Of studying, dreaming and remembering names
Sensing the quick, unpredictable ebb and flow of a hundred or so college students from the classroom, you begin to wonder why it is always necessary to go to school.
Waking up early has always occurred to you as a challenging and strenuous activity: you realize that solving math equations is more convenient than taking a cold shower in the morning. Your mother almost always jolts you out of Dreamland; and she always succeeds--she has mastered the "art of revival." Sometimes you are tempted to scold her for disturbing the momentum--you had, after all, been dreaming that you were about to enter the gates of Paradise when she slapped you hard. But, on second thought, you'd rather not scold her.
* * *
"Uy, ano'ng next class mo?" Someone, a few meters away, asks you point-blanc. The person's face looks rather familiar, but you cannot recall when or where or how you've met her. She is on her way to where you are. Smiling, you answer her question. Then you both talk about your professors, your organizations, and anything under the sun. For ten minutes, you are with her: she seems nice to be with.
"But where have I seen her?" You ask yourself. Apparently, your brain cannot establish a clear connection.
The person realizes that she has an appointment thirty minutes from now. "I have to leave. Bye," she says. Throughout your conversation, you've never called her by her name. You begin to wonder if she had realized that.
* * *
You are asleep; your head is covered with the Winnie-the-Pooh blanket while your mouth is dripping with drool. Ah, the pleasure of being able to dream.
In your dream, you are now about to enter the gates of Paradise...and then you see the person you've talked to yesterday after class--the one who looked peculiarly familiar.
"Hi. What's your name?" You ask her at last.
She is about to say her name when your mother slaps you hard. You realize you're late for school.
Waking up early has always occurred to you as a challenging and strenuous activity: you realize that solving math equations is more convenient than taking a cold shower in the morning. Your mother almost always jolts you out of Dreamland; and she always succeeds--she has mastered the "art of revival." Sometimes you are tempted to scold her for disturbing the momentum--you had, after all, been dreaming that you were about to enter the gates of Paradise when she slapped you hard. But, on second thought, you'd rather not scold her.
* * *
"Uy, ano'ng next class mo?" Someone, a few meters away, asks you point-blanc. The person's face looks rather familiar, but you cannot recall when or where or how you've met her. She is on her way to where you are. Smiling, you answer her question. Then you both talk about your professors, your organizations, and anything under the sun. For ten minutes, you are with her: she seems nice to be with.
"But where have I seen her?" You ask yourself. Apparently, your brain cannot establish a clear connection.
The person realizes that she has an appointment thirty minutes from now. "I have to leave. Bye," she says. Throughout your conversation, you've never called her by her name. You begin to wonder if she had realized that.
* * *
You are asleep; your head is covered with the Winnie-the-Pooh blanket while your mouth is dripping with drool. Ah, the pleasure of being able to dream.
In your dream, you are now about to enter the gates of Paradise...and then you see the person you've talked to yesterday after class--the one who looked peculiarly familiar.
"Hi. What's your name?" You ask her at last.
She is about to say her name when your mother slaps you hard. You realize you're late for school.
posted on January 23, 2005
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