The Passage of Time

I can’t afford to be so naïve so as to dismiss the young faces around me. Their energetic flair, gusto for knowledge, thirst for adventure, and quest for an endless love, remind me that not too long ago was the time when I realized my dream and its quantitative derivatives were becoming more tangible. They teach me a few things that push me harder, only to get better. They make me think constantly about the rapidly changing world, and never let me forget about the years that have passed. Perhaps, they are half of the reason why, believe it or not, the old ones’ way is less obscure.

I am still young and probably have the mien to prove it, sans the fine lines on my forehead, bags under my eyes, and tummy unwittingly sticking out. I am saying this out loud that I am a proud twenty-something, though I am nearing off the calendar. I am proud to be in this bracket. But I have already started counting the expiration of my so-called youthful years, and yes, I am endangered to be part of the old population, soon, panicking not nonetheless (trying to sound calm).

If going 30 is jumping off the fence, then I am definitely old. But, I plead to make the numbers game higher. Forty or 50, perhaps? In my opinion, either is reasonably old. Now I know the perception of being old also grows as we age.

In our neighbourhood, oftentimes, I see a group of, say, senior citizens sitting around, immersed in a less modulated conversation I couldn’t fathom because of the language, and, more importantly, enjoying the morning sun. They are a bunch I have always wanted to ask what it is like being old. Their perspective would be a bright answer for someone who is potentially old.

So many questions, I just need to ask. What it is like being that old lady at a mall who struggles to text her husband to pick her up? What it is like being a part of that joyous old men’s club at a hawker centre? What it is like silently standing on a long queue for more than an hour at a bank one fine Saturday, where half are the same as your age and being amused by that vibrant, bejewelled, chatty lady? What it is like selling tissues on a wheelchair or a seeming sleeping mat, when you should’ve been resting comfortably at home already? What it is like working as a waitress or checkout lady, when your age doesn’t merit you to? What it is like joining a club doing rounds of morning and evening exercises? What it is like working as a calloused trike driver? What does it feel like when the able doesn’t give up his/her seat inside the train? What does it feel like being sent by your only child to a nursing home? Is there anything else you want to achieve in life? How come you’re so successful?

Some answers might be hard to imagine, while some would easily make perfect sense, but one thing remains true, the old people are living proof of a time existing in two dimensions -- a time wasted and a time well-spent. Perhaps, they are half of the reason why the young ones’ way is less obscure. They should be.

Image: Penang, Malaysia

Rainy Days Shed Some Light

Today isn’t the first time the skies descend into the earth. Nor is it the first time the soaring birds nestle in their shelter, heavy and shivering cold. It is the millionth time, perhaps, the lightning strikes the hapless animal left cut out of a life in the open farm. It is the millionth time, perhaps, the traffic on the highway becomes sluggish, attempting to test the patience of jammed brain circuits. It is the millionth time, perhaps, the wind blows too strong, ripping the window naked, shamelessly giving an unwelcome opening. Nothing will ever be a first time.

As the rain thuds on the roof, waking up the asleep snuggling in bed or keeping the idle up in the couch, nothing remains as vivid as seen under the blue sky. Everything rightly becomes a world of parallel visibility. It becomes the alternate world taking over before the eyes of a stranded soul. And it’s been recorded recklessly in the pages of time. It is nothing new, and the past has been repeating itself needlessly sometimes.

Nothing is new in the books of age, where the past is just waiting to be flipped through only to be retold in the later chapters. The past has its way of propagandizing itself as either a ridiculous or lamenting alter ego. Sometimes, it is an agonizing piece of junk in one’s hand. But to give light in the dark, more importantly, it makes sure that through today it will serve as a lesson for tomorrow.

Nothing will ever be a first time, but anything can be your first.

Image: Singapore

Railway Tracks

Stop this train now. In a few minutes, armed with nothing but my jaded feet and a load of 5 kilos strapped to my back, I’ll be jumping off the train real quick, because the train, I realize, doesn’t stop. It only slows down. I may sound imposing, but they won’t hear it, even if I have to scream at the top of my lungs. I can only get off the moving train in the end as fast as I can.

That’s a crooked, insane thought. But that’s life -- life that is manifested by the endless train that comes rattling down the railway tracks. A ticket to your train destination is as good as your own life. You can make it dull, exhilarating, or crazy for the heck of it.

As long as you enjoy the ride, everything, from all of life’s frivolities to the philosophic drifts, becomes clearer. Without a doubt, you will further your journey to even more destinations worth the thrill, worth the spectacular possibilities. Your horizon grows and becomes wider every single day. That’s what happens when what you’re doing is spot on for your destination. Dreamy it can be.

But if you can’t take the ride anymore, there will always be ways that will serve you better, contrasting what you have initially thought to be good or the so-called immediate fix. You just have to learn to say no, to stop the madness once and for all. Sure, it might be an uneasy fit, never a walk in the park, but listening to your heart while having a good head on your shoulders comes to the rescue. Keep the drums beating excitedly, no matter how deafening they can be, for that’s your life’s fuel, and life’s meant to be spurred by what delights you most. Dig in your inner passion, motivate yourself despite all the odds, and don’t stray from the path. It will draw you closer to the purpose of your existence.

Define your own railway tracks. Take risks. Stretch your limits. Be on track. Happiness is on your way.

