Day 3
Riceworld
San Antonio
Lubricant on my foot.
Might be a faster walk today. Let’s see.
Walking here in the morning surprisingly feels weirdly good. Noisy shit. But the coolness of December gives a different flavor to it. Unlike my prrvious hotter walks herez part of the san pablo walk. I begin the notice now houses along the high way. What does it mean to live in the middle of all these noise? Why am I aversed of it?
A man talks to everyone as he walks.
Best zoom lens to invest in?
There is a constant flux of cars in and out of IRRI. It must have been open now for motorists. I last got in here 2020 before the lockdown. It is my first time to walk around it.
Talk about the power of the first walk.
Sitting now to rest at a shed in IRRI. Workers man the fields. Or are these researchers? It is worth thinking about the things Tinolang Ilusyon said about IRRI and about the state of our history with rice.
It is worth thinking about food. Exactly the thing that sustains us. The physical thing. And perhaps along the way, to think about our relationship with matter in general.
A woman covered in clothes (hat, long sleeves, pants) carry two sacks of rice. Two men in yellow sleeves are shaded under a tent.
Do more research on IRRI and write about how it affects everyone’s life here and in the country.
Talking maynas flew on the call of their leader
Among all the things I put in my mouth rice sustains me the most and yet i seldom think where it comes from and the politics involved in getting it tl my table: talk about the organic food and food stories in LB
- organic shops
- Student meal rice shops aldrins
Nlai
Look for a preser for high light lndscape or outdoors
These walks are like religous activities. They bind you so you can be free.
I thought about shelter
Crows abound
I notice that a significant portion of my walk today has been spent thinking about the structure of this missive. This makes me think whether projectizing our lives will give it the sense of direction we need. Projectizing doesnt mean making our lives presentable to others but presentable to us. Can we weave a story that we can tell ourselves later when we badly need direction and structure? Here’s my poibt though, the structure does not come by sitting down and thinking about it. It often comes when you are doing something else, something between consckousness and unconsciousness. Something like walking. I walk and then later I forget that Imm walking. My feet are thinking for me. This frees my mind and opens it up for the structures, the stories that I need to make sense of my wonderfully messy me.
Molawin river