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for Sunday Scribblings

When I was younger, I had an enormous explorer style world map above my bed. It was the source of both my dreams and nightmares, as there was this whole world of possibilities open to me, and all I had to do was make a choice. Contradictorily, all I had to do was make a choice.

It is difficult even for people who know me well to decide if my indecisiveness makes me easy-going or just too passive. I often prefer others to make choices for me when both options seem desirable. I can’t bear to be blamed if things don’t go well, and I sincerely want both, so how I could I possibly choose only one? On a solo trip to the Philippines though, I had no choice, but to choose.

I arrived in Manila with lots of ideas. There were places in every direction that I wanted to visit. There were buses, boats and planes, lakes, volcanoes and about 7000 islands. I stared at the map in my guidebook, stymied. Ready to close my eyes and go where my finger landed, I finally made my decision by choosing the location of the next festival. When boats and plane tickets were sold out for my first choice, I settled on the Dinagyang Festival in Iloilo, Panay. Dinagyang means merry-making in Ilonggo. It is a religious and cultural celebration and involves a lot of drumming with dancers painted black, wearing elaborate colorful costumes. It is loud, hot and crowded, and like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Large groups arrive from all over the country to participate on the fourth weekend of January every year.  

I arrived in the evening, a week early, and watched the preparations. Stalls were set up selling glass bottles of coke and San Miguel, and barbequed fish. There were speakers piled upon and speakers, nearly toppling over, and students practicing drum routines in the streets. I decided to spend the week on the island of Guimaras, home of the juiciest mangos in the Philippines, and return when the festival was in full swing.

Guimaras is just a short boat ride from Iloilo. My first stop was Valle Verde Mountain Resort, in the center of the island. From there I took steamy walks through the villages with a local guide and a grumpy old foreign man. He was slowly going blind, and waiting for the construction of his house nearby to be completed. I familiarized myself with jeepney etiquette, visited a monastery in an orchard, and cooled my feet in the pool, staring at the emerald mountains surrounding me; sticky mango peels piling up beside me.

But soon I longed for the beach, so reluctantly I left Valle Verde and ended up at Rico Beach resort in Alubihod, Guimaras. This is an older style resort, the kind favored by day-tripping picnickers. The restaurant served only portions of seafood big enough for whole families. It got very noisy. Watching all the families enjoying each others’ company made me lonely and only further reminded me of how out of place I felt. The Philippines is not a place to be alone. Throughout my journey people questioned me about my lack of companionship, astounded that I would travel alone.

Rico wasn’t the sort of resort I had in mind, so when I was invited on a boat ride, touring around to other beaches and a turtle sanctuary, I gladly took it. This is when I first stepped on Baras Beach. Baras Beach Resort was what I had in mind. I spent my days snorkeling, paddling a canoe and exploring this tiny beach, or soaking up the afternoon sunlight on my private cliff, waiting anxiously to be called to dinner, as the smell of it wafted up to my bungalow. Evenings were spent eating creamy seafood curries, communal style, and sipping Tanduay rum.

What made this spot so special to me wasn’t the views and fresh fish. This was only to be the first of many similar experiences on my four-month trip around the country. On the third day, the other tourists left, and as I watched a new boat arrive, and about 35 members of an extended family disembark with their own beer and food, I feared I was in for more of my Rico Beach experience. Instead, this lively and expansive family invited me to join them in their reunion.  Each year one of the daughters in this family, married to a Swiss man, returns with her husband and children to treat everyone to a memorable day out.  This family treated me as one of their own, and summoned me to all their activities including drinking games and a drag fashion show using life saving equipment. In the morning, the matriarch of the family wished me well, hoping we’d write to each other.

The best part of travelling in the Philippines is that most people speak English fluently, and because of it, conversations and real exchanges of culture, like these I shared at Baras Beach, were the most cherished mementos I took from my vacation.

Present

for Sunday Scribblings

I’ve always considered myself to be a very efficient person. My approach is to get a bothersome task done as quickly a possible, in order to have as much time as possible for my favorite pastime, relaxing. But once my daughter was born, things began to take a turn.

In the final weeks leading up to my baby’s birth, I felt purposeless, waiting for her to be born. Within moments of her arrival I couldn’t remember what it was that I’d filled my time with before her. And while her father and I gave her the gift of life, and took on the responsibility of guiding her, she has already, at her tender age, reciprocated and taught us something of great worth.

