An Altered View

… consensual reality — that the world is at is because that’s how we’ve all agreed it is…

page 14 of The Onion Girl

And the moving view in front of this jeepney went back to life.  Before my eyes are the familiar buildings, the dust district, and a few more people populating the streets and wheels of every vehicle. They said reading a book inside any moving vehicle does no good to one’s eyes, but today, I couldn’t help it. I bought the book to work vaguely knowing that I’ll soon be busy enough to steal a glance for a few more pages.

When you’re in this same stubborn state, everything is possible — even inside the strict confines of a jeepney’s front seat. As I close the book to let the passages sink, something interesting appears in the surface. I look at the familiar view before me and begin to recognize more peculiar things. There’s a cable satellite practically fitted along an external window ledge. I have passed through this apartment many times but only afford to notice such detail today.  There’s also this crinkly-looking tree in another block; it reigned stately among its neighboring trees whose robust volume of leaves depict the excesses of an untamed weed. Rows and rows of views came to pass, and my eyes continued to feast.

What could’ve been different today?

a) I had eaten a hearty meal (an unusual morning routine for me)

b) My eyes were in the mood for wandering

c) I was reading my book (The Onion Girl)

I’m betting on letter C. Why? I didn’t just read; I was wholly immersed on a different world. I wasn’t just perusing on a text; I was irrevocably looking at an imagery — under the lenses of an interesting character named Jilly.  Amusingly, when I removed my eyes off the book, and took a look at what’s around , I failed to return Jilly’s lenses.  I began to see the world as she might have seen it (if she were to really exist). The details found in the apartment, in a group of trees, and cluster of places were views unmasked by a pair of borrowed lenses.

And I consider myself truly lucky. 🙂 It’s not like I’d get this chance to see things in a different way. Without having to spend money to travel elsewhere, and go back to catch this route tainted with nostalgia, I got the ultimate ticket to breathing in something else — an altered view.

Christy calls it serial dreaming, where every time you fall asleep you pick up where you left off in last night’s dream … 

page 16 of The Onion Girl



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