Written for an English assignment.
[pre]
At a time far and long gone, now just a fuzzy memory, like flicking through the still frames of an old photo book. It was a hot summer’s day, just another hot summer’s day, in the middle of the afternoon when the humid air seemed to breathe a life of its own. The year was 1996, and I was 3 years old.
I don’t recall exactly how I was then, but I can only imagine a hyperactive little kid who asked a lot of questions. my hair and eyes as black as they were and ever will be, and I can just reach the kitchen counter if I stood on my tiptoes. Perhaps talked a lot; some things change.
We lived in Bulacan, a suburb town of Manila, in a modest 1-story house. To as far back I can remember there’s this image of me sitting in our gray (and lumpy) living room sofa and playing with a tiny red pager. It was, after all, before cell phones became popular and replaced them, but to me, it was the coolest gadget ever. There was a screen that told you someone needs to be in contact you. It was exciting and amusing at the same time, because most of the time when a pager did go off, the person who has it was nowhere near a telephone to answer back. And so I remember just sitting there, my feet shuffling back and forth beneath me, the tips of my toes just barely skimming the vinyl of the floor, my fingers pushing the pager’s buttons. There was 3, a blue, a yellow and an orange, and each one had like a fake message it would say. As if someone would actually page me, it was just a toy after all; a real one would be pointless and expensive. And for a few minutes on end I would go to each one and pretend someone needs me very urgently, and that I would frantically look for a phone.
(beep)
942-2313
“So now look, as he looks desperately for a phone!”
Something of that nature.
Each button would be a different situation in my imagination. If it was blue, I was a doctor in the middle of operating on a pair of Siamese twins joined at the head, and the job was to separate them. 3 hours into it, with my hands all bloody, the pager goes off, and in fury and disgust, I take it and throw it at the wall. At yellow, I’m base jumping off a huge canyon, and when I try to grab the release of my parachute, the thing goes off, again. I go crazy, forget to release the parachute, and die a 1,000 foot death, with the unanswered pager till beeping at the ruins of my fall. Intense, though I’m quite sure I didn’t even know what Siamese twins were or what a canyon was at 3 years old. I just can’t remember what I did make up. I do know the pager took a beating with my clumsy hands.
As I look back, I’m amused by how easily I was entertained at that young age, yet at the same time, it’s more complicated, deeper than what it appears to be. I went on countless adventures with it, all of which I’ve forgotten by now, all with a simple toy. It kind of symbolizes the simplicity and innocence of childhood and how people grow from that as life goes on. I left a part of my life to that toy, and in turn, to its memory.
This, though, is all I remember of it. I sued to have a photo of me holding it with a big grin, but I’ve lost it since we’ve moved a lot. Funny, weird, corny, however it may sound, I’ll always remember that bright red thing, that link to my childhood, and my first memory.[/pre]
