Living out of a Duffel Bag

A throbbing pain in the head, clammy feeling over my whole body, oily hair that shines until now because of the wax I put on yesterday, empty thoughts, load of writing engagements in the wait, hushed overtones of a bad day ahead. Had doughnuts and two bananas over milk as breakfast alone because my friend had just left me here in his flat. I wasn’t able to sleep last night because I watched the inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States of America. Had to stay up until past three in the morning to watch the whole coverage of CNN of the event at Capitol Hill. My friend told me that he’s been there and said that the space underneath where the podium stands lies a fountain . “What’s the statue at the top of the dome?, “ he asked me. I said I have no idea. He said that it is Lady Freedom and that there is a policy in Washington that there will be no other structure that will be built in the state that will be higher than Lady Freedom. “But it seems that the Washington Monument is taller than it?,”I asked. He said that it is not. I don’t believe him (but I never told this so as not to embarrass him). I just have to google it. He was fascinated by the frozen pond and the people walking on it. It seemed (it actually is) that everybody’s freezing but the news feed just showed that the people we’re feeling like it was 17 degrees. With the hordes of people that must be because they produce body heat that could higher the temperature around the area. At least one million people have shown up to hear Obama at Capitol Hill. The world has watched him speak of global unity and a new era in US leadership. Obama’s rise to politics and his election as President will be an inspiration and a mark of a new dawn in history if he will be able to deliver his mission to win global cooperation in response to the pressing needs and problems of the global community only a leader as charismatic as him may be able to achieve.

As for me, hah, don’t feel well now. I have to eat my lunch and pack my things in a duffel bag, laundry (lot of it) caused by my days of stay here in southern Philippines. It’s been a blissful week that ended with, well, learning that every day is a growing battle, not fought, not won over neither lost, but a battle that stretches to infinity only I could imagine. A friend has a good idea of how our personality becomes a hero and anti-hero at the same time. She said that in the process of finding ourselves we become protagonist and sometimes antagonist clinching in a battle deep inside us. It is a painful process she says and then abruptly, “I hate you.” “For what?”, I asked. “I don’t want to read you, it keeps me nostalgic.” Cannot do anything about that.

By the way, to you who’s reading this, I will bitterly miss the aura of a French villa, the chirping of caged birds, and the quiet solitude of a flat which you told me to treat as my mi casa. Baguio, here I come.