Rambling here: I once lived in an area in New Jersey where on days where I did not have to work, I'd bring a book as well as a notepad and pen to the nearby woods to just sit down and lose myself. The golden summer has passed and the vibrancy of the season has gone to hibernate. While the impending winter casts a pall on most and for some reason, an air of melancholia, fall was something else for me. I found something romantic about it (being a hopeless romantic). I enjoyed the falling leaves and kick them about mimicking Hemingway. I'd read stuff and try a little water color painting in the back of the woods. I'd walk around the neighborhood all the way to Lake Carnegie. Or at times, I'd take photographs using disposable cameras. I noticed how there was a different glint when the fading light would hit buildings. Maybe it’s the gray stone but it was just awesome.
Anyone who knows me well will say that I can be intensely private and at times prefer to be alone. I have traveled a lot by my lonesome to faraway places that some have remarked at my uncanny ability to move around without so much fuss and worry. Practice, I guess.
When I wasn't in the Garden State (northern New Jersey is so gorgeous), my other hideaway, if you can call it that, was Central Park. Can there be another amazing place like that in the world? I'd find my own spot there and watch the world pass me by. I'd listen to stuff on my iPod, read a book, play some frisbee with friends, watch that pretty Swedish girl play the violin while her brother strummed a guitar. That was where I last spent some significant time writing poetry and doodling about still life.
I was weaned on both Philippine and American literature but while living in America, Keats, Frost and Hemingway seemed more apt. I also began to digest the works (in other genres) of Ansel Adams and Norman Rockwell and many others. I tried my hand at this in Mexico but I had difficulty getting around.
Recently however, I’ve begun to read more of Jon Krakauer and his powerful stories of the outdoors and desolation.
The other day, I shared with my dad Krakauer’s Into the Wild. It was a painful read that tugged at my heart and the film adaptation by Sean Penn brought to life the tragic story of Christopher McCandless. More than Into Thin Air, Into the Wild touched me more.
It isn’t solely about going into the great outdoors but it’s about trying to solve one’s problems. Some say that running away doesn’t solve anything. However, a loss can sometimes bring some real and meaningful change. And that begets the question, why does one have to wait for a tragedy before we act? In case you haven’t read the book or seen the Sean Penn film, please do so. It’s a powerful and moving film.
And while you’re at it, go to youtube to see the pilgrimage that people have made to the Magic Bus. It’s somewhat eerie and painful.
Since I first read John Feinstein’s A Season on the Brink, I have always wanted to write an in depth story about an athlete, a team, a place, or an incident. I have tried that with some local sports teams but it is never easy. Perhaps we aren’t ready for that kind of writing and reporting just yet. The strange thing about that is they (I will not mention their names to protect the innocent who are actually guilty) laud books like Seven Seconds or Less or even HBO's 24/7 series but when applied locally, they just fear it. By preference for more in depth storytelling and reporting is forcing me to veer away from the conventional sports stories into other topics and issues. Hopefully, you'll see what I am talking about sooner than later.
I am looking abroad just to do that. I have a few ideas on what I want to do. I teach my students that if you want something then you put yourself in that path and that is what I am doing. I am currently in the process of examining finances and other factors such as work and where I will be in order to make that happen. The journey continues.
This is the last photo taken of Christopher McCandless (that was pulled from his camera when his body was recovered) at the Magic Bus.
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