Walking With Nostalgia Under The Crisp Of December Light

Fresh sea breeze, warm ruins, the crisp of Thursday, and the nostalgia of the whole year linger in the December sunlight of our town in San Remigio. I never felt more alive than this walk I had earlier today, where I took the same path as yesterday’s walk, which led me to the unseen corners of the familiar streets I often walk past in our town. Indeed, there is wonder and glory seen when we let our eyes forget the past or future, and just enjoy the present, where things pop out in our sensation and we get to understand them if we let our hearts be.

San Remigio, a beloved town of mine, has grown and has changed in all ways possible for the last 22 years. I could no longer recognize its features, but the memories and the feeling of nostalgia stay with me as I walk in its hallways and aisles, in different forms, and in the different person I have become. There is a beauty and a bittersweet feeling of walking in your hometown, which has seen your growth and milestones, in days that are better than the last couple of years. There is an honor, a sense of relief, another feeling of belongingness, and another way of being humbled. But it just takes a heart and a mind to be feeling all of these.

While I let my ego fade and let poetry consume me in my walk, I saw things I have never seen before or have seen but never fully understood in the quiet corners of this old weary town, things that were from the past and others that were in the present. Such as this old stone table and benches by the sea completely deprived of time, with its obvious dry grass and plant matter piled on the top of the central block and vegetation growing around like a complete contrast of what is happening here. It looks weathered and cracked, giving a sense of abandonment and a scene of ruins reclaimed by nature.

Beside it is this pumpboat, which is still pretty clean and the wrought of human effort still forms in its appearance, but soon it will be ruined like the stone structures beside it. This area is pretty vegetated and crawled with weeds and unwanted greens, a form or a strong sign it is near decomposition. Still, the sun is down here, it hits its vibrant color, and what matters for it is the present. It also should for us, shouldn’t it? Let's be idealistic: the present is more important than any other time capsule, and it is in our mindset our life relies on.

I walked along the road I always use whenever I walk in the town. I can't help but recognize the brown crisp and the color of sunlight hitting the borders or facades of corners I walk past. The brown and the green colors, together with the invisible sunray, create this feeling of warmth like one in our home during our younger years, when all we had to think of was how not to pee by night as we slept on our parents’ bed. But by tomorrow, you come to do again the play you had in your neighborhood whose tiredness made you pee on the bed.

I don't believe there is a town in the globe that doesn't have a corner with a bush and a flower in it. I do believe almost all towns, except deserted ones, have colorful flowers and the scent of nature, fresh in slender green stems struck by the diffused sunlight. Its soft, crinkled, and vibrant petals remind us of the real and lively life we should live most in the present moment. I took hold of these flowers gently, trying not to harm them, and left with no traces or color on my fingers, as nature is not a souvenir. This is proof of how much I love flowers.

Since I live in a coastal town, walks will never be complete without touching the cold surface of the sand on the shore from last night and the waters that might be rolling or still when you visit. The clear blue waters are a good start of the day, so soothing I can hardly recover from it. Some spaces gave me a common seaside visit, but most of them customize every experience I do, trying their best to help me create a memory and impression of the coast that would let me linger a little more. But life is fleeting, as wise men say, so is me in this coast. I then left with traces of my feet in the sand, and a bit of me was buried in it. I wonder how this coast will change ten years from now or whether it will ever change or defy the passing of time. Either way, let nature do its part.

I saw this shrine in a squeezed corner when I got out on the shore. The sand just made me itchy and I don't want to get frustrated by it as I continue my walk. But I love sand and anything about it. My body won’t just let me live with it forever. This chapel or shrine was built before my birth, and never in my life have I seen this chapel opened or even the bigger white building beside it. I don't know why, who, or what this chapel is for, but I do know it is for the faithful ones. Its walls are made of brown pleasing bricks with a cross in the center by the top of the chapel. It has pots below that are not cared for a long time as well as its concrete floor that has identified with many histories of the town.

I never thought that more ruins or destroyed places would wave at me earlier as I continued leaving footprints on the place. I saw houses destroyed by the earthquake, roads cracked and collapsed like a sinkhole, trees blocking the street, some cabins unrecognized by their owners, and walls beside streets elevated like an abnormality. Natural occurrences and time itself are so powerful they could change things drastically, as well as minds that forget about them.

In my walk, I saw closed stores with broken things inside, which are for sure still unsafe to recover because of the tremors. I saw plants consuming the walls in the streets, fences of churches, beach resorts, and a dog thinking of something in front of me without even saying "Hi". I was in front of him/her but this one didn't even want to say something nice amidst me greeting her/him or whatever this dog wants to be identified. People passed by me as I sat on the side of the road, trying to catch my breath and preparing my knees for another photowalk. Activities like this are always paired with rest from time to time. And that is how we should live life. We do things we are passionate about, love things accordingly, and take a rest before a long rest takes us. We should learn when to pause and where to stop. Life is waiting for sure; we don't have to rush it.

I then stopped walking when I felt the December warmth already energized me and walked back home like a grown man with his beard shaved. The town felt familiar again, which was softer under the billiant sun. As I returned, I thought of how my walk was just a simple and a subtle reminder that the present is always enough, it should be, and that every corner still has something to say if I let my heart see it.