Everyday and here

Everyday, I feel time rush past me as I run after many details of life’s mundane realities. Weeks begin and end close to each other, too swiftly that I tend to turn the pages on my calendar belatedly. I barely feel the rush of time, though; its stealthy passage is oblivious to all the things I feel I need to urgently accomplish.

Time and change are my constant companions. They are silent and patronizing; they move forward, push forward, always pushing their way in on my life. They leave indelible marks on my life, on my self. There are instances when time and change slow down to proudly show me their handiwork, like pompous children who need their achievements acknowledged, although already I am aware of their presence—always—even when I am knee-deep in busywork. When I am busy, I am attending to house chores, playing games, reading a story, crafting a career, wondering about life, dreaming about my future, remembering past lives and the many companions whom I met on the different loads that have led me here.

Here is where time and change have brought me. Here, where my sleeping toddler lies peacefully at another day’s end, exhausted from running wild in the nearby mall we had taken refuge in from the relentless humid heat. This mall, quite new, knows nothing about my past life, of the many nights I would run out of the house to drown in the intoxicating mix of music and noise, strangers and friends. I am at the mall many days, because it is easy and convenient and I seem to have lost touch with the old romantic notions of places and meetings. Where I am now, reality has taken new forms. In the rush of days, somewhere along the way, I have moved on from one life to another.

And now, I find that I relish the mundane everyday. They echo of each other often, peppered with domestic demands encased in predictable chaos. At nights I am exhausted, and I take time out in front of the computer, or in bed with a book, wishing the dirty dishes will go away on its own and the laundry load will disappear when I am not looking.

Tonight, I fell asleep next to my son, too early. I have many more things to do, and I force myself get up. I hear my husband playing guitar, honing his craft with each note he plays. He goes out every Thursday to meet up with old friends and play music from old days. I mark every Thursday on my planner now, “Armand: gig.” This is where time and change has led me to, one day a week when I know what to expect. It is reminiscent of past Thursdays, many years ago, when I too would prepare to go and meet with music, my soul running wild, desperate to make a connection with other searchers of an elusive kind of magic.

Magic is a big tease, Nerisa. I don’t think I have found a way to contain it the way you have. I give it much free reign, and so it chooses to surprise me when it pleases. Recently, it taught my husband to take over the pile of soiled clothes so I could watch shows of inconsequence on the television. Today, it soothed me as native hot chocolate that I consumed over a chat with a friend. It comes in the vacuum of blog entries and instant messages from around the world so that I am allowed to share life with otherwise unreachable comrades.

Magic is a big tease, Nerisa. It plays naughty games with time and change, like on Thursday nights when Armand leaves to with his guitar to pick up from his old life. Those nights, magic would sometimes visit as memories of my Thursday girl I now meet by chance on Sunday mornings. I wouldn’t mind containing magic once in a while with you, entrap it in planned meetings. I don’t think we can reclaim Thursdays, and Sundays are best left to chance. Would you want to choose another day?