Tonight, as I write this, a friend asked me where he could go for some much needed soul searching.
From my experience, the beach has always been a good place. But since I hail from a province that boasts of volcanoes, I have some bias with mountains and the like.
My only criterion is that there must be a good place to view the stars.
I never knew I was a fan of stars until my junior year of high school. It was the last quarter. And we were required to join camp for five days. Besides not having working toilets and cooking corned beef for every single meal, I don’t remember a lot of what happened there.
But I do remember being attacked.
We were having war games, I believe. What I really wanted to do was sleep. So when I was knocked down, I stayed down. What’s the point of getting up just to be pummeled again? Plus the team had already lost.
So I just lay there in the rice field. Dried mud beneath my palms. Small rocks stabbed my back. Not really a good place to sleep. My eyes just wandered around in the darkness. I could hear the pain. I could feel the panic. But all I was drawn to was peace.
Never had I seen them so lovely, so clear, so near.
Even after the noise of the game had died out, I was still listening. I knew it would be silly but I still wondered if stars made sounds. Was the star I was staring at staring back at me?
Hadn’t there been a call to bed, I would’ve fallen asleep there watching them.