Not as clear as Coke Clear

June 30th
Saturday
Kasama-shi, Ibaraki

This drink seems to have some existentialist's crisis. For all I know, Coke is supposed to have that dark, inviting color. After taking a few gulps, I gave up. It just didn't taste right. So it's been a few weeks since it's in my fridge, having no idea when will I have the courage to drink it again.

But this post is not about this coke's new version. It's about the crisis I found in it. I don't know what to make of it because it's clear and coke is not supposed to be clear. Just like my life right now. I don't know what to make of it.

I grew up knowing only two professions in this world-- a teacher and a policeman. Of course, they are my parents' and I grew up looking up to them. Life I thought was the kind of life I grew up with. Well, I haven't really figured it out until I was twenty-ish. Just like everyone else back home, I figured that a perfect and an easy life would be finishing college, finding a job in the government, building a family, growing old, and die. Plain. Simple. Happy. Well, that's what I at least see for some of my peers back home. Not that they have made it to the die stage, but looking at their photos in Facebook, the stability of their life seems to suggest that their life has been so predetermined just like death.

But then again, this post is not about death. In fact, it's about the opposite of it. It's about life and how I feel and view it at the moment. Have I figured my life already? No, definitely not yet. The truth is, I have been having existential dilemma since I stood on my thirty-ish. It's funny, isn't it? After existing for three decades on this planet, I haven't really figured my life yet. While for some, they already see themselves where they are going-- raising their kids, growing old with their partners, retiring from their job, and so on. As for me, I am lucky to have a wonderful husband I can tolerate growing old with, but the rest is just impeccably uncertain. Why impeccably-- because I see beauty in it. There is beauty in the uncertain, in the unknown. There is excitement and there is always something to look forward to. But it's scary.

I am scared. My life is no ordinary. Well, maybe because as a kid, I always had extraordinary dreams. Maybe, I am really destined for extraordinary adventures. Or, maybe. Just a maybe.

At thirty, I gave up my job at the government. It was supposed to lead me to the life I always thought would be. Stability, security, but boring. After coming back home from a 2-year life in New Zealand, there was just this desire in my heart to live in a different country once more. So I embarked living in Japan. Lo and behold! I arrived in Japan even before I was even mentally and physically ready for it. I was hoping to live here with Raymond and start building our family here. It would have been so easy as a slice of cake. Until I started to re-evaluate the things that truly mattered.

Since I left home to study at a University in Bicol, my life as a gypsy started. I was only 16 then. I was a soleful wanderer. My life was a series of moving out and moving in. I have lived in too many cities that I actually have lost count of them. From Bicol, to Cavite, to Pasig, to Mandaluyong, to Makati, to Laguna, to Cebu, to Baguio, and so on. My head literally aches trying to count each of them. Those were not even brief stays, well, the shortest I guess was in Laguna, I lived there for a month.

I remember one job interview I had with an old woman, after scanning through my resume, the first thing that came out her mouth was: "You're like a rolling stone." And to me it translated as, I am everywhere. I was confused. She made it sound like it was a bad thing but I thought it was otherwise. I thought it was liberating to be everywhere.

And it is. In every place I have lived in, a part of myself is ripped off me. Each of these places have changed me. And all these places count to who I am now. I have mastered the art of moving in and moving out into a place, and sadly, into one's life as well. The art of letting go for me is just a piece of cake. But this art is also expensive. It had to cost me my community, my friends, and my family.

And now that I am thirty, a few months to go before I turn into my first year of this decade, a question has been haunting me. A question concerning my existence. Do I want to keep the tides of life take me to many different shores until my bones weaken, until I get tired? Or is it about time to finally dock my ship into an island and start planting my roots there? The daunting truth is, I can't forever have the needed strength to sail ashore. I don't even know if there is still part of me that can be ripped off. I don't even know if there is still something left in me that I can share.

I am everywhere and thinking about it is exhalarating. I am blessed to have the chance to fill the desires of my insatiable soul. I have spent half of my life discovering new horizons. I have thousands of stories to tell. I have countless adventures I can always marvel on. I know that deep inside me, there is always this extraordinary dreamer. I don't have any plans to extinguish it at all. Not yet. A few more years, maybe? Until, I'm ready to say: I can finally stay. 😊

Now, it's clear. But not as clear as Coke Clear.

