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Valencia at Midnight

It's midnight once again here at Valencia City, Bukidnon. I just finished writing 12 500-words articles about some dumb custom bobbleheads.

Well, who cares about these bobbleheads anyway? The search engines maybe? The owner of the site who sells bobbleheads, definitely.  Well, enough of bobbleheads. It has filled my brains with lots of bubbles anyway and I want to exorcise them out of my system.

Back to Valencia. This is the city I hope I can call my home.  It is a thriving city in a most provincial way.  Public utility services are bad but the environment can make up for it.

It is cool here, and the crickets are really lovely. They will entertain you all night.  This is a city that retained its provincial beauty.  This is a city that doesn't have the trappings of a dirty urban jungle.

The jungles here are real.  Outside my doors, you can see vast expanse of sugar plantation.  Beyond is a towering mountain, majestic in all its greeness.

I am a city-bred creature. So I'm used to the soot and grime of city life.  But Valencia is a cathartic experience for me.  In a year or two, I think this place will cleanse the accumulated grit I got from the city streets.

I am content hearing the crickets. The night bird occasionally woos me to go outside.  But I didn't dare coz the wind is cold. And I'm here writing the ramblings in my head...

__________________

Valencia at Midnight: A Reprise

May 17, 2009

It's midnight once again here at Valencia City, Bukidnon. I just finished writing 12 500-words articles about some dumb custom bobbleheads.

Well, who cares about these bobbleheads anyway? The search engines maybe? The owner of the site who sells bobbleheads, definitely.  Well, enough of bobbleheads. It has filled my brains with lots of bubbles anyway and I want to exorcise them out of my system.

Back to Valencia. This is the city I hope I can call my home.  It is a thriving city in a most provincial way.  Public utility services are bad but the environment can make up for it.

When I first arrived here, the place was shrouded with a light fog.  It was drizzling and the air has the sweet scent of pine.  At that moment, I knew I will be at home here. 

It is cool here especially from dusk until the wee hours of the morning.  I was used to sleeping without a shirt on, a habit I developed when I was still in Pasig City.  But here, I had to wear a cardigan to bed.  And the crickets are really lovely. They will entertain you all night. 

Sometimes, I work in front of my computer until 3 in the morning beating deadlines for my online writing job.  Before I go to sleep, I usually spend a few minutes staring out my window.  I love the calm and peace outside, not one soul is about. 

The smell of pine, wood, and fresh leaves are in the air.  When I inhale deeply, memories of my childhood flood my senses.  I remember the countryside of Mindoro, where I used to spend my summer vacations.  I also remember the mountains of Panay and its pristine forests.

Valencia is a city but it evokes memories of far away places.  Places where I spent happy moments.  Places that I learned to love and care about.   This is a city that retained its provincial beauty.  This is a city that doesn't have the trappings of a dirty urban jungle.

The jungles here are real.  Outside my doors, you can see vast expanse of sugar plantation.  Beyond is a towering mountain, majestic in all its greenness.  During mornings, my son and I will wait for the “potpot” guy who delivers hot pandesal.  We will sit by the road side and will look at the mountains far ahead.  He always asks me if we can go trekking on those mountains.  Even my little boy seems enchanted by the majesty of the mountain in front of us.

I am a city-bred creature. So I'm used to the soot and grime of city life.  But Valencia is a cathartic experience for me.  In a year or two, I think this place will cleanse the accumulated grit I got from the city streets.

Valencia taught me how to appreciate the small things in life.  I can now appreciate every whiff of cool wind caressing my face.  I also find satisfaction when I stare out my window and hear the crickets sing.

Right now I am content listening to the crickets. The night bird occasionally woos me to go outside.  But I didn't dare coz the wind is cold. And I'm here writing the ramblings in my head...

 

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It's not about knowing you when we were there, wandering, in gardens of youthful freedom. What matters is that I've known you, as you are. It's not about seeing you transformed in full splendor palpably radiant and  blinding mortal  eyes. What matters is that I’ve seen you, as you are. It’s not about hearing you, angelic rhythm of imagined voices  wallowing in bitter-sweet laughter. What matters is that I’ve heard you, as you are. It is not about touching you in the deepest  recesses of your uncharted nakedness, utterly lost  in the celebration  of your beauty and passion. What matters most is that I’ve touched you, as you are. It is not about feeling your stormy thoughts and calm contemplations though these are far constellations reached only by stellar signals. What matters most is that I’ve felt you, as you are. ‘Tis not about loving you, sweet rose-petal of dreams,