The Strangeness of Remembering 

​If I reach back now, the earliest memory I could remember was waking up in our old maid’s room.  I think I was four years old back then and I was being taken care of by my Yaya. There was music wafting in from somewhere, some old ditty that escapes me.

I woke up vaguely self aware – a part of me was thinking that I was unique, that I was the only one who was truly conscious. It was a strange sensation, almost a self attribution of being special somehow. 

I remember I had vivid dreams back then. I was flying down the stairs for some reason and I had a cape. For the life of me, I did not even know if I had realized I was emulating Superman, a hero I would grow up to find boring. 

I remember a few other things: an incident where a mother accused me of throwing stones at her son; biking with a girl who would grow up to be a minor celebrity; Sunday afternoons spent with my mother while she was burning the trash; the first girl I ever fell in love with. Random memories that crept up on me while I was trying to sleep, taking one part of the cocktail of drugs that my psychiatrist prescribes to me to keep me sane. 

There is a strange quality to my memories now. Less emotion, less cringing at horrible moments, less joy at the intersections of happiness. But I remember them nonetheless. 

The strange thing is, I do not remember HER anymore. Wait, remembering is not the proper term. I still know who she is, but she is not a vivid part of my memory anymore. Maybe the drugs are working. Maybe it dulls me to painful things. I do not know really.

I wonder what memories tonight will bring. 

Ang Huling Hugotero

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5 Comments

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  1. She may no longer be a part of your memory but she’ll always have that mark on your heart. I bet. 😇

    Anyway, happy new year to you brother Ared! Hope you had a wonderful Christmas. Wish you a blessed 2017!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. There are some painful incidents that later becomes dulled with time. I like this post.

    Liked by 1 person

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