Wanderlust is a word which here means the desire to travel, and see the world-- the longing to explore places that we've never been to, and bask in their overwhelming beauty. It irks me sometimes knowing that while I'm waiting for the bus, or copying notes from class lectures, or helplessly trying to solve a Pre-Calculus problem, paradise is out there waiting for me. I'm pretty sure that the Great Perhaps isn't within the four corners of any classroom, or chemistry lab; wherever it is, it's out there somewhere, and it's waiting for you, and me, and everyone else; all we have to do is muster enough courage and search for it.
named after the gorgeous Australian model, Bambi Northwood-Blyth;
A few shots that I had taken;
Correct me if I'm wrong, but some of the things that we treasure in life the most aren't actually things. And one of those invaluable treasures that we keep closest to our slowly-beating hearts in the dead of night as we try our best and escape into sleep from the reality of tomorrow, or in the early morning as we wake up unexpectedly to the vicious sound of birds chirping on a tree right beside your window, are memories-- fragments of both good days, and bad days, and boring days, and happy and sad days, that our minds cannot help but remembering. We may not be able to (physically) see or touch these memories, but they can be as personally powerful as power itself. They are the reason why we start to tear up one afternoon, lying in bed, and staring at the ceiling; they are responsible for that small smile that gradually creeps on our lips as we make our way to our next class; and they can ignite a change of heart just by suddenly flashing before our very eyes. They conjure up, and make us relive the visceral feelings of the days, and moments of the past that are never ever going to come back. These memories, these fragments of light, are the reason why some of us still choose to keep breathing because they are the only things that we have left to hold on to.
The cool mountain air, and the sudden scent of pine that whips at your nose when you roll the windows down as the vehicle passes through the twists and turns on the road-- these are the things I miss the most about Baguio. You're in the woods with the grass and the earth beneath your your feet, you look up, and you see the sunlight filtering in through the trees stitched with the patches of blue from the sky, and you start to realize that what's meant to be will be no matter how you try and change it. I don't know, I guess maybe that's just me. I've sort of always had an attachment to that place-- you can feel the presence of tranquility even in the midst of the bustling crowds; it's the feeling of being on top of a mountain, being above the greater chaos. Those photos above were taken from a couple of weeks back, and just eleven hours ago one year went up in flames, and another was born from the ashes. It is incredibly surprising sometimes how fast time can be. Maybe one day, without really noticing it, the lives we live at this very moment will become nostalgic to us.