to live, to love, to learn, to leave a legacy… and to laugh along the way
Seven games. A hair’s breadth away from a championship. It sucks. It still sucks. Up till now. I closed my eyes, my mouth, my mind and my heart. Even closed my blog. Truly devastated. It’s been weeks now. The only saving grace is that I’ve learned more about myself, and about being a fan, from this wild ride.
Before the 300-plus delegates in the MEDA Convention, Wit articulated her struggles as a woman-farmer. Women-farmers globally face the same triple burdens: the same invisibility, the same undervaluation, the same branding as the minor partner. But they also share the same resiliency, the same strength, the same innovation, and determination to create a better future.
A person who is a kid at heart enjoys life with enthusiasm. They smile easily, laugh freely, and see beauty in everyday things — like the sound of rain, the colors of the sunset, or the taste of ice cream. They don’t let age or stress dull their excitement for life. They don’t carry grudges, jealousy, anger, hurtful feelings and easily jump on to anything without fear.
As we bade goodbye to Bohol, our hearts carried the stories of triumphs and tribulations, of our pride of the past and our hopes for the future, and of private family jokes that will travel with us across continents. It has been a heartwarming and enlightening week of love and clan unity.
Mt Apo has proved to me that the world’s most poignant stories are not always about reaching the top, but about returning with something intact, something earned, amidst the challenges one has to hurdle. It is about chasing a dream; something that will echo that craziness in me, yet has clothed me with a sense of pride for having at least tried. And if I ever forget, I will listen to the memory of the wind – the same wind that refused to yield my glorious sunrise in Apo; and instead whispered a different, humbling truth: that to live is to endure, and to endure is sometimes the bravest ascent of all.
The plan was to jump-off at midnight, and chase the sunrise that would appear if the clouds decided to yield. The world, however, was simply uncooperative. The clock ticked as the wind screamed, while light, sporadic rains started to drench our tents. Lucky for us, the rains had stopped when midnight came. We went on our way; but the wind sang hoarsely like a chorus of knives. Still, we trudged on; even as the terrain, the cold, the dark, the strong winds – and my bum stomach – were all clearly aligned against us.
Color My World 