Remembering...

I have, in one way or the other, dream dreams. Some are possible and most of them are impossible. Yet this stuff makes life worth remembering for dreams never die.

And I learn from them.

Anyone who likes to learn stays young. I am a perennial student. I like to learn anything new any time, anywhere, from anyone in any which way.

I still can recall:

I am delighted to paint the days of my growing up. With no clue or plan, I plowed and plodded the green, savage fields. I saw the semblance and beauty of youth mirrored in the pool of water where carabaos wallowed, of swift flying kingfisher comfortably perched on a frond of a nipa palm patiently waiting and wishing for a sure meal, of a mother oriole garbed in silky yellow and black warbling a lullaby to her young one, of the brook that unceasingly hummed the song of life while the cicadas joyfully chirped notes of endless summer.

And Mother Nature was inundated with life, color, and love.

As I turned the sandy-loamed soil with my wooden plow, I witnessed the fertile soil curled smoothly defining the richness of hope in its wake. My carabao was submissive and willing to go another round while the sun was still friendly above us. Then I took my siesta. And I dreamed of a bountiful harvest which was a magic carpet that would lead me to my goal. ( a goal is a dream with a deadline).

The yield was promising and the task was worth the price. I gathered my harvest with a song of youthful enthusiasm. I narrated a poem about my heart's desire. Then I noticed the radiance of the sun was gradually fading and swallowed by the thick vastness of the westside field.

A quail flew. Meanwhile, a lone heron waded in the muddy water searching for a satisfying dinner. My heart yearned to see more unseen horizons; my limbs longed to plow and harrow other fields. And my mind poised to explore the engaging mystery of tomorrow.

I followed the sun in my direction. I ventured to the city with all its glare and glitz. I felt the warmth of its tempting environment. I was lured to the drumbeats of the passion of teenage dreams and the fires of adolescent love.

I was in love. With life. With the new-found civilization. The city opened my eyes to doors of opportunities, broadened my perspective, and tempered my senses. And for a moment I was in limbo.

I was dazzled. I was tethered. I was tamed.

That borderless living is a magnificent poem. A glorious essay. A short, short story of love.

That carefree life that opened the floodgate to let onrushing memories ecstatically mingle into the vast ocean of wonderful living is worth a moment of remembering.