Windmills

April Fools ride.

114 kilometers.

Just a short and sweet ride to Pisong Kape.

We thought it would be a good idea to head to the Pililla Wind Farm too.

We casually discussed passing through Sampaloc and Sierra Madre heading home.

We picked Teresa instead.

The great morning weather didn't hold up.

The heat, humidity and hills suffocated us.

I drenched myself in Gatorade when I got home.

Dirty legs. Those socks were white when I left the house.

Sunday bloody Sunday

I want simple. I want normal. I want pictures of dogs on instagram, things I've baked, brunch with friends in fancy little coffee shops around the metro.

But simple doesn't really suit me.

A supposedly routine trail ride through Timberland's Blue Zone and Roxas trails. It's been a while since I last rode these trails. But after that initial warm-up, everything feels familiar again.  I fell off my bike once but no harm done. Got on my bike again and continued to ride. The morning was turning late. We were relaxed and in high spirits. What could possibly go wrong.

Then I flew off my bike again.

My friends immediately flooded social media with evidence: my bloody leg, the bloody rock, the soaking towel used to absorb the blood (yes, there was that much blood), the sidecar coming to pick me up, the frantic calls to my doctor brother, the calls to the hospital and cancelled plans for the week.

And the questions come in. What happened?

And I'm stumped. We finished the tough trails, were making our way through wide trails and were on our way back. There was a rock. My bike should travel over that rock safely. Easy. My front wheel must not have gotten that memo because suddenly I was sprawled on the ground, my legs underneath my bike and I was in pain. Not a lot at first.

And then Pen and Princess screamed. There was a whole lot of blood.

Pen sprinted towards the aid station to get some help. LA and I tried to stop the bleeding as much as possible. Cess took photos and comforted me. The three of us made jokes and dissected it over and over again, wondering how this could have happened.

I could then write about the madness that is the Philippine health care system and how being unemployed is probably the worst time to get into an accident. But that should be for another day.

Long story short, I got a huge gaping wound underneath my knee and 4 stitches .

This trail was supposed to be routine. Simple.

Simple does not suit me.

riding in place

"One week."

"What?" I said.

"Give me one week. Promise me you won't do anything for one week. No job hunting. No looking at schools. Just give yourself time off. Be with your family. Don't think about work."

"I don't think I could do one week."

"Promise me!"

"Okay, okay."

It's been one month. I have filled up countless application forms and wrote and edited (and rewrote and re-edited) my resume and curriculum vitae over and over again for different jobs in communication, research, teaching, development-- anything that I had any sort of experience in my eight years of working.

My Masters degree and research experience in Canada must account for something, right?

And then I look at the qualifications and skillsets needed for a particular job and I question myself. Am I really cut out for this?

I send them anyway, full of confidence that I will be contacted immediately. I daydream mindlessly.

I look at gray skyscrapers in Makati and Ortigas and watch the morning commute from my bike and ask myself, Can I actually do that? Sit in an office from 9-5, join the morning madness, rant about the daily commute and our crappy transportation system and our traffic and pollution.

I look at teaching positions at the high school and collegiate level and gulp. Teaching gives me such joy and I am good at it, so it would be nice to do that again, right?

And then I fill up applications for Singapore and Hong Kong. I shake my head as I click "Submit application." Haven't I learned anything from working/studying abroad?

I check my email everyday. I don't hear from them. Then my insecurities and worries rise up. I reread my applications, checking if I mistyped my email address or mobile number.

There must be something out there, right?