Seven again

November 26, 2006 at 9:37 am 1 comment

My most vivid childhood memory is the time when I would get the sharp gulok from the corner of the garage and start removing the tall cogon grass growing at the back of our house. I would do that in the afternoon, when the sun is low. I will go home dirty, with lots of scratches because of sharp leaves. 

That simple task gave me enormous satisfaction, seeing the grasses fall one by one. The small patch of earth made visible by the fallen cogon grew bigger and bigger, until I cleared the whole area. It took me a week to cut down all cogon grass. 

I was seven years old then; life was simple when you’re seven. No problems. No illusions of grandeur. No pressure. Only innocence. Honesty. Life revolves around play, scratched elbows, broken bones, raucous friends, frantic study, and daylong television. Dirty ice cream, sago-gulaman, and fishballs were daily fare in the afternoons. 

But as we grow older, we are bombarded with “grown up” stuff: stressful work, dirty politics, broken dreams, the world’s complexities and complications. The childhood memories are replaced with heartaches, disappointments, frustrations, pains of rejection, defeat. We lose sight of the ideal when we become realists. We tend to look at the world as grown-ups do: hopeless, Godless, without a bright future. 

I was lost in this musings the past few days, with anxiety over the future. Losing a job to which every aspect in your life depends on is no simple worry. The future has never been as murkier and as clouded as the past month. 

Every afternoon I contemplate this painful truth, I sit on the grass within the outskirts of the Sunken Garden, watching people do their thing: couples whiling away time lost in their own universe, students playing touchrugby, football, ultimate Frisbee, or simply walking and sitting there like me. Feeling the moist grass bristling by my hands, I remember that smell of the wet cogon grass, the wet pungent when its stem is chopped by my sharp gulok. 

It’s back being seven again.

Entry filed under: Random Ramblings. Tags: .

What, Nationalism?

1 Comment Add your own

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Trackback this post  |  Subscribe to the comments via RSS Feed


Infected with wanderlust


My home page here.


Measure your life with love

November 2006
S M T W T F S
« Sep    
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
2627282930  

A Sampling of Life


One difficulty that most of us face is the temptation to document all events in the entirety of life -- both the significant and the mundane.

Attempting to do so is sheer folly. But doing otherwise will be idiocity.

A humble sampling of life's slices. Click here.

Hit me

  • 6,932 hits

%d bloggers like this: