My son is in his playpen, bopping along to the beat of the tune streaming from the computer. I was searching for stock music that my theater-director wife could use as pre-show house music for her upcoming play, when we suddenly heard the happy squeal of a fourteen-month-old who’s found a new favorite beat to bounce to.
My wife looks at me, seeing the future, looking amused and confused. “We’re both confirmed introverts. How did we give birth to a clubbing baby?”
The other day we had pegged March as the month we would try to get him his first passport. His first plane ticket, though— that would have to wait. Until he (a) gets all his shots, and (b) gains a bit more patience and self-restraint. Just a little more than he currently has.
I can’t wait for him to be able to travel with us, because just like the both of us, he’s turning out to be quite the foodie; and just like the both of us, he’s fascinated by the world out there. I’m starting to feel the impact of a realization my wife had when we were at Disney World in 2010: the very best way to experience the vaunted ‘Disney magic’ is seeing your kids’ eyes light up at the first sight of Mickey or Cinderella. (Okay, Woody and Elsa for the post-millenials.) And beyond theme parks, I can’t wait for him to have his first genuine Parisian croissant, his first tapas, his first lazy afternoon sitting at a café on the edge of Lago di Como.
But I know there will only be a limited number of these firsts, because soon enough he’ll be raring to go off on his own adventures, trips that he’s dreamed up and planned all on his own. I know that because he’s our son, and because he’s not us. Because he’ll have his own ideas of what’s fun, what’s worth putting on his bucket list, and what places he’ll avoid simply because Mom and Dad love it there and ewwwwww how corny.
Because he may not grow up to be exactly like me, but dammit, I’m going to raise him to be a good traveler.
You don’t have to fill my shoes, son, but yours better get as dusty and travel-worn as mine are. And more.
It's too early for wandering, she thought.
My home is dying. It's walls - decaying. Touch the cracks on the ground and gaze up to the night sky. Know our thoughts are deluded. We are isolated.
Home, back from the irony of calmness of mind while walking in the midst of hectic Metro Manila.
Self-Portrait of The Artist as a Self-Conscious 17 year-old.
Waiting To Delete
Maybe the world simply operates faster now, but I miss the days when my days had more breathing room. When I would sit in cafés.
Hello, I’m the great idea you’ve been looking for