Sunflowers in the mountainous city of Baguio, Philippines. Photo by Karen Lee Hizola.
Every month, the Agam Agenda shares a letter from someone in our team: a personal message toward shaping kinder futures. Read the letter for December 2022 by Jenny Cariño, our Website Manager.
It is December in the mountain city of Baguio. Last night I saw steam on my breath for the first time this year, and a memory from childhood surfaced. Layers of clothing. Shirt worn under a sweater, worn under a puffy blue jacket. Red knitted bonnet with tiny white stars. Too-big-for-me mittens that I kept pulling up. The way my teeth chattered as my cheeks and nose became icy in the wind.
I am no longer 4, in red knitted hats. Life and time have changed much—for me, and in me. Each day of this month that passes is just a little bit colder than the last. But also, every year has been just a little bit warmer. I feel it in my bones. The lines on my palms change with the seasons. I strive to be gentle with myself.
Noticing becomes a vital tether to the world.
In recovery work for anxiety and other related mental health concerns, noticing becomes a vital tether to the world.
One is taught to look at their surroundings and to name what the senses can perceive. Without judgment. Without expectations or agenda. To simply notice and become part of what surrounds and cradles us.
For instance:
The grass is green. The Pine trees are tall. A murmuration of birds moves past the line of the horizon. The clouds are heavy with rain.
Dried leaves crunch underfoot. I am walking uphill. I taste the salt of sweat on my upper lip. The sun is warming.
But also, more buildings dot the hillsides. The low thrum of traffic sounds is ever present. The smell of exhaust fills my nose.
I remember and I know. This is home. And it too has been changing.
December in this city is punctuated by sunflowers. They fill the hills with splashes of yellow and green. Petal, stem, leaf, and seed. They mark the months leading up to the end of the year.
This month can often be a time for endings. Projects and contracts conclude. Accounts are balanced. We shake off the dust, count our losses, and finish the past chapters of our lives.
But it is with hope that I long for it to be a month for burgeoning. We place our wishes for the future into neat little packages that we send off with outstretched hands. They float from this year into the next, and we begin—or at least we try to begin—anew.
I am noticing the sunflowers swaying in the wind. Clouds float unhurriedly overhead. There is a brilliant blue stretch of sky, and the scent of Pine, and smoke.
We try to make sense of our place in it all. How do we hold the heart of the world in our hearts and hands? And how too will the world hold the dreams of its people in its breathing, beating heart?
I long for it to be a month for burgeoning.
Are these dreams enough to carry us forward into a future where all of us can thrive?
Today the sunset was a jewel-toned shimmer. The evening is deep blue, and velvet soft.
I imagine that if it could speak, the sky would say that it is important to be kind. To each other, yes. Most definitely, to the world. But also, and most importantly, to ourselves. I am learning to be kind to myself.
I remember, and I know: Sometimes, my heart is a sunflower, turning to catch the light.
