On La Union and those little pockets of peace

Tonight I write because I need reminding how it is to write for my own pleasure.

That sounds like the saddest thing, especially for a person who makes a living out of the written word, but that is unfortunately my current dilemma.

It’s been a year since I flirted with freelancing—we’re now in a serious relationship—and while it has indeed been the most challenging, mind-widening, economically liberating career decision so far, the beast has become needy. And greedy. And demanding a lot of my time (goodbye, precious weekends), brain power, and especially pronounced this month, my drive and energy.

One wretched word: Burnout.

I feel I’m slowly reaching my depletion point.

May has been my “I told you so” month. My “why didn’t you go on a sabbatical” month. My “why didn’t you just become a ballerina” month. (Last one is driven not by an inclination to ballet but by the fact that I recently watched Opera by Gabriel Barredo which is an absolute mindfuck of a contemporary ballet show I feel sorry you didn’t get to see it). It isn’t exactly a bad month—these are, after all, happy problems to have—it’s just been too damned fast that I feel like I’m operating inside a full-powered blender.

Anyway, I guess the point of this entry is just that I need a moment. A bottle-worthy pause. A little pocket of peace. And last November I had chunks of that in La Union, that sleepy little surfing town in San Fernando, a few hours away from Manila. My sister and I did nothing but worship the sun until it disappeared down the horizon.

And that is what I need. Silence. Stillness. Peace. Of. Mind. Or a reminder of.

And because my needy boyfriend Freelancing won’t afford me even the tiniest of breaks this month (July will be different—is what I tell myself), these scenic shots of La Union will suffice for now…Just remembering that time an adorable little dog hung out with me and M by the shore never fails to bring a smile on my face.