Wander To the Moon and Back

I would turn on the radio, search for a classical or a mellow station. I would close the lights and lie on my bed. I would look into the ceiling until my mind travels somewhere place. Slowly, ‘that’ part of me is drifting away. Wandering aimlessly to a portion of space. Whatever surrounding me becomes intangible. The light and darkness and every colors become haste. Then a phantasm of surreal objects emerges. Time ticking and I no longer hear the music.. I no longer feel my bed.. I was drawn-out away from my room.

 

I am Nowhere.

Believe me, when you are already on that ‘nowhere place,’ it’s dang hard coming back to reality. But why would you dare escape a realm so serene and pacific? For a minute, I won’t allow myself to leave that enchanted place.

But for another minute, I will argue with myself.

I have to get back to my reality, as this place was not meant to be mine. I shouldn’t even be here in the first place. Little by little, it becomes dark. Slowly, I would feel my back lying on my bed. The volume of the radio getting clearer.. Coming back into my senses, I would realize I am on that familiar place, my bedroom.

I would find myself staring at the ceiling.. and I’ll ask myself again for the thousandth times, ‘why did I return?’

Dad’s Resolve and My Bike

I’ve paved my way for Dad to buy me a bicycle. At what expense, I could hardly remember. For all I know, Dad wouldn’t give me something because I want it except for a robot, a kite, and a trumpo. But yeah, later in my life, he gave me a phone. Many times I have asked him a couple of things which he denied for no apparent reason. So the notion of my asking for a bicycle, back when I was six or seven years of age, is like requesting for my independence. That is what I thought then. And it is still what I think now.

Independence. Simply because I wanted to travel by myself around the neighborhood.

I have my point to telling you all of this. That one of my life-size glory experiences is learning how to ride a mechanical bicycle. That incident took place some time ago. Funny that I do not have a recollection of what my age was back then. Going back on that time frame, the whole thing, even the littlest unspecified object, is still lucid in my memory. Along with my cousins and my brother on the scenario, I underwent a grandeur life-learning experience: riding the two-wheeled human-powered vehicle. My dad taught me the formula of bicycling. I used the word ‘formula’ as that word best portray the process of problem solving but he did not teach me the complete process. What he instructed me is the basic rule of not falling.

Let us start my storytelling that time I first held the bicycle frame. Or simply the feeling of an incalculable ecstasy of Dad’s trust that I can do things my own way. I am Euphoric. I am ready to hit the street 120 kilometers per hour. I must look absurd. And I like it. But hell I was scared. Damn, I am really frightened of things that might happen. Five minutes from that moment, I might be struck by a moving object that often the road. See myself rolling with blood and sweat. The ditch, I foresee myself swimming on the ditch. Fear enveloped me and..

Dad tapped me on the shoulder and somehow I’ve regained my courage.

“You know how to pedal, right? You know how to rear-end and you know how to use the brakes. What you are not familiar with is how to ride a bicycle. Well, Kiddo, I won’t be teaching you how to ride the bicycle.”

And my dad continued.

“I will teach you how to do balancing.” Dad paused, for awhile.

And what about balancing? I can stand unabashed with my foot. I can do the standing position onto the floor effortlessly. I can walk a non-slanting area without hitting the ground. So what about balancing?

“And you are on your own to discover how this thing works.”

My dad, who is holding the bicycle, has to let go of his grip. And that is when I realized the freedom of his grip entails my freedom to learn.

I managed to drive at least three meters away. Still, I fall big time with some scratches on my knees. Balancing is a little harder, I uttered. I got up, dusted myself, and held the bicycle frame once again.

I gaze at my Dad. But this time, I am no longer scared.