Can you still remember we both wanted to be a doctor back in Kindergarten? We were one of those kids with “I want to be a doctor” sign in our yearbook hoping to make it big in Medicine. But as we grew older, we knew we couldn’t be doctors. The sight of blood weakened our knees and our parents couldn’t send us to med school. Such poverty.
Can you still remember the times we used to cry because were not good sports? Always losing in our kiddie games made us feel worthless and weak and taking all the jeers from our playmates kept us home for days so we had to play cards and rubber bands the whole day. We’ve always wanted to become a volleyball player but nobody gave us the chance because we got bullied for our poor balance the first time we tried playing it. Remember we despised the karate lessons in our PE class, boy scout formations in the afternoon and industrial arts classes for boys?
Can you still remember how we grew up to be latebloomers? While everybody were talking about sex and actually doing it, we were busy reading comics and showbiz magazines and became fanatics of Sharon Cuneta because our moms used to love her. That was way back when we knew she never lipsynched her songs and believed her dancing wasn’t horrible.
Can you still remember that mango tree we used to climb? We sat there, singing songs or look at our half-naked neighbor getting dressed in his room. Those were the branches we used to swing on like monkeys. And how you almost fell on a Holy Friday, we were so frightened at the thought the devil might have pushed you. Had you fell from that mango tree, would you have become a hunchback like what our moms used to tell us?
Can you still remember we always wanted to become disc jockeys in a local radio station and was really envious of our classmate who actually made it? We knew we were better speakers and that failure became reflective of everything that would happen in our lives from then on. We hated losing but we always ended up being at the end tail of things. Like being last had become a bitter habit for us.
Can you still remember the faces that passed us by every single year we had to celebrate? Can you still remember the smile on their faces, looking at both of us thinking we are still the people they thought they knew. They didn’t have any idea how we’ve grown apart and our eyes were the only debris that made us so similar. Can you still remember their sarcasm, their joy of finding both of us but ours was not a feeling of mutual admiration?
Can you still remember the cartoons we loved to watch? How about the places we used to sit and laugh, the stories we shared, the fear we had that still haunts us? Can you still remember the smell of grass, the color of the river under the bridge we used to walked on as we go home? Can you still remember the color of sunset that greeted us, the sound of early night where we had to wash our feet and were forced to stay at home? Can you still remember the smell of dama de noche late at night while we lie down on our terrace looking at the stars? Can you still remember that scar that reminded me of you?
Can you still remember me? I dont.