Skip to main content

Something about the future

A few years ago, I was in the supermarket wanting to buy some chocolates. For some reason, the Choc Nut was on the top shelf--too high for five-foot (and three-fourths inch) me to reach. I stood on tiptoe and tried to get a pack, just in time for my arm to hit someone else's.

The arm belonged to a man, now faceless in my memory, but I remember noticing he was attractive and well-dressed and a full head taller. He got his Choc Nut with no trouble, while I abruptly suspended all efforts to grab mine. Instead, I simply stood in front of the chocolate shelf and waited for him to leave. I was thinking that I might need to jump a little, with what little grace I had, and I didn't want anyone witnessing that.

But I wasn't as invisible as I was hoping to be, because he turned to me and handed me a pack of Choc Nut with an amused chuckle. I felt the blood rush to my face, and I managed to say, "Oh, wow." He chuckled again. I thanked him and, with growing embarrassment, I left. I could still hear him chuckling as I walked away.

***

I was thinking of you when this memory floated to the surface, and I found myself wondering: Could that have been you?

I could allow myself to believe it, too.

Our paths hadn't crossed yet then, at least not in a way we remembered, obviously, but I can easily imagine that life, with all its side roads and detours, has always been leading us to a future where you smile at me and I think, this is exactly how I wished it would be.

Popular posts from this blog

The work for which all other work is but preparation

I've been thinking, off and on, of something I once read: The purpose of marriage is not happiness but holiness. Never having been a "good" Christian despite my many attempts, I couldn't understand this line of thinking. Having been raised Catholic, I understood "holiness" to have as one of its main ingredients suffering — and why even want to get married if to be successful at it means to suffer? But these words never left me, bobbing up every now and then from the flotsam and jetsam of my brain. Until, one day, it dawned on me what the statement meant for me. On that same day, I also realized that I do want the gift of marriage. In fact, that is my Christmas wish this year.  My view is not a biblical view, but I don't think it strays too far from it. To be holy is to be set apart from others, as God is, in his perfect goodness and righteousness, in his perfect love (yes, this is biblical; yes, I know I said I wasn't looking at it biblically).  The

Visita Iglesia

My mom and I went with my sister, her family, and the in-laws to their Visita Iglesia for the Holy Week. I'd never done this before, but I had such an interesting time, and I think I'd like to do this again next year. We didn't do the Stations of the Cross, though. We just prayed and lit candles. A lot of candles. Here's a list of the churches we visited. Recto The University Belt churches, all of which are within walking distance to each other. The path to all those churches were lined with vendors hawking all sorts of things, from food, like calamares (I'd never seen calamares being sold as street food before! Lucky U-Belt kids!), all-sorts-of-balls-and-the-like (chicken, squid, fish, kikiam , and kwek-kwek ), to bottled water and flavored beverages, to candles and religious paraphernalia. 1. The San Beda Church , which I loved for the gilt of gold on the statues and the ceiling, and because once a Bedan, always a Bedan, though I didn't go to San Beda

Dream: Disaster

Last night's dream. This is a long one. I was in a management class that suddenly became a cooking class. The teacher whipped up this Italian dish with pasta, meat and some mushrooms and vegetables. "Would anyone like to have this?" she asked us. Nobody replied. A bit miffed, she handed it to the student in front of her: me. The dish looked delicious, actually, so I stood up and went around the classroom to get everyone to try it. Some of my classmates feigned interest, and some didn't bother to hide their annoyance, but most got some of the food. The plate was soon empty, even for me, so I went back to my seat. The teacher, who'd been watching me serve her dish, asked, "Why do you have blood on the seat of your pants? Do you have your period?" Surprised, and suddenly anxious, I whispered, "I just finished my, um, girly thing, ma'am, but I'll go check. I might have just sat on something that looks like blood." I saw what looked like blo