Lately, my father has been asking me questions which I dread the most.
His questions made me anxious. And filled with this anxiety, I ended up searching for things in the cupboard inside the stock room. There, I found my boxes full of memorabilia.
To escape from reality, I decided to dig in those boxes. Boy those boxes were heavy.
Inside these boxes were papers, pictures, key chains, and every other thing which holds a memory of my youth.
I read both journals. Most of the entries were rants, confessions, and narrations of what happened during those days.
As a grammar nazi (and as a Linguistics and Literature graduate), I was amazed. I didn’t I write so well before. In straight English. Hahaha. My entries nowadays, if I ever write, is a combination of English and Cebuano-Bisaya.
And as I read on, I thought, “Whatever happened to the happy-go-lucky and goal-oriented Dane in these journal entries?”
There were papers tucked at the cover of the journals. I was amazed (sorry for the lack of a better word) to see unfaded pictures of my classmates, Rachel and Quinn.
If I remember it well, these pictures were part of the classroom decorations. When we were in fourth year high school, our classroom decor included a corner which presents the class officers (both name and pictures).
Then I saw some colored papers. I thought these were empty. To my surprise, these were merit cards. Hahahahaha. I thought I threw them all away.
These merit cards are equivalent to the certificates our Dean gives to students on the dean’s list during an honor’s assembly. Mmm, these merit cards are far more numerous than the certificates I have from the Dean. Oh well.
As I continue to walk down the memory lane, I saw this exam permit.
Oooh yeah. I took a college entrance exam at MSU-IIT. (I passed, btw.)
I remember that I had a hard time choosing between Linguistics and Literature and Metallurgical Engineering. In the end, i trusted my strengths in grammar and the languages – I took the Linguistics and Literature program in the University of San Carlos.
Having just earned my bachelors degree in Linguistics and Literature last March 2015, and seeing this exam permit once again today had me asking myself – “How would my life be today if I took the Metallurgical Engineering program in MSU-IIT?”
I shrugged that question away. Taking up the Engineering program would be an arduous road. I am not good in math. And heck I am lazy when it comes to analyzing problems.
And how could I not forget telling you about these letters?
Woah, some of these letters were written in as early as 2003. Amazing!
I remember the time when the internet was not yet a fad. I think it was when I was in Grade 3 (2003?). My friends and I used to exchanged letters. I even remember using white bond papers with designs I drew myself as letter papers because I didn’t want to waste my precious stationeries. Hahahahaha…
I should have kept those letters. Ugh. But I was a sloppy keeper when I was a child. However, I shouldn’t be sad. I still kept a lot of letters – from my mom and dad, my sister, friends, acquaintances, and even teachers. Hahahaha.
Tears flowed and laughter echoed inside the room as I read those letters. Most letters were secrets, encouragements, and thank yous. But there were some letters, those from my regular senders (Rachel and Alvin), which are just simple conversations – of how are yous and what-happened-today narratives. It reminded me of my carefree days and of those days when I was still expected to make mistakes.
Nowadays, I feel really lost. I feel like a coward.
I already had plans after I graduated – to work, to get a masters degree, and so on. But after graduation, I bummed out. I literally was a couch potato.
Musing over the past reminded me of who I am. Or of who I was. Or whatever.
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Since I do not know how to end this post, I’m leaving you with a excerpt from one of the letters I received from my friends.
I just want to extend my gratitude to this friend. And, friend, I hope I get to know the real me, too. I’ve been hiding my real self too much that I have already forgotten the real me.