sloppy firsts

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." - Aeschylus

The first snowfall of the year descended upon Chicago on my first day at work.

It was four p.m., and just as my colleagues and I were hopping inside the rented vehicle that would take us to O’Hare, where my first project as a marketing and communications specialist would take place, one little snowflake hit the tip of my nose. It sent a tingling sensation down my spine; it felt like a soft kiss from the sky. At first I thought it was raining; then I looked around and saw a million white things dancing in the air. For a while I was worried I wasn’t as bundled up as I should be.

“Nah, it’s just flurries, you’ll be fine,” my colleague said. Unlike most people here, I wasn’t trained to sit through weather reports before leaving the house. I didn’t know it’s something that they really hold sacred here, like a bushido or something that they really need to know by heart and live by. Anyway.

I should have captured that moment, I know. I must have looked really silly. There I was in the middle of downtown Chicago, grinning like a child on Christmas morning, holding my palms up, waiting for the sky to open up and drop some more.

It was just so magical. It gave me a weird feeling—the happy kind of weird if you know what I mean. It felt almost like I was in grade school again and it was the first day of school. Or I was five and it was my first time to ride a bike. Or the first time I rode a plane and went out of the country. The first time I went to Disneyland. The first pay check. The first kiss…

They don’t like the snow very much around here. Partly, I think, it's because of the major inconveniences it entails—heavier and costlier coats, oversize gloves, unflattering bonnets and ear muffs, slippery roads, a driveway-full of snow, coughs and colds, precious leisure time spent inside the house. And partly, i think, it's because of the cold. It can really get pretty cold around here. Really cold. In fact too cold that sometimes even the noon-time sun seems useless.

I am yet to feel the kind of cold that winters bring, but if I may be so brazen, I must say that I’ve had my fair share of autumn’s chill. It made me miss the seemingly endless summer days of home. I knew from the start that the seasons would change eventually; I just didn’t think the transition would be drastic, quick, and sometimes harsh. Of course, in times like this, one can always opt to hide under the heavy sheets and curse the weather. Or, one can get up, take one baby step out of the comforter, and start moving.

Physiologically, working out those lazy muscles helps in blood circulation and maintains body temperature. Psychologically, it makes you forget about it. Now I’m not sure about the physiological part, I’m not a doctor. It’s the forgetting part that worked for me. The sheets are so damn comfortable, I know, but it can only do so much. I have learned that if I want to fend off something—whether it’s the winter chill or not—I’ve got to help myself, because sometimes, if not most of the time, nobody will.

Especially in downtown. But I love the downtown—its urban rhythm, beat, bustle and all. It’s mad, mystical, and whimsical. It’s fierce, foreign, feisty, and unforgiving. It won't give you enough elbow room for adjustments; no time for grace period. In most part of Illinois, leaves fall, trees die, wild geese migrate, skunks hibernate, but life goes on in downtown Chicago. Despite the wrath of winter, the men and women in suit would soldier on, wander the streets purposefully like young soldiers in the battlefield. Now I’ve encountered fatal deadlines and worked with some of the fiercest editors before, but never have I understood the meaning of "life on the run" until now. You’ve got to move really fast and learn really fast to keep up with everybody’s pace. Americans are wasteful of everything except time.

Of course this is pretty unusual for someone who has always lived the alternative lifestyle—the kind that some people will never get the chance to live even if they work their asses off all their lives. Oops, how mean of me to talk about that during this difficult time. I keep on forgetting that I now belong to a world where the word “economy” makes noses cringe. For someone who’s used to economy flights and economy size, I find it amusing the way Americans deal with recession.

They keep on relating it to the Great Depression, a time when Americans stand in long bread lines and hide their money under the mattress. It was a time of hardship and suffering on a massive scale. If you ask me, the long NFA rice lines in the Philippines look more like the Great Depression kind than the near-empty shopping malls here. I think they’ve become so accustomed to their high life that they think it’s depressing already that they need to hold off any attempt at hitting the mall and buying one of those things they’ll never use. If you want my honest opinion, I’d say the war on terrorism and the surging oil prices are not the problem. It’s this culture that is cushioned and conditioned by credit cards and the generation that turns a blind eye on this glaring fact that kill them. But then again that is just my opinion.

Aside from money, almost everything else here is fast and fleeting, which is why running is a way of life. Everything comes in unceremoniously, and just as you are starting to recover from the shock and get comfortable with it, it leaves—also unceremoniously. Just like that big sale at the corner of State Street. Just like that train I’ve waited an hour for. Just like the flurry that day at four p.m.—it didn’t even last for more than 20 minutes. Just like autumn.

Autumn was my first heartbreak. For someone who came from California where the weather is more Pinoy-friendly, the thought of living in Chicago used to give me the chills. But that was before I saw autumn. It was picture-perfect, not to mention the climate is just right. The sun is bright and hot but the chill of winter is in the air. It is truly Chicago’s crowning glory.

On a good day, the skies would be so blue--the bluest I've seen so far—even at noon when sunlight is at its prime. It would complement the cacophony of colors everywhere—mostly from the falling leaves along tree-line sidewalks. I just love that crackling sound when dried leaves crumble beneath my feet.

The best thing about autumn is that it changes its face every day; no day is the same. And every day I would tell myself to make it a point to bring my good old camera whenever I go out. For some darn reason and some vague excuse, I never got around to doing it. Before I knew it, the leaves have fallen and then it was winter. Just like that. Winter came just as I was growing emotionally attached to autumn. I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.

Well I guess that's just one of the realities I need to live with from now on. It's not like I have much of a choice. I can't hold on to something that doesn't belong to me. Right now I'm just glad I was one of the privileged few who got to see and appreciate it. And so I say hasta luego, autumn, I’ll see you when I see you. Even with bad reviews, I still look forward to the promise of winter. Come on, it can't be that bad, right? And besides, I’ve always loved the color white.

But I'm afraid I'm the only one who does. They didn’t even flinch at the idea of the first snowfall, those men and women in suits in downtown. For them it simply meant shoving aside their bright summer clothes and stacking up on high-calorie junks. But for me it represented the first of the many firsts that I will enjoy and endure from this day onwards.

I’ve just turned 25. Isn’t it weird that I’m already about to start the second quarter of my life (suppose I live to be a hundred years old), and yet I’m still encountering a lot of things for the first time? Did I start late? Do they ever run out? Will I wake up one morning and dare to say I’ve been there, done that, and lived to tell the tale without much humiliation? I don’t know. I really wish but I really don’t know. I know there’s perfection in things familiar, but that’s just too far ahead right now. After all, all I am is just a small girl in a big big city. Maybe tomorrow I’ll conquer Chicago; then after that, the world. But before I get there, I am fully aware that there would be undulations in the process. It's the same everywhere; who am I to complain? The trick really is to be optimistic and believe in the fact that the future will always be better than the past. For now, I'm just enjoying the thrill of discovery that comes with experiencing all these firsts.