annus mirabilis

The wistful chill of the evening air does very little to mask the aridity of this summer’s curse. In my evening ambulatories I often find the solace that introspection affords. Here in the epicenter of the business district, where hurried executives are a dime-a-dozen, I find myself leisurely traversing the Ayala Gardens. Alone as habitual, and lax as intended.

I ponder the questions that fail to find voice, even in this paradigm. I expound on the issues that often remain latent, a footnote to the days I persevere this cyclic conundrum. I enquire, and extrapolate, entice and extricate, the assertions I made that led to this point. Has the progress in achieving my full potential been successful? Has the attempt to find romance in this rampant relinquishing wasteland any more foretelling? Have I evolved/devolved?

The uncertainties that created this microcosm of melancholia remain to discover its salve. But I persevere, arrogantly, resplendent amidst and against the expletives fate ironically hurls. Not all is lost.

Reading through my earlier entries, I find that my verbatim no longer inhabit the detrimentally scarred carcass my former psyche scintillates. My words surge with less despair, but still replete with the ardent emotionality of a past I choose to be reminded of. I have changed. Both as a blogger and as a human being, as a professional and a romantic. Pain is inevitable, but we can choose to either dwell in it, wallowing in the depths of its adamantium grasp; or embrace it, providing a path where it can flow and leave peacefully and contentedly. I have expanded my circle, and have invested on certain decisions to merit my progress.

By my own unaware volition, change occurred. It engulfed and molded, created and severed, it capitulated and contrived, inspired and elated. It came in bursts like the heavenly novas, in trickles like the June rains, in labyrinthine loci like the poetry of sages, in sweeping spells like the warmth of a fresh brew, in dynamic dexterity like the athletic ingénue, and in bold chromatics like the sunset sky. It came in bits, and in bellows, rationed and irrational. And it was remarkable.

To my readers, and occasional voyeurs, my editors and constant haunts, my avid auteurs and allied accomplices, my deepest, sincerest gratitude. It has been an exquisite pleasure, and a year of wonder.

The blood flows incessantly. Thickened by the pressure of the wound, but viscous and virile nonetheless. The pain ebbs, the cut no longer bleeds. Healing has commenced. The keloid a reminder, of a broken history; and a promise, of a mended future.
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Annus Mirabilis - Lat. Year of Wonders, a remarkable year.

Image from here.