Bilbliography - Book II

This post is a copy of my now defunct Friendster blog. Friendster blog just isn't good, so I migrated all my posts from there to here.

The Persistence of Memory.

Memory is both a gift and a curse.

Memory as a

gift

We are soulless without memory.

We became who we are because of the things that happened to us; I became who I am because of these things that happened to me: mother having her picture taken while pregnant of me despite local superstition; falling from a flight of stairs when I was two; being hit by our Filipino teacher with a lesson plan on the head for something that I didn’t do when I was in Grade 6; being slapped on the face after escaping review sessions for the NEAT exams also when I was in Grade 6; shitting on my pants while in a mall because of diarrhea during special summer classes before my first year; being sent outside the classroom for answering and offending our Reading teacher on her birthday in my first year high school; being labeled as KSP in my second year high school; learning how to write about my frustrations in our English class also in my second year; learning how to distinguish true friends from users; insulting a teacher about her looks in front of the class; knowing how to "properly" look at our classmates’ boobs without getting caught; knowing how to appreciate some our classmates’ beauty despite the size and color of their boobs; knowing how to solve identities in our Mathematics class in 4th year; failing in the UPCAT; graduating undecided of what course to take in college; taking up Literature; shifting to Broadcast Communication in my second year; falling in love for the first time in that same year; my heart breaking for the first time also in the same year; attempting to forget in the same year; trying to fell in love again after more than 2 years. And my heart mending for the first time.

Memory

as a curse.

We cannot choose to remember. But neither can we choose to forget. We only either remember or forget. And that is almost everything. But whether we with our mind’s fingers hold on to or let go of the memory-strands of stories that unwind in our life, it is immaterial to the fact that the stories happened.

We are a spool of memories and moments, forgotten and remembered.

(To be continued…)