FROM SUNSET TO SUNRISE
I’ve always had this thing about sunsets. In college at St. Scholastica’s on Pennsylvania Ave., (now Leon Guinto), which was a short walk to Dewey Boulevard (now Roxas Boulevard),
would join my friends to watch the sunset on Manila Bay. The romantic English majors that we were, we waxed poetic at the grandness of God’s creation. Sometimes we shed tears as the sun disappeared in the horizon, over lost relationships and the transitoriness of life. But mostly, it was the perfect way to end the day, with a prayer of thanks for every good thing that it brought us.
I have always looked forward to sunsets wherever I am in the world — in Cresta Ola in La Union; El Nido in Palawan; San Francisco Bay and Channel Islands in California. I missed them completely in Sweden where it was still bright when I finally fell asleep at 2 a.m. I am fortunate to have lived the past 19 years in a four-story walk-up in Mandaluyong from where the sunset was a daily treat.
It was a noisy neighborhood where houses are close together and one could look into a neighbor’s living room, and the incessant barking of dogs, the roar of tricycles and shrieks of children playing in the street below rose to my fourth story bedroom. But at the end of the day, from my high window, I looked forward to the spectacular tableau unfold of the setting sun with its myriad colors streaked across the sky over the rooftops and antennae that crowded the urban skyline. On that sacred moment, I would recall what an artist friend once said in awe as we watched another sunset at the beach many decades ago, “Here He is again, having the time of His life showing off His infinite talent and power.”
I uploaded countless pictures of the sunset over Mandaluyong on Facebook that invariably elicited awe and wonder from my friends and other netizens.
I also have this thing for sunrises, although I have experienced far less of them, mostly on nights when sleep escapes me, than sunsets. One night on the beach in Cresta Ola, after watching the sun set in the east, building a bonfire and singing our lungs out until way into the night, my friends and I decided to sit by the water to await the sunrise, which of course, we missed because it happened behind us, in the west. We would have known this if we had paid attention to our science lessons instead of dreaming of the weekend when we could be back at the beach.
I moved away from Mandaluyong to the suburbs of Quezon City a month ago and I haven’t experienced a sunset since. Where my house is situated in a village with tall trees, I am not yet aware of where the sun sets. But in the morning, when it isn’t raining, I am delighted to be awakened by the sun streaming through my window blinds. What a wonderful way to meet the day!
On her birthday last week, I texted my best friend who is just three weeks older than I, “May our sunsets be slow and spectacular.” To which she asked if I am enjoying the sunsets in my new digs. When I said that I now get the morning sun in my room, she replied, “How interesting that you moved from sunsets to sunrises.”
What a marvelous observation, full of insight, positivity and hope. At this point in my life, I need the sunrise to remind me that every day is a new day, filled with possibilities for good. I watch the news at night and go to bed feeling hopeless, discouraged, defeated even, by the negativity in our country and the world. My last prayer as I drift off to sleep is to wake up to a better day for my family, our country and people. The morning sun that floods my room is God’s way of telling me to trust in His love, His goodness, His wisdom, and His unerring timing.
At this point in my life, I need the sunrise to remind me that every day is a new day, filled with possibilities for good.