Sunset in Pagudpud

I know that pictures of me on the beach change each year–I gain more weight, develop more facial lines, look a little more confident, and perhaps happier because of my growing acceptance of the many things I cannot change now but I may take some shots of changing in the future.

My happiness now has become less dependent on many external factors; they’re more hinged on the fact that the sun, more than the people I’m with, the hotel where I stay, the things I do, they matter less, and that what counts is that I’m alive and am able to have a glimpse of the setting sun, that I believe is already something worth celebrating about–being able to enjoy that view of the sun as it turns bright orange then suddenly darkness.

I am becoming old. And that’s a good thing. I am not having so much fun, but I’m happy. The two are different.

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A story in my mind

From a distance, looking at both of them, nothing seemed to be happening. They’re both good at keeping the facade of a static self.

A continued doing what he normally did, that is, be lulled by the quiet repetitions of his life. B was his normal, distant and quiet self. The only thing that betrayed him were those beautiful eyes that glimmered with so much knowledge of the world. But both knew that something strong and powerful was happening within, something that would sweep them both away. That night, before A said good bye to B, B told A that he wanted to talk to him, at least for an hour; there was gravity in his tone, but it needed not be that evening, that talk could wait until they have again that stolen time. The wind was quiet but it was cool.

A said yes. Terrified. It was one of those rare times when B called him by his name.