A good friend and colleague of mine at work said that the past couple of months for her have been an emotional roller-coaster ride. Having started work for the first time in January, and with the results of the Bar in less than two weeks' time, she observed how on some days she would be riding high upon the crest of her new-found independence, and on other days, she would be wallowing in the dolldrums of ennui and self-doubt.

With certain recent realizations and disappointments foisted upon me yet again— and with the ominous shadow of the Bar results creeping ever so slowly into our collective consciousness— I am beginning to understand what riding the same emotional roller coaster is like. Perhaps the interesting thing about the journey, though, is that I have an acute awareness that I am navigating the course alone, both in the ups and in the downs. Not that it is a particularly pathetic or disturbing thing. But the soul occassionally seeks solace in the comfort of familiar presence and comfortable silences.

Riding this emotional roller-coaster reminded me of the movie shown way back in 1993 starring Michael Keaton and Nicole Kidman. Directed by Bruch Joel Rubin, the movie is called My Life. It tells of how the main character, Bob Jones, discovers that he has lung cancer and has only months left to live. He sets out to videotape his life's acquired wisdom for his child yet to be born, and ends up on a voyage of self-discovery and reconciliation. While the plot of the movie was quite contrived, pulling as it did on the audience's heartstrings, the movie pulled me in with a strange nostalgic urgency, as though asking me what I would do if I found out I only had months left to live.

The last scene of the film was particularly memorable for me as it served as a metaphor for the manner with which Bob Jones faced his dying: riding a roller-coaster. Having made peace with death, he is seen slowly ascending that first highest hill, the sun bright, the wind in his hair. And just as the roller coaster dips for that first drop, Bob, tightly grippng the restraining bars, lets go, raising his arms high in the air in defiant surrender. And the movie ends.

Sitting here in Starbucks on this gloriously vibrant Sunday afternoon, rushing an opinion due first thing tomorrow morning, I look out in envy at the cars speeding past the Katipunan Avenue, with seeming purpose and direction, filled with families and friends. Riding on the crest of yet another drop, I wish that, like Bob Jones, I could just also defiantly let go.

* * *

Tan ahora sé que está finalmente, acabado definitivo. Cómo es extraño que he estado manteniendo esta idea que podemos todavía ser los amigos y que todavía le amo. Pero la verdad es que te quiero, o pienso que lo hago, pero que no debo más. Y por eso, voy.

Me ahora confunden y se pierden, pero manejaré. El vivir sin su presencia tomará cierto aprender. Pero las circunstancias lo requieren. Cuidado de la toma, siempre.