I'm once again stuffing a wrangle change of shirts, a hat, a pinhole camera, coupla shorts into a backpack and taking a swing in the dark that somehow it'll all match.
But who cares, right? Where I'm going, all senses -- fashion or time-wise -- won't matter and the only thing that would, would be that I'm free and on the road again.
Tonight I'll wonder where I'll be resting my head. Perhaps my pack as pillow, my tattered copy of Gaiman, or against something that would resemble something familiar to home.
Ah, but I'll be more than happy to make a bed anywhere and equally be happy to just wake up.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Grandfathers are dear to me. Everytime I see a friendly looking senior, I'm always reminded of my abuelito and how much I miss having him around.
He died when I was eight. He loved his grandchildren, that I know much. Afternoons when he was spending summer at home were my favorite. Everyday at around four, he'd pick up his cane and some loose change and he'd take me for an afternoon stroll. We loved walking around the vast empty land near our house. Back then it was just streets that lead to nowhere, wildflowers, grass, and no houses yet. We'd listen to crickets and he'd let me run up down the road, sometimes running through the dried grass that reached up to my waist. He never told me 'no,' nor told me to 'not go there' like my mother would. I knew that even if I ran and ran and ducked and ducked, he'd always be just around the bend. Or, sometimes we'd just walk and he'd ask me how was school and if I needed help in my math homework or if I had exams coming up and that I should start on my books when we get home. He was always a stickler for doing homeworks properly -- Lolo was a math teacher before he was drafted into the army to fight the Japanese. I'd always remind him that it was summer and I didn't have to study. He'd just laugh in his rich grandfatherly laugh and pat my head. I'd laugh back and hold his hand.
Now, the empty lot that held such wonderful memories of my grandpa is no more. The grass and flowers gave way to houses with fences and the roads now lead to other villages... And memories of my grandfather would crop up whenever I see old people like this guy across from me at a cafe.
I wondered briefly what my grandfather would be doing right now if he were still alive. I'm sure he'd still admonish me for not doing a better job with my math grades even years after I've graduated from university.
I wondered whether instead of homework, what kind of questions he'd ask me. Were you scared with that boat ride you took? Whatever happened to that nice boy who brought you flowers? Did you send that post to your grandmother?
I only wish I was old enough to take him out for a cup of coffee and answer questions that would have been asked.. and to share stories of his I wouldn't have understood when I was a girl.