Late Spring ‘08, Niagara, BC, Canada.

After braving the strong winds along Georgia street and Dunsmuir, I took off my toque, but decided to keep my finger warmers on. I pulled my coat closer, hugging my body as if it missed me dearly. It was around six-thirty-ish, but felt like midnight as it were in Makati. The night was listless, which cannot be avered by bright flickering christmas lights. It was, after all, Vancouver at night.

The muted TV at a local bar was flashing red screens–like a teleprompter–of an upcoming snowstorm. I didn’t matter. I was outside, snow or rain, I am decided to sweep Robson street and check the temptingly nice items tagged at 20 per cent less.

Like the christmas song, people were “dressed in holiday style”. It made me think if this is a way to cheer up the bleak December, or it’s a celebration of a reason to do a spending splurge.

I slowly made my way back to Granville Skytrain station and got of at Metrotown station. Yes, the window shopping wasn’t over.

As if by habit, I went all the way down to Chapters. It’s not the bookstore that I particularly liked, but by browsing through the books, and faking interest in them, allows me to plan my visit in the mall. I found some cheap stuff, and was reminded of grabbing some books for myself. I picked one, paid for it and I was happy.

I left Chapters, feeling the “mission accomplished” attitude. I passed by some outrageously low priced items, but the weight of my book was cunning in making me realize that I already got one present for myself. Those super cheap items didn’t matter anymore, and I guess all that I needed was to something that I can take home with me.

Life is like taking a train ride. In the long journey,
you see places and people, some are pleasant but some
are not. If it is as scenic and as beautiful as the
White Rock rail ways, you wish to slow down and try to
enjoy the majestic sea and hear the waves as it
touches the rocky shores. The train crawls slowly
along those tracks until everything is gone from view
and a new place to conquer approaches.
In life, nothing is permanent--everything is a
fleeting experience. No happiness nor despair will
stay forever. Life moves on, like the train in the
tracks. It's not about how fast or slow I want to pass by
these journey points in my life; it's about deciding
when to move on.
I hope this simple reflection will inspire you, as the
beautiful White Rock did for me.

Today, I went to Lynn Canyon and did a little nature trekking. It’s nothing spectacular; the climb is just as steep as the cemented steps from my grandma’s farm to the Talomo, less the danger.

The walk under tall pine trees was pleasant. It was such a beauty in itself. I can’t help but feel the awe when I standing next to the awe about the 30 feet pine trees. I felt little less mighty. Hehehe

Because it was a canyon, meaning, the landscape was actually dug out by the water, it’s dense air and high humidity makes the trek a little challenging.

At the starting point, I enjoyed basking in the 2:30pm sunlight where the temperature was relatively “warm”. As I descended the slope, I started to issue smoke through my mouth; my breath was catching the cold air and turning into a mist. It’s nothing new, of course, but the thing is, it wasn’t even a five (5) minute descent yet to the suspension bridge when i got “smoky” mouth.

While I was at the suspension bridge, which was 60-feet high, I realized that I have little fear of heights. Next to me was a Korean who couldn’t walk without holding at anything.

Wish I could show you the view from the suspension bridge. As usual, I lugged my camera with me. I was desperate to capture the feeling of dizziness when atop a high elevation while looking down below. I had to fumble my camera (from manual settings to automatic, and then back again). This was what the trip was all about–of learning how to compose good shots. The pleasant view was a reward, but really, the objective of my travel today was to learn a few things about photography. It’s learning by doing, right?

Pretty much, I “swanned” through the terrain, as I am used to it. Good thing I wore my soft rubber shoes, which protected my foot by providing extra pads when I land on the ground. I challenged myself by taking on the steep climb without a moment’s pause. I tried to pace my climb, as a technique I learned in swimming.

By half past three, I decided to head back to my starting point, as the air was getting more dense and I only had one hoodless jacket. I reckon that the temperature during my slow ascent to the hilltop was close to 2 degrees.

