It just don't add up as it used to be.
The biking is becoming more frequent and the forays into gated enclaves more daring, like the days in the saddle when I need to ponder the best way to seize the day, possible scenarios unfolding in my mind, calculating the risks, weighing the options, discerning the implications...
But the gentle slopes of Heroes Hill and PHILAM Village is not enough for that, although sufficient to admit that it is more for the pay rather than the job, with Bulan in college, the things that we do and spend for, saving for the future when we can no longer work, and many other reasons that took me walking all the way to the Fisher's Mall for the first time.
Is it worth it?
I mean the time spent away from home, the creative juices that deserted the long nights in my forlorn rented room, the rigidity of rules that is killing the anarchist in me, the intrusions into my creative space, the corporate silos, and the rat race and routine it is turning out to be.
"The leader of the band is tired..." so crooned and danced the real band as the whiskey bottles intimated that "this will be the day that I'll die...".
It is not a perfect world, UP is not the perfect campaign, and where I am is not a perfect place.
This is the price to pay for chaining myself to the great iron ball of security, so forget all about flying high and free like the Scottish twin eagles who like noodles and learn to exist without the liberating assurance of being able to think and act on your instinct, because it must be done, like enduring the prescriptions of innate ToCs and catatonic sign-off procedures, and yes, going for my first ever pigar-pigar dish.
But perhaps it is just the ageing activist in me.
Or I just miss my biking Sundays with Balong...
The biking is becoming more frequent and the forays into gated enclaves more daring, like the days in the saddle when I need to ponder the best way to seize the day, possible scenarios unfolding in my mind, calculating the risks, weighing the options, discerning the implications...
But the gentle slopes of Heroes Hill and PHILAM Village is not enough for that, although sufficient to admit that it is more for the pay rather than the job, with Bulan in college, the things that we do and spend for, saving for the future when we can no longer work, and many other reasons that took me walking all the way to the Fisher's Mall for the first time.
Is it worth it?
I mean the time spent away from home, the creative juices that deserted the long nights in my forlorn rented room, the rigidity of rules that is killing the anarchist in me, the intrusions into my creative space, the corporate silos, and the rat race and routine it is turning out to be.
"The leader of the band is tired..." so crooned and danced the real band as the whiskey bottles intimated that "this will be the day that I'll die...".
It is not a perfect world, UP is not the perfect campaign, and where I am is not a perfect place.
This is the price to pay for chaining myself to the great iron ball of security, so forget all about flying high and free like the Scottish twin eagles who like noodles and learn to exist without the liberating assurance of being able to think and act on your instinct, because it must be done, like enduring the prescriptions of innate ToCs and catatonic sign-off procedures, and yes, going for my first ever pigar-pigar dish.
But perhaps it is just the ageing activist in me.
Or I just miss my biking Sundays with Balong...
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