Portia Placino

Repository of my thoughts and images of art, literature, travel, and life.

Day 1: Unlock the Mind

I’ve almost forgotten that I signed up for Writing 101. I just wanted to check out what it is. Also, I’ve had trouble writing for the past few years and this feels like it would help me get back out there. I’ve been trying to write lately, some aren’t so good, admittedly. But I really like the feeling of being able to write again. With the internet so slow, I’m just writing this in Pages, hopefully, I can post this tomorrow, as part of the twist.

Stream of consciousness, that is today’s challenge. I’m supposed to write for twenty minutes straight and end it promptly. I’m familiar with the concept enough and have written in such a manner before, but I don’t think I’ve actually timed it. Now, we shall see where my mind takes me.

I just got back from Lenten vacation. It was restful, but my peaceful little hometown just isn’t peaceful anymore. Granted, there are more activities over lent, but also, commercialization has found Lucban. I am not too happy about that. Even the “buhusan” wherein people traditionally splash each other with water for Easter Sunday was turned into a town-wide foam party sponsored by the municipality. That is just depressing.

On the positive note, the townspeople seem to still really love tradition. I brought Ian to the center of town and at the church to see the Good Friday procession. The town was so alive, everybody went out to see the procession. I personally haven’t seen it in years. Yet, its fascinating that it is still alive. Granted, the tradition is deeply rooted to the gains and pageantry of the upper class, but still. To see the people go out and celebrate, not for the sake of tourists but for themselves, it is still quite something.

I also had drinks with some schoolmates from high school. It was Enrico, Jed, Kris, and Ali. We had good conversation for hours. We talked about the past, the present, and even dreams of the future. It is a little odd, as we weren’t all that close in high school, except perhaps Enrico. But I found that if you really try to open up and know a person, and if they’re i the same mood as you are, you can find out a lot about them and their life.

I remember that I hated high school. It was just so monotonous. You have to do the same thing over and over again, even the clothes are the same. It seemed too colorless. I have friends, though they are few. But I’m proud to say that we are all friends until now, even if we seldom see each other or talk to each other. Yet for most of the time, high school was just sooo horrible. It was boring. And I really felt like I didn’t belong there.

Years later, I would mature and though there are a lot of times when I still feel like I don’t belong, I know I’ve found my place in the world. I love what I do, I love travelling. Though I will never have the earning potential of my peers, I really do not mind it too much. Having so much life, beyond money, is really the greatest thing.

But going back to high school, I find that I am now more able to talk to high school peers. We all changed. We all matured. We really don’t have to subscribe to the strata and expectation of high school anymore. I’m no longer the serious, bookish nerd. Though I am still that, the point is, it doesn’t matter anymore. I never thought that I would spend an evening having beer and talking to these guys for hours and hours. I only had to go home because I know my Mom wouldn’t be sleeping until I was home. That’s the catch when visiting Lucban, I am not in my own apartment and my time isn’t solely my own.

I really look forward to a time when I can talk to them again. Or to most people for that matter. What I really learned is that each people have their own story, and it is a beautiful story. You just have to take some time to really hear them. Listen. And learn. I, for one, wished that more people understood. Or listened. Especially in my angsty teenage rebellion years. But what I’ve really come to realize is that everyone is like that. They have their story to tell, but not everyone has someone to listen to them.

My time is about up but this listening thing, I realize that more poignantly when I travel. A lot of people I’ve met and talked to, perhaps I will never remember their names, or even their faces. But I will remember what we did and the stories they were able to tell me. There were endless stories…

(End of stream of consciousness exercise.)


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This entry was posted on April 7, 2015 by in Random Writings and tagged , , , .



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