Image: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Second Sunshine and the Prambanan Temple

the Shiva (Siwa) temple towers at 47 meters

We arrived in Prambanan Temple at 2:06PM, after more than 30 minutes of traveling from Mount Merapi. As usual, we paid for another parking fee of 5,000 rupiahs, which to my recollection was one of the hidden expenses in going to Yogyakarta’s tourist spots. I could have accounted them better less my ignorance. So, to you my dear soon-to-be-traveler-to-Yogya, take note of it, although it’s already considered dirt cheap.

Winning the game of adventure on my second day in Indonesia had been permanently welded in my mind. Two-thirds of my second sunshine trip had already been crossed out in my itinerary. Before it ended, I already prematurely claimed to have had rocking personal feats, and I couldn’t get away with an awkward dancing (excuse me, there’s a lump in my throat).

Significantly a lower price than in Borobudur, visitors pay 117,000 rupiahs.

Finally, seeing the most beautiful Hindu temple in the world was amazing. I felt the indescribable, most awesome kind of feeling in the world (oops, I apologize for sounding redundant, not again). But seriously, that’s how I felt at that very moment, as if I was channeling myself into the rugged years of great worship of gods of early religions, myths, architectures of the old, wars and the warlords, and their soldiers. I was literally in a trance. And then I thought of Angkor Wat (my ultimate temple destination, eh).

The Prambanan Temple is actually a large compound of temples. It is also known as Rara Jonggrang complex. According to Wiki, there used to be 240 temples in the compound consisting of:

1. Three Trimurti temples – the main temples dedicated to the Hindu triad – Brahma (the Creator), Vishnu (the Keeper), and Shiva (the Destroyer)

2. Three Vahana temples – in front of Trimurti temples dedicated to the vahana (vehicle) of each god; Nandi, Garuda, and Hamsa

3. Two Apit temples – located between the rows of Trimurti and Vahana temples on north and south side

4. Four Kelir temples – located on 4 cardinal directions right beyond the 4 main gates of inner zone
5. Four Patok temples – located on 4 corners of inner zone
6. Two hundred twenty-four Pervara temples – arranged in 4 concentric square rows; numbers of temples from inner row to outer row are: 44, 52, 60, and 68

     Source: Wiki

But the temples standing today, as I have sketched in here, are the 3 Trimurti temples, 3 Vahana temples, 2 Apit temples, 3 Kelir temples, and 2 Patok temples. Only 2 of the 224 Pervara temples were reconstructed – they stand in the east side. Much in the compound are ruins of Pervara temples.

bas-reliefs telling the epic Ramayana

my own sketch of the temples currently standing in the complex

In the north, you can see the smoking Merapi volcano, and in the west, the Ramayana Open Theatre, where the Ramayana Ballet is staged.

Mount Merapi

the Ramayana Open Theatre 

We left Prambanan at 5:39PM and arrived in Jalan Sosrowijayan at 6:08PM. My second sunshine in Indonesia finally ended. Yes, tired and exhausted, but the day left an indelible travel experience I will carry for all of my life. Mission accomplished!

P.S. When I told the intern tourism students I am Filipino, the thought of it sent the now-exposed-Indonesian-fans into frenzy. I had just become an immediate medium of their greeting, them wanting me to say hi to Christian Bautista. J I enjoyed talking to them while waiting for the sunset, which I didn’t really get to witness, because it was probably shy forever and then, oops, I suddenly remembered my driver.

thank you, Baim!

Second Sunshine and Mount Merapi

Mount Merapi as seen from Borobodur

Lunchtime came calling after leaving Borobudur. An hour later, at 12 noon, we’re already at the Padang eatery, where I had fried chicken, cucumber, and a local food that had familiar ingredients in it -- coconut milk, beans, and tofu. It was almost a Filipino dish except that it’s spicy. I’m sorry I forgot what it’s called (hands down, I’m not a foodie that I only eat whatever is palatable on the table). But one thing’s for sure, it tasted real good. Our lunch only cost us 23,000 rupiahs, including drinks.

my lunch! can someone tell me the name of this dish with beans?

We headed to Mount Merapi, the Fire Mountain, 30 minutes later. And just as when everything seemed OK, rain came pouring down – uninvited guests of our now flawed trip. Baim, my driver, asked me if I ever wanted to make a detour, since zero visibility was expected. But I opted to continue on the road, thinking I could still chance on seeing the volcano up close, regardless. 

Entrance ticket is 3000 rupiahs per person and 5,000 rupiahs for the parking fee. 

On our way to the base camp, man, I never thought it could be that foggy. I just rested my case, right off the bat. 

At the base camp, I just went wandering nearby; somehow hoping the fog would go away. But the rain still drizzled as hard-headed as they could be. With my hopes dashed, the trip just made me feel giddy (ha ha).

There was a deep ravine to the left of the foot of the volcano with dead trees, and volcanic ashes were everywhere, which probably resulted in the October/November eruptions in 2010. The eruptions took a toll on thousands of families. Over 300 people were found dead.

We left Mount Merapi at 1:27PM. I was obviously disappointed, yet the thought of being at the foot of an active volcano was already enough, calling it a wonderful experience. I had never been that close to a volcano all my life. :D

P.S. I was cheery upon witnessing the grandiosity of the smoking Mount Merapi from the top of Borobudur and Prambanan. Seeing a volcano was another first for me. :)