An Utterly Unimportant Moment

I was 10, and the clan had spent the night at a distinctly mediocre beach resort in Cavite -- the sort with dark grey sand. The luggage had been loaded into the cars, and the drivers were waiting for the kids to return from their last minute pees. I stared at a bamboo pole by the steps of the shack where I had slept. For no discernible reason, I reached out, touched the pole, and said to myself, For the rest of my life, I will remember having touched this pole.

Freaky thing happened on my way to age 33 -- the prophecy came true. Probably not a month has gone by in my life without that memory crashing through my idle thoughts. I can't explain what triggers the episode with the bamboo pole. It arrives at odd moments, such as while lined up at a buffet table, or looking at crude facsimiles of KISS painted on a jeepney siding. Mind you, there was absolutely nothing memorable about that sojourn to a Cavite beach. This all ensued simply because when I was 10, I was foolish enough to will my brain into assigning eternal significance to my having palm-pressed that bamboo pole. It feels like having wasted the genie's first wish on a pair of Beachwalk slippers.

What is especially irritating is the prospect that this memory will forever intrude in my brain as a significant episode of my life. The deathbed scenario is especially troubling. I fear that when upon my hour, the important memories will start flooding in (as some say they do), I will have to endure my 10-year old self touching that bamboo pole sticking out of the dark grey sands of Cavite, If that were my last thought on this Earth, I'd be quite pissed indeed.

(Note: Exchange your money for a copy of this June's issue of the revamped UNO Magazine. I've a column at UNO, "Sureshot", beginning its run this month. Despite that fact, the June is a way too splendid issue.)