Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Some mornings I wake up already mid-thought, like my mind kept walking while I slept. Not toward anything, exactly—just pacing. The question I fell asleep with resurfaces before my eyes even open. It has no new answer, but it returns as faithfully as breath. A strange comfort: to be haunted not by ghosts, but by inquiry. There’s a pattern to these questions. They orbit. Disappear for a while, then drift back in disguised forms. “What am I doing with my life?” becomes “Is this enough?” becomes “Would I recognize peace if I had it?” They change costumes, but not essence. Like light refracted through time. Answers, on the other hand, are cowardly. They rarely stay put. The ones I trusted at twenty have become hollow at thirty. Truth ages poorly. It sheds skin, then masquerades as something wiser. Maybe this is why I distrust conclusions—they feel too much like ceilings. Some people collect answers like trophies. I collect questions like old books with marginalia—underlined, dog-eared, ...

I went to the mall one sunny-rainy-sunny afternoon (if you are from Baguio, you will definitely understand what I mean by this) with one goal in mind: PAY THE BILLS. I did not expect the number of people pressed along an unbelievably long line from the cashier. I seriously hate long lines and at that moment, I felt trapped. I wanted to go away but I can't. I have no choice but wait.  While standing and being on queue, I can't help but wonder and dwell inside the confines of my thoughts. This practically is my way of surviving this impatience building up. Once more, I started looking at faces, movements and reactions of people with me at the line. I was looking at how they deal with boredom. Most of them were busy with their cell phones, some were taking selfies, others were checking their social media accounts and some talking with their companions as they fall in line. Anyway, what tickles my attention is when people are already at the counter, I notice that everyt...