:MY DaY MY WaY:

Saturday, November 11, 2006 Yesterday, today and tomorrow. The human memory is like a personal computer on steroids, and it will delete critical data inadvertably, and most times against one's own will. To conserve the past, one will require an object that is indelible, and must be sustained through memory and sheer perserverence. But again, what does tomorrow hold indeed, if one clings too tightly to the past, and refuses to let go? ~ ~ I revisited a part of my past. It came to me as inconsequential when I read about the impending demolition of the arts canteen in the university. But I could not resist the urge to drop by and take some pictures while it still breathed life. The weather was humid when I reached the canteen. Instinctively, I headed to the furthest corner where I used to sit with friends, which incidentally has a crowning view of the harbor and ships. I sat at the tables for a while, just reminiscing the years gone by. Sometimes, it will rain, and patter into the area. I like the tingling feel of raindrops as they hit the outermost chairs and splatter onto me. Sometimes, it becomes an area to space out, which I am guilty of, sometimes. The rain is set to continue its yearly barrage these two months, and I do wish it will happen more often. I think sitting at a corner, just watching the torrent on a drowsy late afternoon at the arts canteen is simply a divine experience. Anything simply meshed into the blurry landscape. ~ ~ But I felt displaced as I took the pictures. It seemed to be devoid of an identity that I could not quite fathom. Maybe it is my age, maybe it is the fact I visit on a different persona, maybe it is the realization that people do move on, and objects either move along or end up getting overrun. Why did I go back anyway? I almost behave like a vulture alerted to imminent death, to capture life's essence before it descends into oblivion. It is the ritual of accounting for some recesses of my schooling career, to have said, "well, at least I was here before the food court took over the canteen". As death visits all, modernity knocks really hard on the doors as well, and both bash down any resistance. ~ ~ I watched a Korean show on local television. It featured a boy and a granny. There was not much dialogue in the show, but I enjoyed the show anyway. It was heartwarming without being overexposed. The granny simply indulged in life's simple pleasures, whereas the kid was hunting for his fast food. The kid rejected an offer of boiled chicken for lunch, when he intially demanded 11 herbs and spices. At night, it did not matter. Food tastes best when one is hungry, not when one is saturated in his belief. The kid slept while the granny toiled. The break in the day's activities was a visit to the town market. To buy the kid some noodles, the granny walked back home, since she could not afford both the noodles and the fare back home. It was not appreciated obviously, given the behavior of the obnoxious city kid, but what I infered was that no matter how, you do get home in the end, no matter what you seemed to have given up. It is just a matter of perspective, and how we view going home. It is the home that stores intimate memories of our existence. Some do have it better, some do have it worse. The road home may be winding, but we still get there. We may take a while, if we are disabled or blinkered by obstacles, but the literal bus is not the goal, but merely the tool. We still need to produce the desire first, and then to get to the destination somehow. weijie froze in time on 11.11.06

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