Storyteller
Treasure chest
"I have kept a treasure chest in my heart, inside it are only few treasures I could count in my fingers."
The rubies of childhood, the golden chains of adolescence and the pearls of adulthood are few of my collections, it can be shaken like a half-filled piggy bank, lots of spaces to fill. I only have a few, so I treasure them dearly. I only open it in emergency cases. The mind is such a complex matter, how it stores memory, how it reminds and rejects certain thoughts and how fragmented, psychedelic and surreal the subconscious is.
I was seven years old when a new bridge was constructed in our town, it was 10 feet higher than the old bridge. It was as old as my grand grand parents. It became our playground and a diving board every weekend. I never tried jumping from the bridge but one time I found courage seeing my playmates just jumped in like superheroes. I envy them so much that I finally decided to jump. I stood by the edge, in the center of the triangle steel bars, gathered all my confidence and dive leg first. In seconds that I was suspended I hesitated, like if I have the strength to come up again like a rewind I would. I hit the water hard and touched the riverbed. I think I have eaten my heart, I felt so heavy, afraid and alone underwater. I could not swim up. My childhood sweetheart dived after me he took my hand and carried me above water. That was my first and last dive. Jermel he was my hero a classmate from Grade 1 class. We are often teased because he was always there for me. Every time we play hide and seek or tag, he always offer himself to be the "it" instead of me. He was indeed my knight in shining armor. I was transferred the following year to a private school. We only see each other in the summer until we drifted apart. I don't know where he is now but I heard he grew into a 6-feet tall man and a good chess player. He is good looking by the way, dark skinned with an eyes that of Krishna's. My parents separated when I was 9, the memory of being saved from drowning gave me the feeling of security in those times when my parents were both finding their own way leaving me behind with a nanny.
High school -- rebellious years for me. It was the time when being bad is good. I joined a group called BI or Bad Influence, in order to get in you had to drink a 60 ml whisky all the way down which I did. Our mission was simple -- steal things from restaurants, malls anywhere we hang out as sort of a token. And the rule was -- whoever steals the most valuable item gets all the stolen stuffs. I was the highest scorer. When others got chocolates I got colognes, when they tried colognes I got them a blouse. It was easy, I go to the dressing room with two to three blouses to try on. I put one blouse in my bag. I go out and return the other two in the rack without a hint of fear or guilt. I was an expert. The whole junior year I have done this without being caught. I found a group that could give me the sense of belongingness that my parents failed to provide not to mention the sense of accomplishment. It made me laugh thinking about these getaways, I could've been a successful thief or a leader of a syndicate if I have continued that career. Thank God I wasn't.
I was in my white uniform all tidy and smelling good. I was walking on the street while repeating every name of the bones in my body from the tiniest anvil of the ear to the biggest femur of a leg. I have my final exams in anatomy. Concentrating on my mantra of bones I did not notice a cart loaded with jerry cans filled with filthy stuffs like fish innards and decaying fruits and vegetables as platter for pigs. I could have distant myself but I was engrossed in my thoughts. By the time I realize it, the filthy stuff spilled over me. Probably one of the wheels bumped into a rock and jiggled. Oh and the man pushing the cart just went on as if nothing happened and when I glanced at him, he smiled! Oh I was shaking with anger, I cried, I screamed and I went back at the dorm and cried all the more. My roommates thought I was robbed or held-up. Yeah I was, robbed of my clean clothes, of my anatomy exam and of my confidence for a moment. This was not a good scene you should say, but looking back on it, it was a laughing matter and a reminder that there are bad days and bad moments that you should learn to deal with. And when you do, in due time it becomes something to smile about.
Being a mother of two of course there's nothing compared to the joy of looking in your baby's eye for the first time, but I'll save it for another issue/topic. One day, I took my kids to the market, I was carrying my 9-month old baby girl and my 4 year-old boy was holding my hands. I let go of him for a while because I was picking for good potatoes. He walked towards a man selling salt and he took a small part and tasted it. I called on him and he ran towards me and hugged my waist. By accident he slid from my hips down to my feet taking my shorts with him. Oh I was a helpless case. I was half naked in a public market! I have a baby in my arms, my shorts was down I cannot pull it up because my son won't let go of my legs. I was just so lucky that the crowd were busy with their own business only few people saw my embarrassing state. Lesson learned, use a belt and never wear a garterized shorts and get out of the scene pretending it never happened and laugh at your own mistakes.
As long as you live there are problems to face, heartaches to mend and pains to subdue. But there are also joys to celebrate, hopes to keep the faith and good memories to hold on to. It's just amazing how one good memory encompasses bad and bitter ones. Fill the crevices of our hearts with treasures of the goodness of life and leave a small room for bad ones for lesson learned.