After being rudely pulled from my dreams of adventures, revolutions, and literary lovers, I woke up to an ominously gray sky. Of course, the only thing I could think was "Please God, don't let it rain."
Welcome to morning---the cold reality that tends to give dreamers like me a nice visit after a perfectly marvelous day. Still, it's all part of loving life: take the grit with the stardust. After the joy of finishing our survey quickly, the happiness of the YFC meeting and the ultimate Shakespeare geek trip after, what's next? CWTS and realizing I have to go back to the reading center and help fix it. And deal with tardiness, the long trip, the tutorials, the possibility of ruining my shoes, asthma from sanding a shelf, and of course the sun and the hunger.
Still, I like going there to Barangay Banaba: a place caught between the river and the hills, caught between the city and the rural areas. I like talking with friends in a place that is becoming much like home. I enjoy humming songs while imagining the roughness of the wood under my hands growing into something beautiful. I like stopping to play with the children for a little while, remembering that not so long ago I was that carefree too. I sometimes sigh when I see the river, merciless yet playfully laughing at the approach of the weather. I sometimes sit with horror and awe before the shanties, wondering how these can be called homes. And I whisper and hope that the prayers there for a good life are heard by Him as well.
The fact I can make my way to a certain house I know even with my eyes closed is proof enough that I won't be able to tear myself away from this. Ever.
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