A significant chunk of my day is spent walking, walking home, and it is something I could never be more thankful for. The rhythm and beat of my sneakered feet on gravel, the weight of my backpack, the snug hugging of my black sweater, and the flow of music from my ear to the rest of my body elevate me to such a state of meditative bliss, that getting home is almost a disappointment.
Fridays are the best, as I can really take my time. The high I get from walking coupled with the scent of weekend just around the bend is a drug I would never exchange for anything. Well, almost anything.
In a few minutes, work will be over for the day, and I will be leaving for home. The commute from Commonwealth to Ayala is a welcome prelude to the walk from Ayala to our house. There aren't a lot of people out and about just yet at 2 in the afternoon, and the sun's not blazing hot to be unbearable. When the year started, I promised myself to start letting go. It all begins with this single step.
