Sometimes

"[Memory is] a man's real possession...In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor." - Alexander Smith (1830 - 1867)

I got that from Perrin.

Sometimes, in the quietest of moments, I have no sense of the present time. Yesterday, I had a flashback of my ex-boy friend's room, as if it were still 1990-something. I felt that I was laying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. I still recalled where the wallpaper yellowed and began to peel and how strangely familiar it felt to be there. I remember what I was feeling at that time- kind of calm and unknowing. LL wasn't there with me. I was alone. It was neither a good memory nor a bad one. It was just that- a memory, a reminder of how far I've come.

Sometimes, we just know that there are certain places we'll never go back to. When we look back, we don't remember how people looked or what they said; we only remember ourselves, how we felt, what we were thinking. It gives us a better perspective of where we are now.

Other times, I'm back on Banawe, walking home with my sister because all the jeepneys were full. I can feel the sun scorching my hair, my forehead is oily and sticky from the heat, and my feet are aching. I'm carrying the heavy workload from school, my college textbooks are nestled in my left arm, the bag on my right.

I thought of so many things back then. I couldn't wait till I was in college, I wondered what it would be like when I was finally independent, how it would feel to be driving my own car.

Now, I just wonder what it's like to go home early and pretend to relax, to not even wonder at all.