Forthnights

Windows into the past

Ok, so i know i said no post anymore. But last night, when i really should have been studying, i ended up writing this. Just couldnt resist it! So that's it for now, unless something comes up that makes my brain race and my fingers itch.

I was just going through my mothers room (formerly my room), clearing out some of the things here and there, throwing odds and ends, and tidying the mess my mother made of the place before she left.

I thought I would take just 15 minutes to clear the place, but I ended up taking almost an hour. One thing after another just started to catch my attention, things from the past, some recent, some ages ago. There was the my old secondary school workbook, with my old handwriting all over, scribbling notes from my subjects back then. Flipping through it, it really just opened my eyes as to how time truly flies.

Then, there was my toy Ferrari car that my father bought for me when I was 11 years old. Nothing fancy, just a small model with a spring inside that would make the car go forward after winding in backwards. But growing up not having any fancy, toys that was truly a dream come true. Then there were the really old things; the toy soldiers, aliens and monsters my brother and I used to play with as a kid. The last time we were clearing out the room, my brother and I could not bring ourselves to throwing out these gems from our childhood. As ordinary as they were, our imagination always ran wild, and since they were the only toys we had, we loved them to pieces. Then there were some old camera lenses belonging to my brother; they were obviously older than my brother and I, and it served to remind me that my dad too was once a photography buff. Hence my mothers disdain towards my own interest in the subject. Finally, and perhaps most nostalgically, old photographs.

Pictures of my brother in his teens, pictures of me as a 5 year old boy, and even one family portrait of my parents my brother and I taken when I was 7. My mother made the 2 of us wear matching pants and shirts, which I always hated, but nonetheless had to comply with. Growing up, almost everyone who saw the 2 of us liked to comment on us. My brother was tan and I was fair. My father would never fail to joke that he left my brother in the microwave too long, and me too short a time. Everyone said my brother looked like my father while I looked like my mother. There were also a couple of dozen pictures of my parents getting married, and of my mother when she was about my age now. Not to boast too much, but everyone who’s ever seen those photos would agree that my mother was a beautiful woman, and in her wedding dress, she simply looked stunning. My father on the other hand was a skinny chap with owl-like spectacles and a rather nerdy face. Its nothing short of amazing how he managed to find a catch in my mother. But as they say, most men look better as they age, and progressively my fathers face seasoned into a rather good looking guy by the time he was in his thirties and forties.

Its always an emotionally thing to do, going down memory lane. Many of the pictures were all part of my early life, and they remain invaluable. But looking at pictures of my parents, some even in black and white, is an entirely different experience. I have no direct relation with these moments, but the pictures present a window into a time and place long before I was born, of a time when my father was a young man like I am now, full of hope and energy. My mother was a sweet girl of 21, who seemed to be constantly surrounded by good friends. There was a picture of them on their honeymoon in Lake Toba, Indonesia, newly married. Who would have thought this is how it would have turned out.

It is really a sad story to write. All marriages start with love and promise. Its hard to conceive that 25 years later, this is how it would turn out. That my mother would fall into depression repeatedly over the next 20 years was tragic. That my father would leave her and the Christian ministry, convert his religion, only to remarry twice and divorce is beyond anybody’s guess. And in between, my brother and I were born, and we just had to somehow fit in all the turmoil. And still, the story continues until today.

To be honest, sometimes I become afraid. Afraid that I would some day make the mistakes my father made. I am after all his son, his blood runs through my veins, and possibly, the same weaknesses. What if I too become a philandering womanizer? What if I too make so many disasterous mistakes in my life, which ultimately cost me my marriage and happiness? Yet, I am sure when my father married that beautiful woman that would become my mother, and said his vows to her, he meant every single word of it, and he truly intended to stay with her till death do them part. What happened after that day that today would become like this?

Looking into my parents past, I wonder about my own future. How would my own future be? Will I walk the same path? Will I face the same temptations? Will I survive? As I learned, keeping promises can be one of the most important, yet hardest things to do in life. A promise kept is a trust earned, a love gained. A promise broken is a heart shattered, a faith stolen. I no longer dare to say “I promise” so easily. In fact, I try to avoid it all together. Things happen in between saying “I promise” to the time you fulfil it (if ever) that you just don’t have control over. Can you genuinely keep ALL your promises? What abut a promise of a lifetime? A promise we make in the form of a vow, to our partner, to society and to God. I would not say its impossible, but just look at how many marriages end up in divorce.

If my parents never married, all these suffering for the both of them would have been avoided, but then, neither would my brother and I be born. But its useless trying to hypothesize about what would have been. I read somewhere that said if man knew what lay before him in his journeys ahead, he would never have start. In a way, that is true. Not knowing if things will turn out fine for those I love is a scary thought. But I guess knowing what is ahead is perhaps the greater evil. My parents would never have married if they ever knew the future. I’m glad they didn’t; because then I would never have existed. At least that’s one good thing. Some day, old and gray, I hope to look back at my parents photos again, then of me and my life, and God willing, of my children and his children.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 7:09 pm Comments: 0