The other side of summer

At some point, this once-a-week blog turned into a once-a-month blog. At some point, I ceased writing five to ten thousand words a day so I could listen to other people talk about the hills they had combat in years ago. At some point, the days blended into each other and morphed into a two-year deadline. At some point, there began a new different season altogether.


Every year, when June begins, I always feel like an era has ended. No more breathing in hot, dry air. No more blinding brightness from the windows to wake me up at six in the morning. No more heavy siesta afternoons where even the gnats look drowsy. No more feeling a fine film of dust over my skin after a day in the field. No more taking showers in the middle of the day. No more driving along the South Luzon Expressway to the SAF Training School with the windows open and the fierce, burning wind sweeping all throughout the interior of the car. No more Sureshock class to learn with.

Now that I am older, I have got to learn how to stop investing summer with too heavy a memory. After all, the rainy season can be just as memorable. And after all, the man from summer remains, and he brings summer with him wherever the two of us may be – Sta. Rosa, Silang, Muntinlupa, Bicutan, Makati, Baguio. At some point, as the gritty days of summer blended seamlessly and naturally into damp and unsummery June, so have we blended slowly, instinctively into each other. Perhaps this time an era has really ended. At some point, there is no more me; there is just us. We have crossed over to the other side, and the memories are just beginning.