People leave our lives as quickly as they came. And there is nothing wrong about feeling sad seeing them go, regardless of how short the time spent together is. We know deep in our hearts that they’re only with us for as long as the Fates allow, and this time is not much given the very minuscule time lent us to taste life. Friendships that result from this chance meeting amaze me. They remind me of the simple fact that among the great things one experience while alive, friendship is one of the most difficult to exact from any practical reason for being. It’s just there unobtrusively making us feel that someone sees us and sees us with a degree of tenderness deep inside we know we may not even deserve.
I am writing this post on a train to Cubao from my work in Katipunan. In Cubao, I’m hopping on to another train to Mandaluyong where I currently live. I do this every day. I have been wanting to write down my thoughts like I used to do when I was younger. But thoughts go stale. They are bombarded every day by our hesitations, self-destructive thoughts emanating from the many selves contained within the Self. Thoughts are diluted and rendered cliche by the daily assaults of the everyday. And I’ve stopped writing for some time now. Writing required me to examine my thoughts, but this act of examination annihilated all thoughts, further examination made me realize that the experiences I have enrich not this collective experience. That the collective goes on despite my stopping. And raging against the dying light is just like that–raging. And angry.
And so the individual chooses silence. Perhaps in silence he may hear that Self and its stories drowned by the noise of the world and the painful rebuke of the many selves it encases.