So often in this experience, I find myself at a loss for words. I keep trying to explain my life here to people back home, but it never captures it quite right, like an counterfeit painting. Sometimes it's hard for me too, articulating my life here--me, who obsesses over words.
Maybe, in this situation, words won't be enough.
Today marks 100 days until my flight home. The past three months have disappeared at somehow both a rapid and crawlingly slow pace. 100. The last thing I want to do is see these days as an end goal. Rather, I want to practice celebrating life in this moment, here and now.
Thus: the 100.
I am carrying around my camera wherever I go. I want to capture all of the things I don't want to forget, things I'll miss about life here, like the marigolds outside of my church or waking up to native coffee. I'll take a picture every day of something from my life here and will post the images here daily or weekly.
Today's image was serendipitous. We drove home from church, and there it was: a rainbow halo around the sun. It's called a 22-degree halo, but don't let the boring name detract you from the sight. It was a wild thing, like the sun was a single retina looking down at us.
I know rainbows are usually classified as kitschy art, but I can't help but see it as a good omen, like a reminder and a promise that this is a right thing, being here in the Philippines, and it can be hard and straining and healing and good all at once.
So here it goes. 100 days remain. I hope these days are filled with both tragic and beautiful things, grafted together at the spine, as they nearly always are.
Let these images speak for themselves.