda, yung pang matagalan.  At study lamp para puwede ako magbasa sa gabi, o habang malamig at  umuulan sa labas.  Pagkatapos noon ay puro libro na.  Maraming-maraming libro ang ilalagay ko sa kuwarto ko, hangang mapuno ang una kong biniling bookshelf.  Bibili ako uli ng bookshelf pagkatapos nun.

The somber commuters think nothing more of the cabins of glass and steel or the hidden machinery encased within. The jarring metal. The electric momentum. The hot, steamy, hiss.  All and more hardly distract the huddled many while they teeter at the edge of the worn platform, knuckles clenched, tickets within.

Their thoughts are elsewhere, further down the shadowed train tracks. It is as if the very gears of their lives take pause as they shuffle into the station, and just as abruptly resume at the next stop.

There is no life to be made in waiting, after-all.

Today marks the first month of waiting at the new job.  Neophyte enthusiasm has given way to bridled anticipation, and these reigns, like my patience, grows ever thinner.

It's a force of gravity that intrudes upon me. The rest of my life, in all its weight and self-importance, reaches out from the distance, from across the fence, and takes hold of my very being, pulling it forward.

Like a mighty star, the tendrils of its influence creeps through the void, across ages, crawls into our skins, into the very marrow of our bones, pulls the willing and unwilling alike into its heart to combust, to burn, to become energy, to radiate outward and into the cosmos.

My very core is compelled, and yet my body lingers.  For the paperwork must be complete, and due process accomplished.  I stand stoic on the platform, glance at my watch, and wait once more.

My eyes linger on the grey coats as they step into the gaping maw of the train doors. An implicit trust is imparted by those who dare to travel beyond.  My eyes begin to wander along the length of the tracks ahead, further and forward, until finally my vision is smothered by the distant impermeable darkness.

In the distance lies the destination, and who's to say what lurks, what haunts, what waits, what stands between the promise of arrival and the courage of departure.

There are still people in my life who don't know I'll be migrating soon.  Such a matter that has permeated my every waking thought, one would think, would have disseminated itself in a spirited and lively manner.

Well, this self-appointed exile of mine has not caught the kind of traction I imagined it would.  Contrary to the quakes and rumbles of my heart, maybe this diaspora is nothing epic.

People leave with a shrug. People disappear from our lives on a regular basis.  Separation is casual.

It just so happened it's me leaving. And I've accepted that I won't be coming back.  At least, not anyone recognizable. True friends would see otherwise:


And for each and every one of them, I've got plenty of goodbye's to spare--that, a quick hug, and the promise of remembering.

"Today, I get my diploma," wika ko sa sarili ko pagka-gising na pagka-gising. Mahigit apat na taon nang nakalipas nung umakyat ako ng entablado, suot ang itim na kumot at matigas na sumbrero ng pagtatapos.  Nag-trabaho ako, umibayong dagat, nagmahal, sumaya, naghiwalay, nalungkot, tumaba, pumayat, kumita, nagpakaluho, nangutang, nagbayad at nabuhay habang naghahanap-buhay.  Ang daming rason kung bakit ko ipinagpaliban ang natatanging patunay ng aking pag-aaral, pag-sasakripisyo, at pagsisikap. Pero sa araw na ito, wala nang dahi-dahilan.

Alas-singko iyon, sa isang maulap na umaga ng Biyernes. Gumising ako nang maaga para abutan ang kanilang tanggapan sa UP Manila ng alas-otso.  Apat na lagda na lamang ang nalalabi bago ko makuha ang aking diploma sa Office of the University Registrar.  Ah, tapos na siguro ako nang alas-diyes ng umaga, makakapasok pa ako.

Alas-tres na ng hapon nung nahawakan ko ang aking diploma.  Kinuhanan ko pa ng litrato at ipinaskil sa Facebook.  "Kelan kaya ako makakakuha nyan?" huni ng isang babaeng estudyante sa likuran ko.

Upang makuha ko ang diplomang ito, ako muna ay umakyat ng tatlong palapag sa NEDA para sa lagda ng Office of Student Affairs.

Pagkatapos ay tumungo akong CAS upang hanapin ang lagda ng College Secretary.  Wala pa daw sabi ng mataray na alalay, naka-blusang itim siya katerno ng kanyang kaluluwa.  Umupo ako sa malapit na bangko at naghintay habang nanonood na muna ng mga estudyante.  Ang ba-bata nila.  Mga wala pang muwang sa kanilang katayuan, sa kanilang kakayahan.  Ang su-suwerte.  

