The beauty of escape is that you leave everything behind: all your anchors, the clocks that bound you to the next appointment, the fleeting moment. Everything will be left up to chance. I want to ride a bus to nowhere, get down at some unknown station smelling of gasoline and chicken shit, looking for a room I can afford, air-conditioned with a thin mattress, the walls peeling and yellowing. I want to have a day where I am not bound to another meeting, another friend in need, another hour to share with someone else.
Maybe it has everything to do with falling in love. Maybe it has nothing to do with escape. In my mind, I revisit the places I've been, wonder where I've gone, what I've done, is this enough? Am I good enough for anyone, after all of this? I want to place my feet in the center of this circle, searching for an answer to the paradox of always being left behind. Sometimes I think that this city is unkind to the unloved, to those who wander her streets alone, searching the fetid air for a hand to hold.
Tonight, it is raining. Somewhere in the city, someone else has died. Someone has fallen in love. Someone writes another sentence in the great Filipino novel that will never be published. Someone sings another song about love and heartbreak, great themes that will never be fully explored. I know I am still waiting, my fingers drumming impatiently on the keyboard, waiting and waiting for something I'm not quite sure yet.