Today, the rains hesitate, while I, and the thousands of others who returned to school. First day of classes: again, new faces, old faces, new surroundings, all surroundings.
This is how we return to what we deem to be old things:
I turned over class cards today, in my second to the last semester in the university, as an undergraduate student, expected to learn some French, teach language and literature, delve into the seldom explored territory of folk literature and some more. This is how we accost knowledge, we enter classrooms and expected to thrive and be smarter, we leave classrooms and expected to be armed as we encounter the world.
I also shortly dropped by the office of the publication, nearly same same. The cruel repetition of scenarios. I wander around the university during my vast free time, summoning old times when these places are entirely different, less repulsive, more jaunty. I was waiting for the rain and some more, I was waiting for a stranger to ask me where is this room or that. I was always waiting for adventures, have always hesitated in jumping right in front of them.
As school year begins, I am promising to myself, in this blog, to the always savage wilderness that is Baguio and beyond, I will no longer just drift through the wind and ponder upon our futile flights; I promise to be fiercer than ever, teeth gnashed together and fists as obdurate as the expression of Bernardo Caprio when he was attempting to save humanity. I promise to be fancy and good, because this cycle is rarely a jelly ace and sweet watermelons. And hesitations are better when overcome.