On not being awesome

Here's a good come back to earth quote for today.

While I was walking yesterday, I stole a few glances up at the sky, wondering briefly if there was still smog. The usual white-washed buildings had an undeniable splash of brown and beige - not on it, but over it. The sky wasn't at its bluest. The thick clouds were mostly off-white and grey.

I had a lovely Japanese bento lunch, which ended with coffee jelly. Throughout that time I stared out the tinted window, wondering if it would rain. I learned, when I was in Canlubang, that storms usually drive the pollution out, which is why the sky is usually clear after a storm passes. I silently hoped for rain - not the disastrous kind, of course - but normal, uneventful rain. The kind of rain that would make me wish I was home eating champorado.

The days following the New Year are usually uneventful - kind of boring actually. Mine thus far are hardly that: on New Year's Day, I was told that I was a failure. On Thursday, I have a planning session for church. On Saturday, I have a wedding to sing for. It's the first week of the year, and I'm already learning:

• The people who hurt you the most are the people whom you expect the opposite from
• People think I'm prepared, but the reality is I am hardly ever prepared 
• Being prepared is actually a process
• What people think I can do is far from what I think I can do; nevertheless, these people are expecting me to mold myself into the "me" that they are expecting

When work was done, I decided to walk again. I remembered how comfortable I was being alone, and for a while I regretted coming back to Manila, because the days I spent living alone in the boondocks (I miss that term) were actually the most fulfilling I've had thus far. The smell of freshly-cut grass, the cool, clean air, the random insect that I needed to exterminate - all of these I found wanting at one point.

I walked around the mall, looking at things I wished I had, and noting price markdowns on shoes that I need to revisit over the weekend. My four-year-old rubber shoes had been to Hong Kong, graced Corregidor and four burials, plus most of my leather ones are old hand-me-downs. I made mental notes of stuff that might be useful to me over the course of the year, such as special pens, felt-tip markers, and notebooks, statement tees...

The thick holiday crowd was gone. Not one shoulder brushing on mine. Vast, open mall space. Only the decor remained. Still the season to be jolly.

When I arrived at the train station, the long lines began.