Monday Musings: Possibility and Ennui
Yesterday afternoon, I was looking out the window with my dog. It was raining hard, so the water spattered our faces as the wind blew through our hair. The sky was a smoky grey, mirrored on the slick asphalt below, the ground lit with splashes of neon from cars passing by. The air smelled green, thanks to the riot of houseplants on the balcony. I worried for them. Had there been enough sun this past week?
Looking out at the skyline with my dog, I was reminded of a younger version of myself, the one who believed everything was possible. I now live in the same city where I landed my first (and last) office job. Every time I pass the building where I used to work, that feeling of being new to the big city rises up in my throat like it was just yesterday. Sixteen years have passed, and yet I’ve never forgotten the exact sensation of walking from the Ortigas MRT station with my trusty iPod, Motion City Soundtrack in my ears, convinced that my life was finally beginning.
Sometime 2012, so about 13 years ago. Side note: I’d still totally dress like this, just minus the ribbon and the belt haha.
2025
I grew up in the province, and even as a teenager, I knew I was going to have an interesting life. I had so many dreams. I was certain that I was smart and confident enough to make them happen. For the most part, they did. They still are. Looking back, I think it’s because I always just went for it, and people were kind enough to humor me. Like the time I played a set at a luxury resort in the province, just me and my guitar. I was so nervous that my hands felt like ice and I was sweating through my clothes. I remember being terrible, completely out of place, but I did it anyway. That’s been my pattern ever since: to try, even when I feel unready.
Of course, I’m not always brimming with energy. Now that I’m 37 (as I like to remind everyone all the time), I go through bouts of ennui. There are days when I feel restless and anxious, but so drained that I can’t figure out what to do with myself. I think this is normal, though, and I don’t worry about it too much anymore. These quiet, gray seasons have a way of cleansing me. They make me pause and eventually return with a fresh sense of purpose.
Maybe that’s what that rainy afternoon was about: remembering that even when things slow down, even when life feels muted, there’s still something waiting just ahead. A next chapter, a new beginning. Just like there always has been.
