Around February, usually after Valentine's and before final exams, the end of the school term, and holy week, I feel something in the air - as if something is ending and something is about to begin.
During this time, the cold air blows more subtly than a hint and the heat sets in. For a few days, when the weather cannot decide whether it would be cool or hot, it feels just perfect. Mango trees start to bear fruit. Streets get dustier, leaves dry up and fall to the ground like moths seduced to death by the heat of light bulbs. The air resonates with the promise of a summer fling, or of true and everlasting love (if there is such a thing), or merely a glimpse of the boy who only bothers to go within a hundred meters of the church to join holy week processions.
Makeshift halo-halo stands sprout every block or so. Children, whose only achievement so far is to reach their ear with the arm on the opposite side over their head, set their eyes to a new goal: to ride the bicycle without the kiddie wheels on.
Friends and parents die and children are born. Chapters of a book are sealed with finality and fresh lines are written on new pages with the tentativeness of a child trying to walk for the first time. Old friendships are rekindled with the flame of shared memories from an almost-forgotten past. Promises of forever are made and promises of forever are marred by a child who finds it difficult to sleep at an appointed time. Love is given and love is taken. Old wounds heal, and new wounds are inflicted.
The wheels turn,and old houses fly past. Time goes on and does not stop, no matter how hard one wills it to.
I look at my friends and I smile.
Life continues.###
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