Remembering June

The inherent infirmity of human memory is that it makes last month’s memories appear like a constellation away. Out of 43,000 minutes I would be fortunate enough to re-stage an hour in my mind. My perfunctory toiling during the nights of work has been condensed into a shadow slipping into a slim spot. The fifteen to twenty minute drive to work starts to feel like five.

The masterful quality of human memory is that it can be selective. It can choose to retain parcels of how we felt happy. For example:

Of all the Monday mornings of June, I boarded two light rail transits to get to Ortigas. I felt like I’m traveling on a weekend in another country with my gear - backpack strapped on my shoulder, a pair of ¾-trousers on my legs, rubber slippers, iPod and sunglasses. Eric Gamalinda’s “My Sad Republic” keeps me company as I leisure the entire morning away at the Coffee Bean in Ortigas Park. The iPod is packed with freshly downloaded music courtesy of D. Serenity settles in as I sip the powdery mocha latte. And to cap the glorious morning with a climax, I have lunch with D. at simple restaurants like Kitaro or Reyes Barbeque. We visit the St. Francis Square (may he bless those pirates) for some pirated DVDs we will be watching the next week.

And then human memory makes everything else, all the boredom and loneliness, easily forgettable.