A Day at the Ayala Museum

It was a fine Sunday afternoon and I was walking down the pavement across the avenue toward the museum where I will meet with my friends.

I came earlier than the arranged time. So I took a seat in front of the museum cafe while the barista serves two foreigners their coffee and tobacco.

To pass the time, I listened to the mellow, soothing sounds of jazz played by a jovial musician whose face was quite familiar to me though it might have been someone else that I have been thinking about.

As I sat there, I contemplated on how beautiful life was. Though I have already thought so many times and are attested to by the myriad of beautiful scenery that are laid out for us on open fields, on meadows, on mountaintops, and even on top of the high-rise buildings in the splendor of a bustling, illustrious city.

I saw a burly man whose skin was lightly toned walking with his wife dragging her feet behind him. He looked to her as if to ask her whether she would like to stop for a while but they went on. 

Another couple passed me by, almost in the same pattern as the previous ones though they were walking at a normal pace. 

Both of the men were foreigners and their wives were equally local. The foreigners sitting on high stools in front of me took a whiff of their tobaccos while the musician, now accompanied by his friend who plays the saxophone, were now playing lively music. The wind seems to join them in their joyous ensemble.

I also saw two Korean women,.. or were they Chinese, I do not know. One glanced at me and steered her interest away to the statue behind me which seemed like small men trying to climb twisted ladders. She must have wondered why it was so.

Families also gathered around this statue which to the common man was just a simple statue. I never really saw it as something special until I tried to think about the message it tries to convey of how the life we live is as complicated as roads intertwined, and crossed. To get to the top, one must strive earnestly to overcome all obstacles that come to pass.

The music stopped playing and the wind faded away. People were passing me like ants skidding to and fro. Nobody seemed to notice my existence. But this gave me ample time to think and ponder about why people are too busy with their lives.

I turn to the musicians who in the amount of time that I have watched and listened to them, were as carefree as the birds in the sky. Nobody took the time to notice them except for the American who waved hello and the old lady who took a picture of them.

They seemed to like their moment of solitude, playing their instruments and creating beautiful music, not for the people passing by but for themselves, for the trees, and the sky above.

As I started to enjoy my own solitude, my friends came and we went in the museum. I longed to be outside, listening to the every day hymns of nature and watching the playful movements of the wind on the bamboo shoots. I thought, what a museum it was!