Remembering Fewer Things

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.

Wake me up when September Ends

A pail of tears, now.

I remember you, thirty thousand fishes, drifting in a pond like fallen silver leaves catching the last rays of light in that morose afternoon.

Would there be bliss when September ends?

Thank you, Mom. My confidant, my comrade in battle.

Post to Heaven

19th August 2008

Dear Lord,

The last time I wrote to you as far as I could remember was 8 years ago. I remember that I made the letter in one afternoon. I just came from the school empty-handed, troubled, and embattled. I had only 1,50o pesos in my hands and my tuition costs around 4,000 pesos. It was supposed to be my second semester, my first year in college. I had survived the past semester full of hope that the university would finally grant the subsidy I have requested. Unfortunately, it did not.

It was an afternoon. I am resolved to go back to the province to scour every possibility of getting additional money from whomever. I remember that I suggested then to You that my sister in Dagupan help me. I remember telling you that it seemed to me that it was the only possibility. But I came home just the same, empty-handed, troubled and embattled. I kept the letter, slipping it in between the pages of a dilapidated dictionary I left back in my Baguio apartment. It actually survived after so many years. My sister accidentally read it few years ago. She told me that she cried while reading it. It was also read by my little brother, Mark. He asked me later if he could do the same. I told him that yes he could write to You whenever he wants to tell You things he would rather keep to himself.

When I tell my friends now that You work in mysterious ways, I remember the things that happened after I wrote that letter.

The day after I arrived in the province, people from the Student assistance Department at the University surprisingly visited and did some interview. The head, Manang Pen Facunla offered assistance right away without any solicitation and told me to go back to Baguio. She would later be You, dear Lord, supporting me all the way until I graduated. She gave me a job, private scholarship. Without her, there seemed to be no silver lining.

As I look back, I wonder if that letter was not written at all. Would You have performed a miracle just the same? I recently bought a handy Bible. A friend reintroduced me to You. One of my favorite passages is Ephesians 3:20. It speaks a lot about what happened. You spoke that You will do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of; infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts or hope.

I am writing on a used paper. I hope You don't mind. I felt the conviction to write again to You about a plea coming from my heart. Few days from now, I will take the Bar exams. The greatest challenge so far and a key to what will I become years from now. Dear Lord, I wouldn't have reached this far without You lifting and carrying me everytime I falter down the road of life. You blessed and showered me your graces more than what I deserve. You gave me this flat with me effortlessly cashing out money. You gave me true friends who supported me up to the Bar review. You gave me a mother who specially sent me a smile from far away just to remind me that there are millions of reasons to pursue this dream and to take the challenge with a mighty heart.I couldn't ask for more.

Thank you Lord. while I continue to hurt You every now and then, please understand that I will always be your Son who always searched and yearned for You at the end of the day.

And while the days are closing in, I want to tell You that I will remember to walk the path You have opened and showed me.

The letter I once wrote was made yellowish by time, moisture has blotted the blue ink. But still it remains Lord and so is your unconditional love and my enduring faith.

Your son