The Destiny of a Paperboat

Work is the absolution from pain, an escape even from
the menial of burdens, and a temporal release from a
baggage of pestering thoughts.

Work officially started last monday. It was a
hodgepodge of emotions that I felt. I was excited at
one point since I can now channel some repressed
emotions in favor of doing a handful of jobs. There was
a struggle at the other side, whether I am doing what I
am destined to do. I believe that I am meant for
something else.

And I have to content myself that this is just a means
to my end. An end that remains unthinkable at the
moment.

Right now, I am teaching. I took. Nah. I was assigned
to take part-time teaching load in the school that the
organization I am currently affiliated with manages. By
the way, it is a Christian school. Which perhaps gives
you a drift that I am working for a Christian
organization.

And I am beginning to be proud of it. Why beginning?
Because it took me quite some time to dig into the
conduits of my brain and accept that I am somewhere
across the far-flung area of the Philippines, took a bold
step to search for a territory totally unfamiliar to me,
and pushed the limits of an internal philosophical
debate to revert back where I began: the facet of my
faith.

Going back to the assigned thing. It wasn't really my
cup of tea to handle a boardmarker and strike it on the
white board to reiterate that a subject always agrees
with its verb in number, or that writing any research
paper requires you to have a topic first. It wasn't my
choice. But I don't have any other choices because
somehow, somewhat I have to earn a meager sum
here in the other side of the world in order to sustain
my deviance.

Let me clarify that point. It's not that I don't have any
choice at all. That would be too pitiful of me to
become. I don't have any choice because I am trying
to reconciliate a choice that is purposeful. To leave,
therefore, and go back to Manila and embrace a
callcenter-ish bread and butter rests afar my
imagination.

Now I could say I am pretty much enjoying what I am
doing here. Or well, trying to enjoy? Or making myself
believe that I am enjoying. Whatever. Point is at least
there is something that I am keeping myself busy with.
The operative word here is BUSY.

Just like an empty trash bin, an empty time is likely to
be filled by clutters. In fact, at the moment they start
to flux, it would be barely possible to out-breath them.
The freer the time, the more chances of looking back,
tracing back, and mulling over things passed. Things
that will NEVER ever get back.

A logical, thinking mind would say that it is so pathetic
to just sit down on an empty corner and to savour the
emptiness induced by the turbulent waves of time.
PATHETIC. So it is. But could it be that staying without
any reason at all is pathetic as being suaded by the
most irrelevant of experiences and the top among the
me-wants-to shrug it off phases in life?

Which leads me to what and where I am right now. I
am piece of paperboat drifting and drifting across a
tranquil ocean whose depth remains unmeasured and
whose temper will always be vulnerable. I am a piece
of paperboat ambling amidst the vastness of the
ocean, trying to seek for an island which will finally
quench my longing--to finally find a place I will call my
HOME.