I didn’t remember that I’ve been here for two weeks, lethargic it may seem.
I didn’t remember that I’ve taken the Bar almost six months ago.
I didn’t remember that I’ve lived in a room alone for six months starting April of last year with only thick books and litters of papers, photocopies, mixed-up post-its of different colour plastered on the wall near the reading table almost devouring the half space of the wall.
I didn’t remember the fascination of reading on the uppermost floor of the UP Law Library looking through transparent glass windows giving a view of blooming acacia trees and a looming thunderstorm far distant.
I didn’t remember how Eunika always remind me to hear mass at the dome-church after the review classes and early in the morning right after the break of dawn during Saturdays together with veiled matrons.
I didn’t remember that I had stomach cramps every eve of the Bar exam and how I have clung to Maalox for temporary relief.
I didn’t remember how a person intruded my life, my privacy, too bluntly, and how I liked the idea of exchanging vows rather than marriage.
I didn’t remember how the time ran after September of last year, how quick events took place and how near the results would be released.
I didn’t remember why I cried last night.
I didn’t remember why I had this stiff neck today.
I am trying to remember the good things in life that had happened and relishing the memories. Like bubbles they burst in an instant, have ephemeral life but lingering aftertaste. They jolt the eerie landscape and disfigure it for a better view.
I am trying to remember those days when I sit on the dike of the pond watching the sun set finding comfort in rages of red, the fading light, and the softness of the breeze, trying to think while ripples continue to disturb the water below how the little fishes living within will survive another day of heat in summer.
I am trying to remember how time and one’s life progressed and how they reconcile each other.
I am trying to remember how astonished my friend was when I showed her my own version of Scream by Edward Munch in oil pastel crayons.
I remember the two cans of putty from Lydia and how it relieved my stress.
I remember the dinner two nights ago, the tenderness of the steak and the great gravy.
I remember that I have a home to return to and dogs waiting for me.
I remember my plans before the tempest and the drive to bring it back to consciousness again.
I remember that only two days are left for this holiday and I am back to work again.