It is sunny outside and the road is little rocky. My husband is silently driving fast through the humps and bumps, but the vibrations inside the car is not strong enough to bother my levitating thoughts across the memories that I love to play inside my head repetitively.
Have you ever felt that? I do. I see the bright sky outside and suddenly good old emotions dash all throughout the stretch of my nerves. The light from the morning sky brings me back to unforgettable experiences I had from the past. My good and favorite memories, I should say.
I am still conscious of my husband’s driving and I know that we are half-way home. I am aware of what I see from the car window — monotonous houses, uninhabited sandy areas and few grasses that can survive the extreme summer heat of a desert country. But my spirit is submerge somewhere else, not inside a fast moving car.
I am walking at a slow pace along the stretch of a famous bay area in the city, trying to inhale the silence, calmness and serenity of the sea as slow as I can. I love dusk times and I am glad to catch it just at the right time. I notice several groups of people in circles, perhaps also loosening up from jobs they are so accustomed to and from the life that they have no choice but to dance with it. But it doesn’t really matter now, why they go and mingle with friends, because they look so joyous in each others presence. Their refracting laughters and rowdy chatters are audible from where I stand but couldn’t understand anything of what they’re saying.
I continue my walk with the same pace and not daring to increase the rate of my steps. This is the only time I have to relish life that doesn’t run after time and standards. The jobs I have and all other responsibilities outside of this walk are episodes of my life that oppose balance and peace. In normal days, I have to run races that I can never win, always trying to chase the wind to prove something — impossible and exhausting. And I couldn’t understand why I have to dodge my life like this but I still do. I guess am just trying to imitate the life of people in the city — always moving, fast and progressive. Where no one will mention about their failures but allure others of their successes.
As I reach the end of the bay, my vision starts to blur and in a snap, everything fades. The bumpiness of the rough road outside lingers again from my butt up to the top of my spine. The sky outside is still bright and my husband’s constant velocity driving is pulling my consciousness back to where we are. Memory. I had just visited a real event that happened almost a decade ago. It was a thing of my past that does not really exhibit extraordinariness neither extravagance, but I would always love to relive.
Memories are so powerful and at the same time beautiful, it trickles down gracefully skin deep, makes me forget what I have and where I am. I find myself absent in the present and fully engage in the past. Memory is like an open paradise that I can visit anytime I want, and the bright sky of the present is the gate to a particular scene that I want to live through. Like watching an emotional movie on a big screen, it gives me odd to witness and experience again the best and memorable moments of my life, where emotions are still fresh as if it just happened the other day.
It is through memory that I can get the chance to experience reality that does not exist for my life anymore. Like magic, it allows me to tap into something impossible but was once possible; an access to my own paradise where good things take place, at least even in the wilds of my imagination. I often find myself fancying to go back to the state where I have peace, balance and joy — a carefree and hurt free life. But it is also through memories that I can have a glimpse why hurdles and failures have to be part of the play, which makes me realize how much bravery and growth I gained so far.
To relive memories is like dreaming — the only way to it is through the playfulness of mind. But the difference between them, is that, memory is a thing of the past while dream can be a prospective part of the future. Soon afterwards, a manifested dream will also become a memory. They are not the same, but are so connected to each other.
Today, I write about memory as I find beauty and power in it. It brings me hope and joy as it reminds me of favorable things that occurred in my life; and it makes me courageous again upon remembering the hardships that I have won.
Memories, you are my alley, a source of strength and hope. The one I truly own, no one can steal from me. As life goes on, you will continue to pile up inside the library of my mind, and I know that I always got you to show me that once in my life, I loved, worked hard, succeeded, failed, shattered and surrendered. Above all, you remind me that everything can come and go, except for the ever constant gift called grace.
ABOUT THE WRITER:
She says, “There is a strong urge from the core of my soul that I have to let my thoughts, wisdom and stories out through a platform that is accessible by people all over the world.”
She is from Manila, Philippines.