I’m at an airport cafe in Abu Dhabi, en route to Berlin. I’ve effectively and apparently convinced myself that there’s nothing unusual about entering the same country for third time in the span of three months, without ever actually having set foot in it. In the past three months, I’ve filled a book, beginning every entry with the date and my age (I guess this should explain why it’s been so quiet in these parts), rationalizing that by starting with the most superficial yet most basic aspects of being, I can arrive at something more fundamental.
Isn’t this exercise in living publicly all about self-awareness anyway?
So here it is, after filling in so many pages with words only I’ll get to read, I’ve arrived at the recurring and therefore consistent heart of the matter that I am, indeed, in love. Unfortunately.
Unfortunate because it has to coexist with a restlessness that’s come of a dissatisfaction with my career–or lack thereof; unfortunate because I also feel I have no business being dissatisfied when I’m getting on a plane to Germany in less than an hour for work-related reasons, despite being (for the most part) unemployed.
Unfortunate because there’s one little truth I like turning in my hands, and it is this: while I enjoy the traveling, I am always terrified of leaving. I am always afraid of the uncertainty that comes to replace my absence because this thing I’ve mired myself in–the very reason for being in love in the first place–is a simple truth caught in the middle of a big lie. I know that one day the two will trade places, with the big lie in the middle of the simple truth I mean, but I’m not quite sure how that will look. I may already know how it will feel. I’m pretty sure it’s not too far off from how I’ve been feeling everyday: this mix of restlessness and acceptance, which is different from simply tolerating what’s so wrong with even being in love. What is wrong here though is that the whole “being in love” part gets in the way of knowing–and being able to say–what it is I want.
Today is October 19, 2015. I am 30 years old. It’s 5:25 am in Manila, 1:25 in Abu Dhabi, and 11:25 in Berlin. Today is a day for existing in three different places simultaneously while trying desperately to remain rooted in one thing: to stay.