While summer has just opened in some parts of the globe, it has ended here in the PH. Although it is normally either hot-and-humid or wet-and- humid in this country, the vestiges of long hot days and furious fun are gone… but life continues in its monotonous circle.

I am left wondering what happened to the youthful energy that clouds the whole city – the same one that convinced everyone that now is the time, the only time to enjoy – to travel, be with friends, take breaks with your family and loved ones, to make vows and break old ones, and to fall headlong in love… or was it just me who felt that way?

I feel that with the rain and cooler nights I feel more grounded. And I shouldn’t be surprised, mania has been documented to reach its peak when the sun lingers on earth’s surface, making the days longer. Ah, aren’t we frail humans a mere byproduct of our environment? In the same way that the sun causes the riotous burst of color in nature and in its absence, the dull white ennui of winter.

It was during the passionate turn of the sun with Earth when I felt that I can do more, need to do more. I was even convinced that my book will be written not by pen and paper but through the raw energy that emanates from my brain. I would lie in bed for hours each night thinking of plots and subplots and sizes of ballpoints and kinds of paper surfaces. In more than 3 months, I was only able to come up with a mediocre 2-page, 10+ paragraphs of introductory copy. I am back to base one, with no clear storyline to tell and only a melee of ideas swimming in my subconscious which I had a glimpse last night. I tried to grab each and every thought but they escape me like water fleeing from a sieve and I woke up this morning feeling a great sense of loss.

My object remains sublime. Will I reach you in time?

Nota Bene:
And the ardor that I felt for you is gone like the birds that migrate on cold seasons. I don’t know why and have stopped grappling for explanations. It is the sun, my dear. Blame it on the sun.