Walking About

lost and found

by Jeneen R. Garcia

to be published on 29 March 2008

 

 

Late afternoon is my favorite time of day, when the breeze blows seaward and the birds roost noisily on the electric lines at the boulevard in Dumaguete, where I used to stay. In Manila, where I’ve lived these past four months, the rich warmth of sundown pours out onto the streets, coating the acacia trees and the wide fields of the UP Diliman campus with honeyed light. It is at this time that I put on my sneakers, bind up my hair in pigtails, and go out for a walk.

 

It’s not just late afternoons that I go walking, of course. With the constantly rising cost of transportation and the temptation to be too busy to exercise, I try as much as possible to walk to where I need to go. More importantly, I walk to pace my thoughts that otherwise would need to rush towards my next destination before the jeepney can get me there.

 

As soon as I step out of the house, my lungs fill with oxygen, and with it, freedom. My head starts to clear of muddled must-do and want-to-do lists; ideas get unstuck. I revel in the feeling of my blood throbbing, feeding my starved muscles as I walk briskly past sidewalk vendors, tricycles, the din of the weary workforce on their way home.

 

Walking is especially essential to me when I travel. With map in hand, or sometimes just directions from a stranger, I form my sense of place by traversing the length of roads and alleys. I get from point to point by understanding the city’s character in how its neighborhoods cluster or spread out, in its dominant smells and signs, in the way its streets either turn with precise regularity or meander like a dream. I learn more about a place by walking than I ever could by riding an air-conditioned bus with a tour guide.

 

On weekends, I have the leisure to explore Manila’s less congested side streets. I take this opportunity to find alternative routes to get from one place to another, as well as have a look at what the rest of humanity is up to. Stretching my legs stretches my mind, too, an exercise in seeing. The games this generation of six-year olds plays on the street, the kind of flowers that grow by the roadside, the number of karinderyas from this corner to the next, the best spot on the sidewalk from which to view the moonrise--details one would never find in a census or street map, yet details so necessary to making sense out of the insanity of city life.

 

Sometimes, I am blessed to have a kindred spirit along. Then walking becomes the means for luxurious conversations to unfold and take full shape--the kind that always get interrupted by goodbyes when you’re riding the bus or train. Walking, you can go as slow as you want. As slow as you need to without needing to stand still.

 

The bigger the city, the harder it is to find quiet sanctuary. In my walks, whether solitary or in good company, I create my own sacred, moving space. It no longer matters where I am, whether in fast-paced Manila or laidback Dumaguete, or even in Cebu or Davao, all the places I’ve called home. When I walk, time is only a measure of how far I’ve gone, and how much further I need to go to get back to where I began.

 

The true gift of walking is that it reminds me how I am constantly in the middle of a long journey; I need not rush nor despair that I am too far behind in the race, or that I will get to my final destination sooner than I am ready for it. As Robert Frost said, I have “miles to go before I sleep”, each footfall a balm for my cramped feet.