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Travel and Dreaming
Meditations on Cebu
Traveling is sort of like dreaming. You know, almost certainly, you won’t be in that place again.
You admire the impossibility of the images that succeed in front of you. And after you wake up, the images, and faces you encountered fade slowly from your mind.
Most people, when they think about love, they think about the sensual love between a man and a woman. Most often, they think about desire.
And as for me, I keep on thinking about Cebu, like some people think about a lover they are unsure they will ever see again.
Like a lover whom you didn’t have enough time to get to know yet.
Like a lover whom you know, still has secrets inside. Secrets worth discovering, secrets worth knowing.
And you desire the intimacy of belonging to a place, were you suspect you would be happy.
The Philippines, seems to me, is the heart of Asia. The place were nations of explorers converged during centuries in their quest for discovery and trade. A kettle of races emerged, without them knowing they were emerging.
And as the dream flows, you struggle with awakening.
And love is desire. Because you desire to know, not to possess.
