Yonder

I just got the opportunity to watch 50 First Dates on video this morning. There's this song featured at the last part of the film that totally blew me away. It was a reggae rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. The version of the song was so beautiful I literally cried after hearing it. It was sung by a Hawaiian musician popularly known as Bruddah Iz. Iz was actually once an excessively plump individual when he was still alive. He died of weight-related complications back in 1997. His voice wouldn't give the slightest clue to anyone who hears his voice for the first time that he was terribly obese. Had I not watched 50 First Dates, I wouldn't have known that someone with such an amazing voice had actually existed on this planet once somewhere over in Hawaii.

Adieu

A few days from now, I will be leaving my comfort zone for the past two years. Just when I started to realize how lucky I am to be in a job that I can say is the most appropriate for me, then this suddden opportunity to move into a new environment came. Not that I am complaining though. In fact, things are getting a little rosy for me these days. I just feel sad that I will be leaving my friends-slash-colleagues, who had been witnesses to my struggles with ________ and who had been so understanding when I would lapse into bouts of _________. Sorry, readers (as if there's really some). I just can't put the details here of what I've just been through. It's just too bloody personal. Anyway, I am not an adult now and I've been through these scenarios many times before. It's just nostalgia. It's just a feeling that will surely lessen its intensity and die a natural death in the coming days. Anyhow, life will go on for me and the people I've been with at the workplace for the past two years. I guess they won't miss me that much anyway.

I'm posting a poem by Elizabeth Bishop here. This was a poem I found in one of my favorite blogs a few months ago and it somehow captivates what I'm experiencing at the moment.

The Art of Losing

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something everyday. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! My last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.