As Summer Ends

i had planned to write a journal entry on my last hurrah for summer, what with the flurry of travels i've had lately. been wanting to write an end-of-summer piece since last year (that was one glorious summer, too, with its extreme ups and downs), but i never got around to it.

 

when i learned that ana, my Weekend columnist soulmate and ka-WILA, wrote about summer waning in her column last saturday, i decided to turn mine into a column, too, for this saturday. so here it is, also as a sort of update on what i've been up to lately.

 

=========

lost and found (#20)

by Jeneen R. Garcia

 

As Summer Ends

 

By the time you read this, the frayed ends of summer will be further unraveled, disintegrating under the June sunlight like a dream.

 

The memory of last summer’s long, languorous walk on the shores of Siquijor, the sun moving unhurriedly across the sky, finally sinking behind the mountains, the tree house by the beach, a motorcycle ride around the island, the scorching wind grazing my skin, waterfall streaming on my shoulders, a dive into the brilliant green sea—everything that smelled of summer stayed with me despite the rains of July and December, all through the year burning my fingers and the soles of my feet.

 

It was as if my body would live only in this warm season of doing nothing, of measuring days by the ripples of a mudskipper, of not having to be anything or anywhere in particular at any particular time, of deliciously never knowing what comes next, of truly owning every fleeting moment in my life. Amidst the late nights spent at my computer, gasping after deadlines so many other people had set, this was the only consolation. Soon, a voice would whisper, soon.

 

Finally it arrived, discreetly, at the end of a work week, permeating the hours that chained me to my seat. But despite the heat and the lengthening days, it soon became clear that this summer held no Siquijor for me. Unexpected invitations in April brought me to a weekend in Manila, a day each in northern Bohol and southern Cebu, and a week in Bacolod. But everything had a schedule, people to meet, things that had to be said and done. The clock kept ticking, no waves broke the rhythm.

 

By mid-May I was panicking, saying yes to all the invitations I could fit into the days. One weekend climbing a waterfall in Samboan, night diving in Santander, then crossing the sea to Dumaguete and back in time for work the next day. The week after, touring eight northern Cebu towns (including an island) in two days. And in between, a day trip to Barili, and two days each in Dalaguete and Oslob, with a quick dive back in Santander to find sharks and sea turtles.

 

In spite of the constant mobility, I DID have moments that were truly mine: watching the full moon rise as the tide came in, talking to children gathering crabs in pools of seaweed, walking in a neighborhood of hundred-year old houses, at sunrise playing my bamboo flute to the rush of the sea. And yes, the solitude of seeking fish as they slept 60 feet underwater.

 

Never mind that I had to work extra hours to meet my deadlines and appointments. Never mind the aches or bleary eyes in the mornings. Good thing invitations mean I mostly get to travel for free, in exchange for work. Government should grant all workers two months of paid summer vacation every year to get the economy running, and restore everyone’s sanity besides.

 

It ain’t over till it’s over—in a few days I’m leaving for Bukidnon. Though I know at some point I need to stay home and do my laundry, tidy up my room. Still I hold on madly to summer, clutching at its ends, afraid that once I lose it the world will grind to a stop, my heart along with it.

 

For isn’t summer the only season slow enough for finding the selves we’ve lost over the year, for savoring new sights, new smells, new loves? And if we fail to hold it close as it drifts by, how can we bear the loneliness of darker seasons, not even knowing what we miss or grieve for?