Seminary Tales #1: In the beginning…
October 15, 2008
One cannot go forward without looking back at the past, as many would say, may these be happy ones or sad ones. Pasts are always parts of the continuum of what we call life cycles, er, lifelines.
Life is circular because we have the abilities, tendencies to go back where we were, at least in our memories, tracing back the lines like counting past years in our faces, as we look ourselves staring at us in the mirror. It is like picking up the truths, meanings, of our once texted life experiences. But, the hardest of it all, in going back at life lanes, is the prejudice of separating the good ones from the best ones.
Life is also linear. No one could ever turn the time around. We will always end up counting the days, weeks, months and years–forget the hour–of our past lives, at least for now. At least for now, waiting the science fiction of time machine becomes a reality. Not in my lifetime, though, I am sure. All we could do is to trace the events and owned it as now–as lines tangled in a web of events, as pastels if we put pictures on it and as coded dots and numbers if we put these events entrenched at the virtual memories.
It never dawned on me that a nostalgic piece of mine which I dug from my file — heavy files that burdened me for so long, not coded and not saved on flash drives or disks, thus, heavy literally — which I blogged, tickled someone’s memories and caused words flowing in the cyber world - - virtual as it is no bound - - greater than a river. I fondly called this someone, Maestro. These files are, indeed, heavy literally. Files of folders, books, notes that I scooped and bundled in a box when I said goodbyes to now I called walled-wanton life in the seminary. The bus conductor robbed me a person’s fare when I brought them home, which I could not afford at that time. It caused my mother’s time of budgeting their hard earned money. At least that what cost me when I could not left behind my baggage of life.
