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Friday, September 19, 2008
Uncanny how in 13 years (1995 weblog), technology has made possible what man took centuries to improve. Imagine messages in a bottle from people marooned in an island or etchings on rock or wood had to be found years later to give a clue in where or what had happened?
The past week with only the desk top for consolation and refuge, several e-mails were sent, read and lost friendships were found or come across again. Nope, no more littering the seas or plotting the tides to make sure you get in touch again. The happenings of the last week reminded me about Brendan Fraser's "Blast From The Past" .
Opening the trap door connecting the past to the present is like opening the door to a musty old room or attic. I imagine being happy with the great treasures I've missed having or finding out the old drawing studies reminding of who I was then (weird artist) or rifling through the ribbon tied love letters and diary entries that are a testament to your idealism and foolishness...it feels weird because the memories don't seem to match who you are at present...I reluctantly open the door to the past, thinking it jimmied and picked knowing there I shall find the chest where old hurts lay locked but needing to be cleaned for better use of space...
As a kid I liked exploring old rooms and helping anyone who ventures in a cobweb and dusty room. At a young age one is in awe with people and their secrets or the sides of them you rarely see or the history attached to the sash and tiara found in an old wooden box or even a scrap book with pictures of young school kids you never will meet since they are either dead or have relocated to a better country.
Now, with more than a third of my life spent, I am now bearer of the mysteries that I'd take the last stretch of my life sharing to my kids. They had a dose of it already with the chronicle of the aunties, uncles and cousins on my father's side whom without Facebook I'd never get to validate that side of my genealogy...the trap door opened also gave my kids, specially the girls a peek on how care-free and foolish I was- hard to imagine parents as being young. Admittedly, I feel blessed that my children are interested in who I was as a child. I never had that for my Mom or Dad who shared how they were as young ones rarely and only in family gatherings.
Right now, inner spring cleaning is giddy, I am at the part of answering and telling about how I was as pre-teen...Since my girls are at an awkward stage, I opted to edit some incidents and stupidities until they would get to have greater understanding and stronger convictions to just learn from other's mistakes (yup, wistful thinking! lolz!).
I wonder what page gets opened tomorrow?
Posted by The Scribe at 1:35 PM