03.15.08
The Ides of March
While
waiting for my student this morning
(who didn’t show up eventually), I plunged
into one of my favorite online habits.
Random
blog reading.
Today’s
cyber serendipity led me to blogspot.com, to a Filipina who wrote about Philippine
politics, history, culture and society. I felt positive that I would like the
person behind those words I read. The
“about me” section was exceptionally catchy and ego-less, too. Her blog had a free nature matched with a sharp wit, and truthfulness
without any airs attached, so I read on and entertained myself – until I came
across a particular entry that practically stupefied me. I wasn’t even capable of actually finishing
the whole post. The accompanying photo was sufficient to stun me. It was a childhood photo of the writer’s mother…
but the name in the caption confirmed that the girl in the photo was not just
her mother. She was also the mother of him
who was previously addressed you in
my ink-sheddings!
I wanted to leave a little trace for the blogger, to let her know
that somehow I had been there… but what would I have uttered? and who was I after all? Would I have said
that we could have been perfect sister-in-laws and that getting along would have
been no problem at all? Would I have
added that I liked their mother very much? (and their mother did tell me she
liked my name). Would I have told her that I loved her brother very much that I
turned Neruda’s words upside down by saying that forgetting is short but loving
is long? Would I have mentioned that her
other younger brother had already called me sister-in-law eight years ago?
Would I have expressed that it was his friendship that I missed so terribly? Would I have related that incident when I told him about a funny dream I had of him and he explained that one
usually dreams of someone when you’ve been thinking of that person and I indignantly
claimed that I hardly ever thought of him (not knowing that he would be
infesting my dreams for years to come)? Would I have admitted that the biggest
blunder I made in my life was done in revenge for how he made me feel unawares? Would I have confessed — but then again… why
would I have told her?
He didn’t even
know most of those things…
All I knew was that a simple “Hi, I like your blog” could not have been enough…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the grey park, the rain abated,
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours,
Occasion this? No lightning came;
Nor did I sense, when touched by flame,
Our story lit with borrowed powers -
Rather, by what our spirits burned,
Embered in words, to us returned.
~V.S.~
