Write down my memories

Sometimes it’s close… the last time I almost died, it was a viral infection, and I was too weak to think clearly, and I pleaded with God and Satan and everyone in between for help (If I survive I’ll be a good person and help the poor and brush my teeth and so on… eh, I guess I oversold it)... it’s amazing what dehydration and malnutrition does to one’s thoughts! :) The first time I almost died, it was in a pool, at lunch time, while everybody was away having lunch, my cousin and I went to the pool, I miscalculated the center of the pool tube and sank like a stone… the greenish blue color all around, the dance of bubbles, and the reflections of the sun all interrupted when my cousin rushed to call help and a distant cousin dived in the pool, grabbed me by the chin, and pulled me out. I never thanked either one of them.

But the second time I almost died was on a practical joke… winter time, right after we got off the school bus, R and F, two of my best friends, pulled on the two ends of a very long scarf, while my neck was entangled in it. We have been strangling each other in the bus that morning, but being close enough to throw punches makes a big difference. I remember everything became vivid and bright (like it does after 3-hour exams) and I could see myself taking awkward steps after they finally let go… a few drunken paces, and I fell down, tearing my pants on the knee… R comes closer still laughing, “are you ok?” he asks. “]profanity[, you almost killed me!” I said in a hoarse voice, partially amused at the same time by the change in my voice. When I get home, dad wonders about the knee… “what happened?” “I fell… off the stairs” I mix together truths and lies. “It doesn’t look like a stair-fall?” He mentions but doesn’t follow it anymore. And I think to myself that parenting is hard.

R is now a university professor… we still talk every now and then, and we still use the middle-school trash-talk. F went missing for a while a couple of years ago and then his body was found on the street… nobody really knows what happened to him. He was what you’d call a non-conformist… I still think he will show up one day with his unkempt hair and wide smile… “How’s life?” he would say, as if nothing has happened (and perhaps he’s right).

I was driving down to school one afternoon and a man in front of me suddenly slammed on his brakes, forcing me to slam on my brakes and drive slightly onto the shoulder of the road to avoid hitting him. My immediate response was anger and profanity. But then when I passed the car, the man looked over and gave me a sheepish grin- apologetic and slightly amused. My anger immediately dissipated. The man was too nice to get mad at.

Every summer, I visit my grandpa and grandma for a week. One week of every summer gets me closer and closer to them. We sit around and watch TV- boxing and Jerry Springer- watch movies- Secondhand Lions is our favorite- and eat. Eating is a big deal in that house. Every meal is planned. While eating breakfast we discuss lunch and dinner and breakfast for the next day. I stay up late talking to my grandpa about anything and everything. One year he took me to the pool in his retirement community and got a worker there fired because he looked at me and my sister. He’s feisty, my grandpa. He likes to wear a leather jacket, leather gloves, and a leather cap and he looks very adorable. I called him once to ask him how he was doing and he said “Fine as the hair on a turtle’s back.”

I’ve lived in over 30 houses at the age of 19. In my group of friends, it’s my claim to fame…But I regret that I can’t remember all of those houses. Some of them I can remember clearly, the address, the layout even. Others are hazy, I remember things that happened there but not exactly what it looked like or even the age I was when I lived there. Others I don’t remember at all.

I believe I was seven when this happened. My twin sister, cousin Dianna, and brother were building a snow fort with my Aunt Lisa in the backyard of my house. We got so much snow that year, feet and feet of it. I was wearing my snowsuit and all of our cheeks were bright red against our pale winter skin. My aunt was shoveling snow, digging down into the snow to create a cave-like fort. We all thought it was the coolest thing EVER. To this day we talk about the epicness of that fort. We took our yellow plastic chairs into the fort, and a tiny branch that became our Christmas tree. We asked “Can we sleep in here?” and truly wished we could.

years of university, and I’m in my room, on my bed, reading a book… dad passes from the front door of my room, pauses a little and bursts into laughter. I raise my head, amused, and ask “What?”... “Nothing,” he says, “I’ve passed from here four times, and each time you’ve been in a different pose… lying on the floor with legs on bed once, leaning against the headboard the other time, then legs on the wall, and now leaning down with the book on the floor. It looked like snapshots from a comic book!” I smile back and feel happy inside. :)

_{The images of past events melt away in my memory, but then there are certain things that stand out clearly… not that they’re particularly important, but still they stay vivid. I’m not sure what makes me keep track of a simple laughter in a summer afternoon… maybe its simplicity.}

memories count too, right?

MB defended his dissertation this past Thursday. His work was related to mine, and we worked together, so it was a bit more personal for me. He didn’t do perfect in presenting his work, but had done way too much for his PhD to be affected by it. :)

He got married a few months back; his wife is a student on the west coast and was supposed to be busy with exams for the week. But somehow she made it to be here for the day to surprise him (and boy, was he surprised! :)). He handled it well, though, and added a smiley picture of the two of them to his slides… “Thank you for coming, Honey,” it read. And it hit me… I didn’t expect him to call anybody “honey.” He’s from a traditional background, you see, no previous girlfriends, and limited interaction with females as the lifestyle requires. I was truly impressed by his words in his acknowledgments… genuine, calm, and comfortable in showing his love for the girl. You I never know what people are capable of! :)

skin tans easily. As young kids, we used to play soccer with plastic balls in the wide sidewalk in front of our house with other neighborhood kids. In summer, that’d go all day long, from early in the morning until we couldn’t even see the ball in the dark. The heat wasn’t an issue, we’d go to the front yard of our house, get the water hose, let the hot water (heated up under the sun) pass, and drink as much as we could, as soon as the cold water started flowing. Even though the huge grape-vine covering the sidewalk would save us from some direct sunshine, this all-day ritual meant darker skin tone for me. Mom didn’t like it. She though I looked like “street-boys” (wasn’t I one?) , and would scrub my face really hard, I guess trying to get my “real” color back! That irritated me, naturally, and I’d avoid it any chance I got.

Fast forward to twenty years later, the last time I went back home, it was summer again, and I would just wander around the city under the sun trying to catch up on what I had missed. Mom didn’t say anything this time, but after a week she bought me a cap :)

I am 5, sister is 9. It’s summer time, mom is at work. She gets home at 3 each day (and 3 sounds very special; don’t start any mischief close to that time), except on Thursdays when she skips lunch at work to get home earlier and brings us pieces of hospital’s potato cutlets. She has a long ride to get home on three buses (no ac), and she’s exhausted of heat when she arrives. Mom turns up the ac and lies with her eyes closed. Sis and I walk all over her like kittens, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Sis slowly pushes up mom’s shirt, and blows on her stomach making a raspberry noise; I follow like a good student (like I have to!), and we giggle. Mom’s lips twitch to a smile, and she fights herself not to open her eyes.

Just the routine…

I feel obliged to explain why I’m doing this, maybe not to justify it for others, but to justify it for myself (and words in written form are very convincing :)). There was a power outage at work, and I had to stay at home, which gave me a chance to take a look at my surroundings. And what I saw these little pieces, pieces of furniture, decoratives (the editor says it’s not the correct usage, but whatever!), books, cookware, ..., each reminder of an occasion or a person. I reckon not all people are like that, some move on and let go of everything in the past (their home, always new furniture, and it follows their latest state of mind :)). Good or bad, I carry my memories around with me, and the goal is to embrace the nice ones (even as brief as a smile), and release the unpleasant ones (and hope that the bitterness fades away).

My memory is patchy, and I will follow the same trend in writing them, patchy with no particular order :)