Dream Garden…it just sounds good. Maybe looks good in print too.
Or maybe, at my age, all I can do is dream.
I will soon be six decades old. 2007 completes the five cycles of the Chinese lunar calendar…you know, the twelve chosen animals, mythical or not, assigned a year each…the ox, the dog, the tiger, the snake, the ram (or sheep or goat), the rat, the dragon, the rooster, the horse, the monkey, the rabbit or hare, and the pig. You take care of the math now to find out how old I am. It’s not hard to do.
Well, every person dreams. Some dreams eventually become reality for certain people. Some dreams remain just dreams, or wishes unfulfilled, as it were.
I dreamed of going to ballet school. My chronic obesity and poverty threw this dream into the dustbin.
I dreamed of travel abroad for the longest time and got it when I was past twenty when my big boss sent me to Kuala Lumpur for a week-long seminar on Women in Media. In subsequent years, I would fly off to various Philippine destinations, to Indonesia, a stop-over in Singapore, and a week-long “ocular” inspection prior to a shoot in Australia.
Australia was memorable: three cities in exactly seven days. A stay in a luxurious hotel in wonderful Melbourne, visits to a city “zoo” and a quick look at the famed Gold Coast in Brisbane, wine-tasting in Hunter Valley and a walk through the Rocks, a view of the awesome Sydney Harbour Bridge and its environs in New South Wales! And, the weather was what I had always dreamed of: the tail-end of the Australian winter saw us walking in the cold and loving it. This is the closest I could get to the imagined clean and cool weather of the US that I have always dreamed of visiting all my life.
Locally, Batanes used to be a far-away dream. But I got there too and the memories I’m afraid can no longer be duplicated in the immediate future. Stuck in my mind are the friendly Ivatans who would greet anyone they meet along Batan island’s cobbled streets a gentle “good morning”…the traditional thick-walled Ivatan houses constructed to withstand typhoons…the unspoiled beaches…the Ireland clones that came in the form of gently sloping cliffs that smacked of “The Sound of Music”…the meals of beef, beef, beef, morning, noon and night…the honesty of the natives that saw a companion’s stolen camera being discreetly returned right before we were to return to Manila…the unpredictable behaviour of the waves as we negotiated the sea in a round-bottomed boat to Sabtang island…the picturesque fisherfolk with their catch hoisted on their sunburnt shoulders. Now all I can do is dream about going back to Batanes and hoping it has remained the way it used to be.
I have been to Palawan at least four times. Been to El Nido and Calauit Island, but not to the subterranean river because the route here is supposed to be “manned” by monkeys that I am not specially fond of. I’ve made friends in Palawan too. I dream of going back and I might just, barring budgetary constraints.
I dreamed of reaching Davao, that beautiful city down south where the fabled durian abounds. I found the chance just two weeks ago, but had to forego the trip because of certain priorities.
I dream of Pagudpud in the deep north, but it can only be reached via land after a ten-hour ride. I shun land travel now for health reasons…or maybe I just cannot contain my excitement and therefore would rather that all my trips be by air. My last Superferry ride was not too pleasant because I had a crippling attack of nausea.
All these travels were work-related, unfortunately, and did not give me much time and space to truly appreciate the places I have been to.
Hongkong was for pleasure, but when we got there a storm was brewing. It struck the following day and found us having to scout around for the rare open department store. (Unlike Filipinos used to typhoons, the Hongkong-ites shy away from strong winds and driving rain. It is not unusual for them to close their stores when storm level 12 is declared. It amused us to see Pinoys strolling along Hongkong sidewalks in bad weather but still having fun, the obligatory umbrellas over their heads.
I dream of going to the US, where many cousins and aunts reside. But this will probably end up in the dustbin too: the coveted US visa is simply too difficult to get and I am not wont to faking my way around. Besides, a three-week trip there could be costly, despite the relatives. I am also not wont to impose on their kindness and oblige them to put up with me and provide me board and lodging.
My remaining dream is escaping to an island or a cool mountain hideaway and finally writing ”the” book that I have always wanted to write. Will this become a reality in the near future? Who knows?