I’ve always been impulsive. I was never really the type who stood on one side, weighing things out. Never did I draw up a list of Pro’s and Con’s and lugged the list wherever I went until I reached a sound, rational decision. More often than not, I’m late.. or ‘lost’ – as I prefer to call not showing where I’m supposed to be – just because something, somewhere, has caught my attention and held it long enough for me to risk everything else.
Nothing is more important to me than the adrenaline rush I get when I do something just because a moment calls for it, never mind the consequences, much more the ever-present threat of messing up things, big time. Be it a heated debate with a professor or a good friend, just because speaking out is something I wouldn’t even think twice about, or a trip out of town, or going out with a complete stranger who, as chance could put it, might as well be a serial killer on the prowl.
But that does not stop at that. Unfortunately, or perhaps, very fortunately, not being able to hold myself down means I am never confined to one thing for so long. A label or a definition expires even before people grow accustomed to it. Figuring out exactly how my mind works is a feat that’s never been accomplished, not even by myself, I must have just gotten used to it. I’ve long given up on attempting to describe myself. What I am certain about, though, is that although I will always leave myself (and people) wondering on what will I get into next, writing is the thread that holds all these adventures together.
While I would love to give this new home a beautiful story on why I migrated here from Blogspot (beatricetulagan.blogspot.com), I could not. I did so because I just felt like it. Boredom, mostly. The rest is this gut feeling that I somehow made it an imperative to reinvent myself every chance I get, especially now that I need it more than ever. Then, again, everyone does.
A few weeks ago, after not beating the deadline for the Palanca Awards, I remember making a promise to myself that May will become my reunion with writing, the only thing constant in my life. However I’ve only done so much as doodle unfinished poems and drunken thoughts on my sketch pad, and though I may look the part, I carry high standards for myself. Thus, this new blog. Aha, existence preceding essence.
Maturity and attempts at it aside, I also thought it would be best if I shower this page not only with those angsty rants and dare-I-call-them poems, but also use it as a running journal. I recently got into the roadrunning rage in Manila and somehow, after a few weeks, am not panting like a fat pig wondering why would anyone ever want to hurt themselves so much by running laps like a trained hamster.
Despite my five-year-old attention span, occasional lack of coordination skills and one too many experiments with gravity and mass (a.k.a, tripping, even while wearing slippers), I’ve gotten to a place where my body decided it needs the thirty-minute sessions every other day. Something is euphoric in running, it makes you both lose touch with reality and at the same time, revel in it. As of now, I’ve only been on the track for a month but am assured this one’s not just a hobby I take up and lose interest in eventually. The natural high after is just a bonus.
I’m aiming to finish my first 5k (and run a couple, after) by July, and my first 10k by September. After that, I’ll probably take up Kickboxing, or start hiking. Someone told me running tells so much about me, how I can’t stay idle too long.
So there. I hope this time, I’ll get to put in more writing hours in between bouts of training and school. I have two years left in college and I might as well make the most out of them. ;)