The weather here changes as drastically as my mood these days. Mornings are usually bright and sunny but it doesn’t last for long. By mid-day the fog rolls in, seeping over the houses and buildings, enveloping them in a cloud so thick that often I have to strain my eyes to see anything in the haze. One minute I can look out my window and see the familiar landscape before me, the next minute all I can see is a wall of whiteness. It’s so dense that sometimes it will drift into the room through an open window. Its tendrils climb mysteriously downwards, thick and curling like a fog machine. Suddenly I feel like I’m in the middle of a Halloween middle school dance.
My PCV friend started a game during training which he calls “Smoke or Fog?” Every time we’d see some unknown white drifting mass we’d shout, “smoke or fog!” and we’d guess which one it was. The problem with this game, and perhaps the hilarity of it, was that we never knew which one it was. One could often be confused for the other and we just had to leave it at that. No one ever wins the “Smoke or Fog?” game.
Today as I look out my window watching the drifting, smokey-like trails of fog, I laugh to myself as I realize that what I’m looking at is in fact smoke. But mostly the last few weeks it has been fog…I think.
By twilight, the wind and rain will have cleared away most of the fog to reveal an orange hazy mist hovering over the silhouetted mountain peaks. A picture worthy of National Geographic, captured by my memory only. Where is my camera? Oftentimes I have only been able to catch glimpses of such scenery out of the back of a speeding jeepney homeward bound. Rounding each new mountain curve provides a fresh perspective to behold of the slowly fading landscape behind me until the darkness settles in.
a girl who dreams