Drift

for once in our life we beame so vulnerable.... so weak... fragile... and yet we have to move on.... to face the life beyond the darkest clouds....life has to go on.

Ive been teaching for so many years, and as expected I have known several of my students own life... maybe because of connections.... I have learned to know my colleagues... and became their friend. Until one time, this friend of mine met a sudden health problem.... unfortunately... she left 3 kids.

But as I have said, life has to go on... years passed by and I meet those kids of hers... in a very stormy situation. But they still find themselves moving up and continue their dreams... two of them became my student.

One of them has written this...... 

Drift

I had
never stopped giving out my best. In the past, that was easy enough for me. My
motivation to fly higher, to soar beyond the limits of my capabilities was
being propelled by a “wind beneath my wings”. There never was a task so
difficult, so impossible, so hard driven that I would not embark on it. There
never was a mountain too tall to hinder me from conquering on it; never a day
too dark to dampen my spirit.

In
those days, the clouds were always silvery, forecasting a fair day; the grass
greener, nourishing the fattening cattle; the lark’s song sweeter, adding
melody to a lively day. Everything was beautiful, refreshing, clear and joyful.

It’s
quite true indeed. We were not promised sunshine without rains, joys without
sorrows, peace without pain. I thought basking in the sun would last forever. I
thought the glorious days would not end until someone walked out of the way and
left a void with me. Then I found myself alone.

Who
can explain why roses have thorns? Why rivers flow out of the sea and let
themselves be lost in its vastness? There was nothing I could think of which
would reveal how in heaven and on earth everything went wrong. I could blame no
one; nor was there anyone to turn to. Now, my drift has begun.

Two
months had passed, unnoticed when I found myself in front of the mirror. I
could hardly recognize my own reflection. I was not the same boy I knew I have
been before. I have change a lot physically. In place of the chubby chicks, the
prominent jaws of a young man was noticeable; the forehead has become broader;
the eyes more deep-set but less brilliant; the nose more defined; growing
moustache showing above the tightly set lips; and the bushy eyebrows blacker
than before.

Moreover,
a thin line across my forehead is a signature of that traitorous change which
little by little was pushing me into the edge of nowhere; taking advantage of
the weakness that overpowers me; feeding on the hopelessness that gripped my
being; and devouring all the strength my spirit could hold. I had become
submissive to the corrosive elements that surrounded me. Again, in that
reflection, I have seen a ruined me, confused and lost.

I
started hating myself; but I must inevitable face this monstrous struggle. I
must not blame anyone but myself for this tragic moment. This experience of
deafening emptiness, dizzying doubts and ripping regrets should not fail me. I
should be more careful and wise in searching for my place under the sun where I
rightfully belong. I should shield myself in order not to be too fragile to be
broken. Once more, I must focus myself on what is significant to get over all
this. But to move on was a great burden. I still felt that lingering weakness
to get out of my drift strong hold.

Above
me was the wide open sky turning to a crimson hue. The bright orange disk was
nearer to the horizons edge. I got the smell of the newly mowed grass which was
soft beneath my body. I lay there at the time when everyone had slowly treaded
his way home; and the vibrant voices of kids had died down. On one corner of
the field, a ball had been left after play.

That
quiet and late afternoon was my favorite hour. I closed my eyes and listened to
the stillness of dusk. Poets have their best time when they bring forth their
potentials to the open and create a masterpiece. From the recesses of my mind I
still remember some lines I picked up from Wordsworth:

“Though
nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory, in a
flower, grieve not; rather find strength in what remains behind”

I
looked up and I realized that I was beneath the big blue dome of the heavens
now is studded with bright twinkling lights. I listened keenly to the echoes of
my heart longing for its home; patiently waiting that this drift would soon be
over; that I could find myself again