In the mood for walk.

I love to walk.

When the world was younger, I vividly remembered that I didn’t like the idea of being fetched from school. Instead, I would walk the seemingly unending pavement from the school to our house. It only took fifteen minutes on a regular pace, but it seemed to stretch forever. Laden with Acacia trees, I would count each tree everyday thinking that one day they might be gone. I would always bring a trusty stick to fend off stray dogs, while sipping my sago-gulaman.

There were times when my mom would scold me at dinner since the driver or Ate would patiently wait in front of the school gate only to realize that I was already at home. There were no cellular phones at that time so it was quite a tedious task.  

Growing up, I realized that walking became handy during Boy Scout jamborees, medical missions, and outreach projects, which required patience, endurance, and an obvious inclination for long strides. The path was oftentimes laden with steep rocks, muddy pits, and everything else in between. But my love for walking has only intensified my curiosity on what lies at the end of the road. At times, I was disappointed, but for most times, I was quite amazed.

I have imbibed the habit of walking until now. I can walk long distances without complaining. Back in college, I would from walk from Taft Avenue all the way to Luneta Park, and sit on one of the benches and cautiously look at passers-by, vendors (both legitimate and illegitimate), and family members who would go there to kill time. I would walk, sometimes, all the way into the dimly lit corners of Recto and Carriedo, not knowing what to expect. It was in early 2000s, and everything felt different.

I never told any of my friends back then for fear of being scolded on the risk of my activities. They would probably not understand why I would walk long distances going nowhere, sit on benches, and talk to random strangers.  But I realized that life is not (and should not be) confined within the gates of the academe. Walking has taught me, albeit indirectly, that life is a never-ending, strange-looking pathway where randomness is best magnified through the road less traveled, and where every crossroad is an opportunity waiting to be discovered.

Walking shows life in bits and pieces. There is an ample illustration of poverty and wealth, inequality and goodness, faith and fate, and love and bitterness. The streets mirror life’s greatest joys and its misplaced anguish. It showed (and still shows) the government’s inefficiency and the people’s stubbornness. The street is a collection of the best and the worst that one could expect.

Whenever I go back to the province, I still do my leisure walks. The previous unending stretch from school to our home now only takes a few strides. On my way home, I still count the old, unyielding Acacia trees in awe that time had been kind to them.

I still love to walk. I guess certain things never change.