By: Iris P. Concepcion
I went to this place which is kind of far in my walking standards just because it looks like a sprawling airport.
It did house yoghurts and steaks and pasta that are tummy-friendly. I felt so out of place there because the people are new; the mini-kids are somewhat familiar and recognizably naughty and funny. It has a neat cyberzone section. There were spaceship-like structures within and not enough people were milling around (less elbow room for the smug mob escapees).
Once a mallrat, always a mallrat.
Of course, I went there to catch a film. That Julia Roberts flick about finding yourself. This is a movie travelogue with a purpose. Instead of immersing in the richness of materialist entrapments when gifted with opportunities for new sceneries, the lead woman instead used it to find a way home within herself. She went to Rome, Bali and India after a failed relationship. She cultivated kinship among people she had accidentally met along her journey.
She did nothing except eat (savor the frozen yoghurts with nuns; salivating on pasta dishes) and meditate (albeit grudgingly).
She found love in the end.
I would not review this as a film. I would rather flip its motional ride like I would a pastor's preachings.
I am especially drawn to the characters of fatherly figures who, again, gave tempestuous nuggets of wisdom for the unsatisfied souls. Along the lines of : "WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?"
Similar to that old man in Wall Street who ceremoniously advised tradesmen seeped in their unending greediness : "Go with the birds. Go with the birds!"
There were tears of assuaged egos. I am familiar with this territory, having had altercations about slicing consciences, sometimes in a combative manner that often times drew teardrops from heaven. It is an essential part even in my own life story.
There is something Dostoevskian when men are confronted with things that are unacceptable only because it bruises the ego: I like to dig deep into the recesses of their motives. Perhaps, another knowledge lurks there.
I often state here that money is good (it allows you to buy stuff for people you do not know) but when it breeds internal happiness in exchange for its use, it doubles up the meaning of existence.
I could not understand why people should not laugh over mundane matters. If a person would call his sons F1, F2 or F3 since their Dad is a riding afficionado, or Nail or Hammer or even say, Sink, why deny us the benefit of a hehehehehehehe? I got this story from an evangelist.
I had encountered this in real life. My own niece, after her own transformation educationally, advised me that I could use whatever name I want for myself. I called her Blossom. She called me Sky. She told me that in her educational surrounding, her classmates were called Cola, Moean and so on and so forth.
Do you still find value along these discoveries? They cost nothing but the guffaws you get from them: fulfilling.
I accosted the kid who frequents this page into the bathroom for a pee. I held her since the toilet bowl was too big for her bottom. Out of the blue she asked: "Is there a 'dump' included in my piss?" She developed this habit of hoarding tissue papers from public bathrooms and it is cute how she rolls it, neatly packed inside her backpack.
When it is my turn to take a leak and finding myself without a wipe, she blurts: "See, I come prepared."
And I laugh, like the loggerheads of fightings they likewise commence. I am not working but I am working on these little molecules of life. Hopefully, they could become pantomime artists in the future.
I am not imposing this kind of mentality to attain a sense of purposefulness but you sure can interview people who had tried this route. Believe me, you could learn so much from them.
And yes, EAT, PRAY and LOVE are just the simple secrets to fulfillment, no matter how circuitous the road is, no matter how long you search for it.