The Land of the Rising Sun: Prelude

June 2nd, Saturday
Kasama-shi, Ibaraki, Japan

This post will begin with a glass of wine.
The past three months have been a whirlwind of emotions. I never thought (who would, anyway) that March 10 would be a day marked by God to be the day when I will lose the only living parent I have-- my father.

I don't want to put much details in here. Not that, unlike other posts I usually get tired easily and unwillingly, but this time, I am not ready to face the details yet. They are but too painful to revisit.

After going through near-deaths-roller coaster-of-a-ride-ninety-days in my life, the tides of fates brought me once again to some unknown shore. The shores of East Asia-- the pained shores of Japan. I sometimes couldn't help but be amazed whenever I remember of that one fine afternoon, I was seated in one of the cozy seats in Starbucks, Mall of Asia (in fact, I am not even sure if that was in Starbucks). It was one of those days when I would silently write on my diary while enjoying lazily a grande frappucino of my favorite flavor-- choco java chip. I could remember ever so clearly how I draw the map of the world, highlighting New Zealand's two beautiful islands with an airplane beside it going in the direction to Japan. I never, to be completely honest, have ever thought to actually live in Japan. Only for some mundane reasons, such as being able to visit the Harry Potter's Theme Park and perhaps, get a taste of the authentic oriental aspect of Asia, there's nothing more. And fastforward from that day until today, here I am now: lying on my stomach, trying to make an attempt once again, in documenting these memories of living in the land of the rising sun.

June 13th, Wednesday
Kasama-shi, Ibaraki

Reading this post could be a waste of anyone's time, I'd suppose. Regardless, I'll keep going. My thoughts deserve some decent place to live in.

Every inch of my nerves right now is shaking. I had too much caffeine today. Thanks to the nurse-sensei who was sitting across me, giving me an almost-cupful of cold, dark (I mean, seriously dark) coffee after my final class for the day.

My emotions are all over the place. While OPM songs are on the background, I feel like the deepest part of my heart wants to just throw into tears and crying. Well, I have been incessantly crying since March. My crying is sometimes a form of healing and cleansing but most of the times, it's the manifestation of all my suffering. I thank God for my tears.

Now, let me go back to the reason why I am actually triggered to write again. Earlier in my afternoon class with 3rd graders and 5th graders, my pupils assessed their learning in my class. The thing is, I really am not used to getting assessed straight on. And earlier, that was a first! In a class of ten, 5 were happy about their learning in my class. Being 4 is the highest, among 10 pupils, 5 students rated their learning at 1. And some even commented that they did not understand the lesson and got bored. Okay, these are third graders!

On the other hand, out of seven pupils in 5th grade, 7 out of 7 said they enjoyed my class. I even heard them say in Japanese, "suki Eigo" which is translated to " (I) like English". Now, that's worth celebrating!

But why is it that I feel so glum and disappointed about those five who rated me low? Look, out of 17, 12 said they are happy and only 5 said they are not. Why do I magnify the negative and take for granted the positive?

This, in fact, is the current state of my disposition in life. Why is it too hard for me to magnify all the positive things in my life? Every day seems to be a hard toil. I seem to live every day only to get by. I only see pain and suffering, taking for granted the gift of breath God is giving me every day. Taking for granted the blue skies, the warmth of my blanket, the food I eat, the job I have, the life I have.

In the autobiography written by Dr. Frankl, the Meaning of Life, he said when man loses his reason to live, life becomes meaningless. And every day, that's the battle I face. Well, it could be so easy for some to say, "you have to get on with life", "there is nothing you can do to bring them (my parents) back, you don't have the choice but to go on living." The saddest thing about this is that you hear these words from the people you expect most to understand you.

I think, the greatest tragedy for a person who start to lose his or her reasons to live is to hear these words from people whom he or she expects to be the one comforting and condoling him or her. When all you need is to hear words of comfort from the people you love but you hear otherwise, where else would you be getting strength and reasons to live for?

When I was a kid, I did not have everything in life. I grew up in a financially struggling family. I pushed myself to chase my dreams, no matter how much it costs. My parents know that. My parents, more than anyone else, know me. And they've seen me making all my dreams to reality. From my academic achievements (which mama was always so proud of me) to my career milestones, passing the board exams, getting scholarship abroad (which papa always boasts how impressed he was of me). The thing here is, I lived all my life trying and doing my best to please my parents. And now that they're gone, I just feel all