The Flight of the Rocketman

A good traveler has no plans and is not intent on arriving...  -- Lao Tzu

I've been out of commission... working hard.  I was in Cebu, at the beautiful Shangri-La Mactan in Cebu and had no chance to truly immerse myself in the city or even in the resort because of all the work we had to do.  By the time we actually had free time, I just wanted to lie down and sleep.

Shangri-La Mactan is gorgeous.  The beach is right there, part of the resort and if only there was enough time, I would've been able to just jump into the water and enjoy.  I didn't even burn one bit.  No change in colour.  We ate well, though.  I always enjoy a good hotel buffet breakfast...

And then the short trip to Bohol was enjoyable.  If anything, the tarsiers were really cute.  They could fit on my hand.  They were wonderful.

Whatever the case maybe, traveling is always a wonderful experience.  It is the greatest way to learn...  It is the greatest way to see yourself, for soul-searching...  it allows you a new perspective in which to see yourself.

And love is like a journey, really.  You get there without plans and you don't really intend on arriving at your destination.  You are just happy on taking the journey.  Or that is the way it should be, right?

I've learned, in a strange new environment, watching the beauty of my surrounding and knowing that I won't have the time to experience it, really...  I learned that not all things are meant to be.  And as Bjork sings: It's not all up to you, it never really was...

And maybe letting go is an act of wisdom.  Maybe love isn't enough.  Maybe some beautiful things were only meant to be seen, viewed but not really touched...  not really enjoyed and experienced.

The sad lady sings her song and I dance along.  There is so much beauty around me that I cannot touch...  I am surrounded in it.  And it sweeps me away into dreams...

Sometimes the things you most wish for are not to be touched...  -- from Into the Woods (written by Stephen Sondheim)

And now some things change...  And I am lost in the woods and I walk in any direction, without regard to the dangers that lie in wait.  I am soldier now, working and working.  Writing has become my only salvation.  Work is my only respite and it gives me no joy though it is the things that make me feel real, it is the things that make me feel useful and worthy.

I've become the blue-man.  I've worn my shattered and torn heart on my sleeve.  Vultures fly down and pick at it; tear out pieces of it and bring it to the sky.

As much as I hate to admit it but I'm waiting now.  I'm merely waiting.  Sadness is in fashion.  Wanggo's autumn wear: melancholy, and a dirge.

I've become boring and depressing and a drag.  I still carry some of my wit but it is used in bitterness and strife.  I have not yet been abandoned by my friends; my company they still enjoy; but I fear how long that will last.

Eventually, I will wear everyone down.

Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale...  -- as texted by my Dad

And I am waiting to make my wish.  And maybe somewhere, the magic that I so desperately believe in; the magic that I have so much faith lives in this world will come to me and it will make things right.  It will make things how I believe they should be.

There is just so much magic.  I can see it.  I see it in other people.  I wait for it to come...  Maybe not from the person I am hoping it would come from; but from someone else, someone I don't even know; someone who will tear down the clay feet I've sculpted for myself.

The wind smells different...  There is something in the air...  Or is it just my imagination?  Is it my faith and hope, flying away in the wind...