Roots
Memories on a stormy night
By Marifi Jara
“They say the old at least have their memories. I am not so sure this is always a good thing. I am trying to be faithful to what is in my head. I hope it is trying also to be as faithful to me.” — Roseanne Clear McNulty in Sebastian Barry’s The Secret Scripture
I have been inspired to quote the Irish author because of two things: Typhoon Emong which hit us here last week and a charming story sent several weeks ago by my online friend Mr. AG, a US-based Pangasinense.
Mr. AG recalls his growing up years here with his older brother as the best friend he could ever ask for.
Excerpts from his story (which he gave me permission to share with our PUNCH readers):
“I have a lot of stories about my brother, but the first thing I remember was his giving me a bath when I was not yet capable of doing it myself. As I grew older, I became a nuisance for following him wherever he went. Our three-year age gap was very significant when we were young, he was advanced mentally and physically, but I tried my best to catch up with his abilities. The pre-adolescent years in the life of a boy is always full of fun and mischief so when my brother was at that age, having me tagging along was not cool and was a hindrance, especially when he went on mischievous adventures with his friends. But sneaky as I was, I always found my way to wherever my brother and his friends went for adventure and he had to worry about me when we had to escape from our mischief.
My brother wanted me to join my younger friends but I always found fun with older kids than with my age group. There were times when my brother would escape from me, especially when he and his friends would go to Dagupan to watch movies. One Saturday morning I followed him to the Dagupan Theater Cinema to watch the movie Batman and Robin. As I was groping my way in the dark theater looking for a seat, my brother saw me and he was left with no alternative but to enjoy my company. After the movie, we ended up eating noodles in the nearby Chinese panciteria.
I was lucky to have him ahead of me here in America and I stayed with him until I landed a job. I always visited him during holidays and we were always in communication, without missing any bit of the happenings in our lives. Every year, we spent time together like best friends do, and we never run out of topics to talk about — our parents, our common friends, and our children.
Recently, my brother got sick, very sick and I feel that he is still too young for that. These days, we talk everyday, as if we are trying to cover all the things that we have not yet touched. As we grow older, we realize that youth is the new song, but old songs carry the memories of the good, old times which are engraved in our mind.”
Memories, indeed, are a lovely thing. In this day and age of computers, internet and cable television, stormy evenings (of course not the devastating kind) could be a welcome thing if only for the chitchat that it forces families to take. Just like on Thursday early evening, as Typhoon Emong was lashing out its fury and power went just shortly after 6 pm, the family gathered together, the house romantically lit only by candles, and we had a nice time sharing common and individual life experiences. My mother, though, was going all around the house in, I sensed, a bit of panic as she feared that another Typhoon Cosme (which I fortunately did not experience last year) was in the offing. Then again, I hope her trauma of Cosme has somehow been eased by the simple sharing of the memory. And when looking back at not-so-good memories, I guess it is best to remember the little miracles and the inner strength that helped saw us through those bad times. Oh, nostalgia!
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