I had my hands buried in my pants while I was head down—looking at my worn and torn rubber shoes. I saw a small patch of snow along the pavement. Being a man from the tropics, it’s always a delight to step on those caked up ice. To my surprise, however, I heard loud crunches–like digging through a bowl of Cheerios–as my full weight crushes them on. At that, I felt mighty again. Hahaha, please don’t get me wrong, I am not power greedy—I just have this silly belief that man is equipped with the intellect and gifted with the intrinsic desire to wield whatever that comes his way.

The bus ride back to Lonsdale Quay brings mixed feeling. The actual ride gave me a sense of “returning”—for whatever that meant, I can’t quite explain. It’s the transcendent feeling of the first time traveler the moment s/he waves goodbye to his/her loved ones at the airport. The traveler is excited to hop into the plane to begin the journey, but anxious to leave his/her endeared behind.

I refuse to tag my weekend nature escapades as an “escape” from my daily routine. I would rather think that these are “rewards” that I owe to myself.

In a sense, it is actually “returning” to my daily ritual that is also a thing I like so that I have a reason to “reward” myself…

I passed the probationary period and received a good performance review. It’s a wonder for me how my boss was able to say nice words for me, when all the while I was always on my toes.

Today, I was walking in the rain at 8deg C with fairly strog winds. Cold rain. Short and gloomy days…but I was with a smile.

Today felt like before. I was back to walking, thinking, planning. Today I just had to get out to see Vancouver downtown, as if trying to convince myself that I made the right decision. It was subtle, subdued, almost didn’t exist: during special occasions, you miss your family most. I want to belong; I need to be owned.

It took a moment before I was overcome with loneliness, but I fought back. Tried not to repress; I decided to feel the pity and loneliness. Somehow, being with strangers in my commute, or letting the busker’s music into my ear is comforting because the feeling of being alone is appropriate and most importantly it’s welcome…the emptiness fades away, and I feel better again.

Last Sunday, I witnessed an Islam worship at the Islamic center along Kingsway. I entered the prayer room with extreme caution. Being a Christian that I am, I have my stereotypes and pre-conceived ideas about Islamic religion. There at the basement of the Islamic centre, I was greeted by a tub where men washed their feet. To my left was a pigeon-hole for the shoes which was just across a few dozen of hooks for the coat. I tiptoed towards the prayer area, following my friend and his dad. I clumsily stepped on a long roll of paper runners not a meter wide which ran across the the room. There were two of them, and I wouldn’t have noticed it if it wasn’t for the crunching sound of a crisp, white-pulp paper serenely laid on the floor. I felt my cheeks burn when I realized it was the placemat for the food, where we would later be served a plate of fruits to be shared with those around. Everyone started with the dates, while I grabbed the green seedless grapes. I wasn’t conscious, despite the fact that I am a “guest”. While gobbling a piece of apple, I was looking around, hopefully spotting a Filipino, which would somehow ease the increasing discomfort due to disorientation, or simply because of an exaggerated sensitivity. I grabbed some books to read and was happy it had English translations.

The call to prayer was finally recited. Everyone has calmed down, even the children felt the pervading call to quiet one’s self. After a few minutes of prayer, food was served again. It was familiar, as I had it before and I’m starting to like the mediterranean food. Through the invitation of my friend, I joined them once again last Tuesday where I met a few more mediterranean people. They were friendly and was patient to explain everything that I ask. I hope to return the favour in the near future.

Had a good chat with my landlord, Philip, last Friday at the park. It was a chilly and windy 15degC evening and I was only wearing a shirt. My roomie, Than, who was playing with Philip’s daughter, Rebecca, was just an ear shot away.

He runs a house-repair business, apart from being an investor in real estate, which got me interested. I told him about my plans and sought his opinion on how to acquire a property for myself. Surely, I could have asked my uncle and my other friends for these things, but among those whom I asked about property acquisition methods, his advice totally made sense to me. That night, I created a spreadsheet and schemed my way to building funds for the downpayment. I feel it’s a little early to start thinking about these things, really. It’s giving me focus, however, and streamlines all effort to my target. If I’ve come this far to pursuing my ambition, then perhaps I could push myself a little more to make it a reality.

It’s chilly outside, and I’d rather warm my toes for the rest of the day here in my room. Til then. Cheers!