Middle age drives me to spend precious time writing randomly about anything that comes to mind in preventing mental decay of creeping old age. That’s a candid admission to make. But seriously, this writing exercise complements my weekly physical badminton routine, both of which I love doing. When time comes that I have to break this routine, it should be for some good reason.
Sorting dusty boxes and bags containing mementos, photos, letters and stuffs that included outgrown clothes and other worthless things instantly transported us to a trip down memory lane.
Memories of my children’s growing-up years, their accomplishments in school, including my and my husband’s remembrances, are food for the family soul. Having been too busy with our individual schedules all these years, hardly would we have such a chance as this to gather as a group in reminiscing and closing a chapter in our lives.
It makes me feel good to remember the scenes. The moment someone finds a family keepsake, everybody jubilantly converges and almost immediately is magically transported to another time where all the wonderfully funny memories come rushing in. That in itself is funny. Memory becomes selective, choosing to remember only the happy ones. Perhaps the reason for this is about leaving. And maybe because there are really no happy goodbyes. Juliet saying to Romeo that “Parting is such sweet sorrow” is comforting because the famous line ends with “that I shall say good night till it be morrow.” There is a romantic side to everything, I guess. http://www.enotes.com/shakespeare-quotes/good-night-good-night-parting-such-sweet-sorrow
The purpose of the general clean-up is to empty the house out since most of the things we need are now in our present home. But emptying is a draining exercise for the body and the spirit. We cannot have the heart to part with some of those things that we treasure all these years. Maybe the idea that I keep holding on to them and knowing that they still belong to me, significantly gives me this enormous feeling of solace and reassurance that everything will be all right always in my life as long as I have them. Hence, the idea of discarding stuffs is far from my mind. I would literally create space instead of part with them even if I had already sold, donated and discarded items that I no longer needed. Objects where lifetime memories get imprinted in their core continue to pile up, though. Sorting begins anew for another cycle. The circle goes on and on until maybe it is condensed to the nucleus of who we really are.
More than the tokens and what-nots coming back to life from the dusty bins that we have unearthed, scenes from everyday life flashing in the distance like holograms in our mind define our beings.
When we chose to end our tenure in that place we called home in #40 Mabini Street in Mojon for most of our life’s best years, we took along precious memories of — growing a family, parenting non-relatives who have come and gone; likewise tending to unusual incidents such as: one, giving birth one drizzly afternoon right by the roadside to a baby boy whose mother, on her way to the provincial hospital just nearby, called out for help from the gate; two, accommodating, nay with both shock and surprise, a muddied, decent-looking, young, barefoot Chinese teenager who trespassed in the property, seeking refuge in the garage after managing to run away from his captors; three, bringing to the hospital a late-night, uninvited mother-acquaintance on preterm labor while we kept vigil hours before Flor Contemplacion’s hanging and later arranging the adoption of the 5 1/2 month-old miracle survivor, whom we named Miraflor. http://infopedia.nl.sg/articles/SIP_1551_2009-07-31.html
These are but a few scenes on top of my head now, pausing at the last three in search of meaning. Coincidentally, three persons found themselves at the right place at the right time when their lives intertwined with ours. Fortuitous encounters maybe, but luckily we were in a position to help. Being there, but unable to render any assistance is a misfortune for all concerned.
In retrospect, I realize that there should be no room for sadness at the close of a term. We leave behind and/or take with us vignettes of our timeline as we move on to the next. Like a book, the story unfolds with us holding the pen.
English Standard Version (ESV)
18 “Remember not the former things,
nor consider the things of old.
19 Behold, I am doing a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
and rivers in the desert. http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+43%3A18-19&version=ESV