Isang oras ang nakalipas at alas-diyes na, pero wala pa rin.  Mukhang hindi na ako aabot sa opisina. Tumawag ako nang daglian sa amin at nagpaalam ng "half-day".  Ayos.  Kakain na muna ako ng tanghalian kasama si Ralph diyan sa may DFA.  Malapit lang naman.

Ay anlayo, sa SM MOA kami nagawi.  Kumain kami sa kainang Thai, Jatujak, at inilibre niya ako doon ng curry na manok at pansit na malapad na kung tawagin ay Pad Thai. Alas-dos na ako nakabalik, siguro naman nandyan na ang hinihintay ko.

Tumambad si maitim na alalay at inabot sa akin ang aking "clearance form" kasama ang lagda ng sekretarya ng kolehiyo.  Maraming, maraming salamat. Dalawang lagda na lamang.

Takbo akong NEDA muli, pangatlong palapag, isa-(pa)ng lagda sa Office of Student Affairs at isa pa sa Learning Resource Center(LRC). Ewan ko ba kung bakit kasama pa ang LRC, hindi naman ako nakinabang doon.

May nadaanan akong pulubi.  Tumigil ako, tumalikod, bumalik, at nag-iwan ng anim na piso.  Sa aking sarili, nagdasal ako ng taimtim, "Ayan, Lord, mabait naman ako.  Tulungan mo din ako, ah? Please."

Hayan na, ang Office of the University Registrar. Ang tagapagtago ng aking diploma.  Ang guwardiya ng aking kayamanan. "Akin na yan," mahina kong ibinulong habang nakapila sa Window 1.

Inalalayan ako ng naka-berdeng jacket na babae.  Pumasok siya sa likod at doon ay nagtagal.  Ang tagal.  Ako ay bahagyang kinabahan.

"Meron ka pang kulang, lab fees. 800 lang naman," sabi ng pahinante pagkabalik.

"Ha? Lab fees? Pwede ko na ba bayaran ngayon na?" sagot ko.

"Diyan lang sa tabi, sa may kahera."

Pila ako, at sabay silip sa kalupi. Ay nako, pitong-daan na lang ang aking salapi.  Tumakbo ako sa ATM at naglabas ng pera.  Buti na lang husto ang aking kinuha dahil walang sinusukli ang kahera.  Nagbayad ako at kumaripas pabalik sa babaeng naka-berdeng jacket.  Nakangiti at magaan ang aking puso (at ang aking pitaka), inabot ko ang aking "clearance form", kumpleto ang mga lagda, may resibo pa.

Ang haba nang nangyari. Pakiramdam ko hindi matutuwa ang estudyanteng ito kung inilahad ko lahat sa kanya.

Lumingon na lamang ako sa kanya. "Apat na taon ko itong hinintay."

Napatingin ako muli sa aking diploma, "Di bale, darating din yan."

Basta huwag ka lang susuko bulong ng puso ko.

Arrogant. It is said that the proudest are also the most ignorant.  Where the human mind cannot afford fear, it tends to oversimplify and underestimate instead.  It's a weighty thought that bore no meaning to me when I read it once upon a time.

And when I lived a little longer, saw a little farther, I thought this was the world and I knew exactly what I was doing.  I believed I knew enough. Presumptuous.

I once said that I couldn't pick a favorite book, movie, or song.  Arguing that those who have truly dived into the millennia of human creativity and inspiration could not possibly choose one gem from the whole scintillating body of work.  Those who managed to pick just haven't seen enough to compare with.

In Japanese class, for practice, we declare our favorite colors.  I always said red.  If they had to ask why, I'd, in broken Japanese, explain I like red because it isn't blue.  Everyone likes blue and I don't want to be like everyone.

I'm guilty of convincing myself I'm above the usual, that I'm better.  It helps with the self-esteem and the confidence.  But there are some people that exude strength with such an uninhibited manner.  The self-assured.  I envy them.

I envy them because they pick colors they like.  Because they want to have Harry Potter's babies. Because they've memorized every line of Back to the Future.  Because they can Mmmmmbop forevermore--and have tried.

They are the vibrant, the free.

And they are better than me because they are aware of what makes them tick, what gets their juices running, what makes them--them.  They know and are intimate with the urges of their heart, the stirrings of their soul.

I think it's time to find out where my inner compass points.  Stray from the path and see where my secret dreams could take me--if they'll lead me home.

You have to get lost to find yourself.

Framed by the unfamiliar, we are forced to discover our personal truth.