To live in the present is a present in itself. Much of my time now is spent nourishing her, changing her and soothing her. There is little time for much else. As I move into her third week of life, I am beginning to find pockets of time now, and to know when the perfect moment to take a shower or make a cup of tea is. Yet, something else is happening. Instead of cherishing these quiet moments to myself, or spending time alone with my spouse, I find myself transfixed by her eyes, by her lips. When my husband takes her, I don’t want to leave the room. What if I miss something good? On the contrary, when I do take time away from her, I’m reluctant to do a chore or errand. I want to soak up sunshine on the beach, and not be accountable to anyone, for a while. 

My daughter has given me these moments. She has taught me to appreciate the present more, instead of looking ahead to what can be accomplished. She has given me a gift.

Paradoxically, starting a family has given me time.

Tomorrow

For Sunday Scribblings

photo: Cobus Botes

Never put off till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow. 

~Mark Twain

There is much to be said about taking your responsibilities seriously, about planning, and not procrastinating. But sometimes we take this too far, packing as much into a day as we can, only to find there’s even more to do tomorrow. Like the to do list I kept at work, as good as it felt to cross something off, it was pretty disheartening to add three more items at the same time.

The idea of not delaying until tomorrow should definitely be used for what’s important, but the trick is figuring which of the tasks set before you are.  Some things ought to take a backseat to those that make us and those around us happiest, enriched and contented.

As the sun sets on today, we can reflect on what tomorrow brings instead: another sunrise, a change in the weather, time to heal, the unknown, a second chance, and most importantly, more time to do what you love.

My Muse

photo: Cobus Botes

for Sunday Scribblings
Today I had a beautiful Sunday. It was a day of whales. Currently I’m living on the Western cape of South Africa, where in the winter, Southern Right whales frequent these waters for breeding before heading further south for the summer. Today started with a neighbor telling us to come quick and see the whale he spotted near our home. Later, we took a drive to windy Herald’s Bay, and saw more whales from the cliffs above. One dramatically breached a few times for us. Then we took a walk on the beach, and had a nice lunch at a restaurant overlooking the bay. I loved this day. It is exactly how I wanted to spend my day, and yet I never gave a single thought to any of it ahead of time. What I loved even more was that it was my husband that made the decision to take this drive. He so often either knows instinctively or wants as well what I didn’t even know I wanted. It is truly a wonderful thing to be with someone who enjoys doing so many of the things that you like doing.

We both came into this relationship loving nature, and we have been feeding off of each other’s connection to it ever since. This love (actually need) to be outside has become even stronger as the two of us are more and more compelled to breathe fresh air and feel sun on our faces, together. For this, and many other reasons, I love him more each day, even if it sounds like a cliché. 

My husband is a very creative person. He is trained in design and technology, and especially loves working with wood. He has worked on many projects recently, from an Indonesian island style upright base to an archway for our wedding. He’s taught himself to play guitar and records his own songs, built a website, and handles most of life’s little glitches through foresight, observation and contemplation. Partly because of him, recently I am taking the time to teach myself to draw, do a bit of writing and start my own blog. I can finally do this because now I can accept the hiccups along the way and not be preoccupied with perfection. What’s the point if I don’t learn anything new?

My husband has a lot of patience. He treats others respectfully, and recognizes that we can’t fully understand someone else’s perspective, especially when we’ve never been in their shoes. He minds his own business, but takes an active interest in the lives of those around him. He shows compassion to those in need, and most importantly, is considerate of others. He makes me want to be a better person, to be less self-involved, to put the needs of others in front of my own.

He is my muse. My inspiration.  

Shipwreck

photo: Cobus Botes

for Sunday Scribblings

Why was that woman crying? (See Despair, August 21.) What happened? Did she find out someone had died? Did her boyfriend break up with her? Is she coping with a life threatening illness? Fortunately, I’ve been very lucky and blessed in my life. What I recognized on her face, her sorrow, is something I’ve felt only when hurt by someone I cared deeply about. It’s the feeling of panic, when you can’t really breathe steady, when you can’t even imagine staying afloat again. Sometimes the damage is irreparable, sometimes a temporary patch does the trick, and at others you just have to keep bailing until you reach shore. Of course, though it’s hard to recognize the value of this at the time you’re going down, we grow the most when the ship needs a complete overhaul. Also, others can learn from our mistakes, and in fact new life develops and is sustained by the wrecks we leave behind.