Postcard talk

My heart has been heavy these days.  I received news about someone dear being terribly, terribly sick.  I’m not supposed to know, and the news almost made me cry when I read the e-mail.  The only thing that stopped the tears was the fact that I was in a very public place. I took a deep breath and said a quick prayer, acknowledged the message, but from there, my mind froze.

I feel so deeply saddened that while I was planning to write my friend, I have yet to pick up paper and pen since Sunday.  This even as I have immersed myself in postcard exchanges.

When I walk alone, or as I do my regular chores, the sadness envelopes my heart.  I think about how fragile life is and how we all live on borrowed time.  I think about the pain and anger I sometimes find myself immersed in.  I float in and out convincing myself everything is alright.  I wish..

We take so many things forgranted.  This morning as I walked out of the house, I caught sight of the muted sun, more like the moon, as the dark clouds started to cover it.  I started to reach for my camera but the clouds were much too fast.  I missed out on it.  It would’ve made for a good graphic for today’s post.

I haven’t been here in a while.  I’ve been busy.  I can only blog late at night or early in the morning, and it’s difficult when I have to make a deliberate effort to do it.  Tonight, I’m working off of a blogpost I started drafting yesterday in the bus, and I’m continuing writing it — while on the bus.  I can just vegetate and try to catch some shut-eye, but I feel bad that I haven’t written.

Postcards are being sent out.  I’m lucky there’s a post office a block away from where I work, and a nice walk from where I live.  I’m trying to manage my trading, and I’m getting into the swing of things again.  Not where the mail art is concerned, though.  I’m still a little shy about sharing my work but I’m trying to build a network over at IUOMA.

I’m continuing with the newspaper collage although I’m missing a few.  (They weren’t with the postcards in the office so I guess they’re back home.). One thing I like is that headlines here in the US tend to be distinct from newspaper to newspaper, unlike back in Manila where one headline is paraphrased in the next newspaper’s front page.  It seems like everyone’s buzzing about Ryan but in whispers.

(Almost 2 hrs on the road with traffic crawling through the rain.  Sigh.  This is one of those nights I wish I had full time househelp to take care of Angelo.  Not in America, though.)

Back to the postcards… I am trying Postcrossing out and have had 2 postcards reach their intended destination but I have yet to receive one.  I noticed there are a lot of Filipinos on the site and some have chalked up quite a record sending out postcards.  I am amazed and then I suddenly remember my boxes of postcards.  Guilty.  I really have to start listing those postcards which need to find a new home.

For one, I have around a dozen Star Trek postcards — to keep or not to keep?  I have more than a hundred Canadiana I need to “release”.  Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Canada but if they’re not maps and not lighthouses, they’re sitting untouched and unadmired in the darkness of a storage box.  And what about duplicate maps and lighthouses, most of which I picked up as spares to trade?

The stadiums are slowly going… (Can’t wait until they are all on their merry way.)  I am starting to sort out the unsorted postcards and will hopefully combine them with those sorted in boxes already.  A little at a time..

Midnight.  Time for bed.. and it’s another day.  Have to get that letter on its way to my friend.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s