Bad art night and my bakawan speak

I miss talking to people.

Real people, and real talking. And I don't mean work talk or trash talk or social talk. I mean, talk talk.

I remember the first and only Bad Art Night my friends Nikki, Paul, and Carlo had one night right after University. We doodled all night long, but we talked. We told stories of what we wanted to do later in life, and what we feared we might not end up doing. We had a grand time, but we also had the chance to hear our thoughts out loud while feeling safe in that "bad art" environment.

I miss them, Nikki, Paul and Carlo. I imagine them all doing things that they thought they'd never do, but having a grand time doing them. I miss catching up and just saying, "How are you?" and not expect a grandiose synthesis of what life was for them in the past 10 years, but more of "Great, and you? I missed you too, how are you?" and just feel at peace with that earnest reply.

I remember saying on that Bad Art night that I really want to pursue mangroves a la National Geographic. You know, the whole chasing mangrove stories around the world, taking my own photos, my own videos and writing my own articles? The whole glam and pizazz, as well as the jetsetting of it all. For majority of the years following that bad art night, I think I was able to do exactly as I wished.

I think, however, I badly need another bad art night this stage in my life. Just doodle for hours into the night and maybe early morning, just talking and voicing out my fears. And I need to do it with someone or some folks with whom I can feel safe, and vulnerable--but safe nonetheless. It's funny how when we grow into adults, we forget how easy it is to just come out into the open and say, "But wait! I'm confused. Can we sit down and doodle it out?" The wisdom of kindergarten playtime and crayon time is manifested right here, right now.

Ah well. The mangroves are still there, waiting to be chased and photographed or captured in video. The NatGeo article is still waiting to be published, and the mangrover in me is still keenly interested in "seeing the world, one mangrove at a time". Yet just this one time, can I just sit and doodle and talk? Bad-art style?

Miss you Niks, Paul, and Carlo. I hope you are all well.