Monday, April 21, 2008
I still wake up each morning a little disoriented, thinking I'm somewhere else, and never in the place I'm supposed to be. Yesterday, for example, three days after arriving back in Negros, I woke up around 6 a.m. and the sunlight streaming through my apartment windows revealed nooks and cranny that did not at all look familiar. Where the f**k am I
, my brain raced, and by golly, who is this person beside me?
Of course, a few seconds later, I would soon recognize that this was home, and that this warm body was M. sleeping soundly beside me. I suppose you get that kind of experiential vertigo when exactly one week previously, you spent each day in different places -- Monday in Sagada, Tuesday in Baguio, Wednesday in Manila, and Thursday in Dumaguete, each day, of course, full of things as life can possibly cram into one's existence. That I've slept those days in various versions of sleeping venues -- bus, assorted hotel rooms, etc. -- did not help. I'm home, but not really. But what makes it more strange is that I like
the way I float through the days, unanchored, if only mentally, to specifics of geography. There's some satisfaction in that kind of escape.
 This is Where You Bite the Sandwich