the Quiet, the Desperate

We went up a volcano the other day. Mt. Pinatubo was the site for some horrific tales and lives changed forever. And we went there for a day trip. It was an awesome way to get in touch with nature, they said. It was a bargain, too.

So we went, set aside a Saturday to get in touch with something primordial, fancy cameras and fast-food in tow. It was majestic. It was humbling. We discovered and experienced those 8 hours through the very soles of our feet as we eked our way through the meandering fissure where the volcanic ash rushed years ago.

The hike demanded much, but it also rewarded plenty. I stopped at every river, ankle-deep in the cool mountain stream, staring at the height of the ravine walls. I let my eyes trace every crack, the shaded instability, the precarious balance that held up the sides of the route. We had to. The guide warned us not to stand too near, or speak too loud. It wouldn't take much to change the landscape here.

And that's why it was quiet. It had to be. This is nature. Nature's way is to wait and bide its time. The stream that flowed around my feet was probably a stream that flowed ages ago. And it had this ravine to show for it. It had been busy, cajoling the earth every day to give up a little more of itself, to succumb, topple over, and get washed away into the ocean.

This was what we found in Mt. Pinatubo. Most of our group were from Makati, who worked in Makati. The dreary place I'll be leaving soon. We ran away from that desolate place to find this new one. There's not much difference here. Each hard working soul is represented by a crag, a shifting wall here along the trail. Worn, cracked, constantly oppressed and yet still standing resolute.

This is the quiet desperation of Makati made real. What I thought as a collective emptiness wasn't empty at all. It was instead a roiling consciousness hidden among snappy suits and proper dresses. The glazed eyes were worn not by the forsaken multitudes, it was borne wearily by the bold many who chose the ordeal, who held on. And knowing your fate, the choosing of it, changes the story. The landscape has changed, it is now a story of perseverance and fortitude.

My chapter has ended for now. I am the rock face that gave out, that toppled, and whose collective parts will be carried many a league into the distance. I am forever changed by meeting this river that has run its course for centuries. The wall, having lost its excess, its weaknesses, is stronger, stable. A little closer to its real form. A few jagged pieces shy of the truth. It will continue to bear the course of the river, and will some day once again be rent asunder, and still never relent.

This is my new chapter, of courage and a different kind of tenacity. The strength to hold on to what matters, and let the rest flow away. The river rushes through me, it cools the fire that burns and sates the thirst that grows.