By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

I’M moving. At least most of the things I treasured. It took a year to contemplate on the decision. My mind was almost ready, but my body dragged.

I can recall transition points in my life, but not the physical movement of things. They were mostly decisions on relationships and careers. In 23 April 2020, I wrote about one such shift:

“We are in transition all the time, slicing through distances from one point to another; reaching definite destinations or traversing the unknown. We cut through spaces aiming for the shortest distances to reach desired changes and to experience a new breath, the freedom to unmask, and feel safe to kiss and embrace.”

A year later, another transition which inspired me to write a poem on 28 February 2021:

 

Sweet Rain

it is sweet rain, not a storm
falling heavily on the ground
breaking loose, the soil
slicing deep into roots
nurturing little breaths
coaxing scents
from which flowers grow
in the magic of the dark
the storm uproots,
forcing sudden dislocations
breaking limbs in transition
not this.
this is just sweet rain.
come, taste it.

At about noon on 04 July, trying to find a reliable, cost-efficient carrier to transport, I decided to try crowd sourcing: “Please refer to me a reliable trucking service that can move my things from Quezon City to Pangasinan a reasonable price, no hidden costs, with two helpers. Departure on Saturday morning at 7am. Truck should be able to carry a load of approximately 3000 kg (Dimensions of Truck: 4.2 x 1.8 x 2.1 m. Thanks!”

Prompted by my sister Emma not to delay, I decided, without hesitation to begin moving on Thursday, three days before the date set, within the hour after I posted on crowd sourcing. That impulse was supported by my reluctant body, which dragged me back to the room it occupied since 21 August 1990. Thirty four years! So many memories, so many things: books from fellow writers, books I bought, some of which I didn’t have the chance to read, an assortment of gifts, things I bought for myself during my travels, little things that mean to me, like Girlie Villariba’s origami, ginkgo leaves from Japan, birthday cards from Fe Mangahas and Jocelyn Manzano Villanueva and many other friends.  Old pictures. Love letters from two men. Letters from many others, despite the convenience of emails.

This physical moving was a seesaw of emotions as I watched the boys carry first, the piano. The piano was carried by five men who were unable to load it until they used a plank. It was loaded after thirty minutes, with all of them trying to recover their breaths. It was so heavy that it did not make room for any other item except for my files and my brother Rey’s bike. The piano, seems to me, carried the heaviness of my heart.

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