A couple of nights ago I ran around the Ateneo campus, in an attempt to clear my head and regain some of my inner peace. Indeed the adrenaline rush and sweat helped, but I knew that my introspection always worked best sitting still.
So eventually I found myself at the steps of the church of Gesu, being drawn by the light that illuminates it at night, a time when mind wanderers like me need it most.
I sat down on the nearby bench and while I waited for my pulse to settle and the perspiration to feel cold to my skin, I looked up towards the sky. I could always rely on the universe, the creator, God, or however else you like to call it, to inspire serenity.
But instead I felt the silence that echoes across the sky when the moon hides behind the clouds; a silence that lingers even when the stars shine brightly; a silence that loses itself in the infinite; a silence that becomes the new loud.
When did the silence become the noise? That’s what I find most difficult to tell. I hope that knowing might make the moon smile back at me again.
Stop hiding behind the clouds, moon. I want to see you smile again.
Until you do, I’ll just let the nights pass and seek solace in the morninginstead. Maybe I won’t feel silence with the Sun.