A Day In The Life Of

Thursday, March 22, 2007

It's amazing how sometimes you just suddenly remember things that you've forgotten already. A few minutes ago, after reading this line in my chat window:

(16:55:54) Jet: salamat po ^^

I suddenly remembered how it was for me everyday as a highschool kid. I remember being dropped off every morning by the school service near ParaƱaque wetmarket by the schoolbus driver who insists Jai Alai can make him a millionaire

I remember checking for the latest issue of Funny Komiks. I remember stealing a peak at the morning tabloids at about the same time as that. Then I'd walk by the alley where flowers are sold and wonder if it's my turn to go offer flowers for the Virgin Mary in our classroom. Then I'd pass by the iron gates leading to the church. I remember seeing an old lady who always says "Maawa sa bulag po" holding up a delapidated valvoline cup with very few coins.

I'd put in a coin or two and hearing her say "Salamat po!" with sincere, glad eyes made me feel good. Sometimes she wasn't there. Sometimes it was her just as blind husband. Eitherway I gave what I could.

After that I'd drop by the adoration chapel and say a short, monotonous prayer - the same one I'd utter every night before I sleep:

Lord, forgive me for all the wrongs I've done, the wrongs I'm doing, and the wrong's that I'll be doing (note: probably in anticipation of the following morning's session of tabloid viewing). Lord sana po hindi ako maulila. Lord sana po hindi ako bumagsak sa Science. Lord sana po hindi na ako managinip ng masama.

I'd exit the adoration chapel and proceed inside the school where I'll be checking out what homework everybody's copying. I'd leech off paper from one of my friends or, if I can't, I'd defeatedly walk to the forever scowling Ester of the canteen's bookstore (don't ask) and actually buy paper worth five pesos.

I'd go copy whatever assignment and then proceed to talk to my friends about the episode of WWF Raw the night before. Morning bell rings. Morning over.

That was ten years ago.

I've long since stopped passing by the wet market, the flower shop, and the tabloid stand. (and no, I'm no longer excited by those things).

The schoolservice driver never became a millionaire. All he got for it was chump change and a divorce. Win-win? I don't think so.

What became of the blind old lady, I'll never really know. I hope for better tidings, but I'm not too good an optimist. Maybe she's still there. Maybe she'll still there but only in spirit. Salamat po!

I no longer pass by the adoration chapel. My prayers have shrunk siginificantly and became lower in frequency. Less requests, more thanks. Was it for the better? I'm not really sure. I'd save discussing religion for another day.

I no longer have assignments to copy. For what it's worth, I learned how to copy shit really really fast while trying to learn what I'm writing at the same time - sorta like Teevo, but more sinister.

I no longer use intermediate paper, or any paper other than bondpaper - the backs of photocopies or printouts. If possible, I avoid using my ugly handwriting (which, inconveniently, disabled me from forging my own excuse letters.)

Ester is still in the canteen, my younger peers tell me. She still has the scowl. A bad expression really is for eternity. I bet those barbecues they've been trying to sell us are still the same stock they're conning kids into buying now. Somebody should carbon date those things just to check out if they're dinosaur meat.

WWF ate WCW up and became WWE. Kane who was supposed to be a burn victim now show's his flawless skin on everybody. Pall Bearer is dead, Ric Flair is decaying, and Undertaker still looks young.

Me? I'm ten years older. I certainly have changed a lot since then. For better or worse, I'd rather not guess (but if my life depended on it, I'd go for worse).

And then I'd think, all these memories, why are they still around? They are neither important to what I do for a living nor significant enough to be worth remembering.

I realize, at the end of what you make of a day, you become what the day makes of you. And these little changes done to you by what you do, they pile up - like a compost pit of cause and effect. And in time, your personality blooms from this pit.

Also I realize what I just said won't make much sense for quite a while. Maybe when I read this entry again in ten years it will. Or maybe never, but I won't know until I read this again. Or maybe I'll never get to read this again - like if it disappears in a couple of years, because we never really know, right?

Then one day I'll see something that will make me remember again.

(16:55:54) Jet: salamat po ^^

A day in the life of.

-------------------------------
p.s.
I'll be going to our company outing starting tomorrow so I won't be able to post for a while. At the earliest, I'll be posting this coming Sunday.

Takdang aralin: Anong karanasan mula sa iyong kabataan ang alam mong hindi naman importante pero naaalala mo pa rin magpahanggang ngayon?

3 comments:

akin_iya said...

aaaaaw... funny komiks. niknok?

Kyle said...

I don't think that there is any action, word, or even thought in our past, no matter how distant, that doesn't contribute to the present state of things. Each and every one of them molds us or our surroundings. As for the magnitude of the effect, your guess is as good as mine since these things once done can never be undone. Not to mention the fact that they reverberate through eternity.

Anonymous said...

The earliest memory I can remember is waking up ahead of my parents one morning - this is weird - I was chasing a frog that must have entered our house that night. I was maybe two or three that time, and though I have a vague vision of the scene, I am quite sure of the memory: Our wooden floor; the space at the bottom portion of the door, where the frog and the day light pass; the tiny spark of light from outside that peek through the holes in the wall; my limp steps as I chase the frog's agile moves.

I am not sure if I caught the frog, and I don't remember anymore what happened after that. But that scene like a vignette always comes back whenever I reminisce my childhood.

- Jeques

 

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