We were just sitting there in front of the small sari sari store. We borrowed three monoblock chairs, one for each of us, and shared one bottle of soda because we were all broke. We bought cigarettes, but only a couple, to kill time and hunger. We took drags idly; the smoke occasionally perturbing the chill of the night, but we didn’t mind. All we needed were stories. Our conversations were light but they weigh. As I was sitting there, below the street lamps, along with strangers, and above the cold pavement, I realized how much I was missing.

Life is good, but I’ve forgotten how it’s so beautiful. I didn’t take the time to appreciate moments like that. The pleasure of taking my time in my own pace has become foreign. It’s amazing how the world can speak to us in ways we don’t expect, like helping us feel the feelings we’ve already forgotten by experiencing something so commonplace. At times I get busy searching for meanings and explanations concerning my life. Little did I know that what I was looking for is inside me all along, just waiting to be discovered.