On Grammar, Photos and Memory: The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond

(In which I learned and remembered.)

***

I finished the book earlier than I was able to buy the next or have the tests and progress reports ready. I think I owed it to one sleepless night. But I don’t regret it. This is one of the books that you can’t just put down. It doesn’t have a very complicated plot not equally complicated characters in personality and in number. At first I find it a little boring since everything only revolves around sentences that go like “There is a girl. Here name is Emma. One moment she’s with me, and then she’s gone.” But then I found out that it is indeed the only thing that drives Abby Mason – the mystery of a child’s disappearance. And the search starts from that fateful day at Ocean Beach and it is also the same place she returns to after a failed search. My interest in the story builds up as she finds clues that will lead her to the missing child. All throughout the story she tries to unravel not only the secrets surrounding the incident but also her life and the mystery of the human memory.

The Year of Fog tells the story of a woman’s restless heart and incredible determination. When everybody else gave up and everything seemed to be useless, she always finds a way to get her closer to Emma. And even if she doubts her memory and realizes that it is a terrible traitor, she learns that there is nothing else she could rely on but her ability to recall the past. The search goes on and she later finds out that losing something may mean losing everything and possible reunions may lead to a painful departure.

***

Not only did this book enlighten me about memory; it has also challenged or should I say, reinforced, my knowledge in English grammar.

Here’s the situation: Abby Mason went to see a hypnotist to help her remember things that might have the clue as regards to Emma’s whereabouts. She’s looking for a detail, whatever form it may take, however little it is. All she needs is to find Emma and she is willing to do everything.

I sink into the recliner, feeling at an immediate disadvantage. Dr. Shannon is high up, in her hardback chair, while I’m down low with my knees in the air. “Before we begin, you should know a couple of things,” she says, staring at me with a disturbing intensity. “First, memory is a deep sea.”

I nod, mesmerized by her pantsuit, her whimsical ideas about color, wondering where she got the idea that orange is the new black.

“Second, one cannot conquer memory, just as one cannot conquer the sea. One may dive into it, explore, but one may not own it. Understand?”

I nod again.

“Third, one must always come up for air. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help you dive in, then I’m going to lead you up for air.”

“Okay.”

- The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond
Chapter 54, pages 245 - 246

I got mesmerized by the way Dr. Shannon makes Abby understands the complexity of this task. But I thought she should know a couple of things. So when I saw the word third, I came up for air; then submerged myself again into the words.

What? Three is a couple?

I was reading it while my student was answering an activity. I couldn’t contain my disbelief that I told him what I saw, which turned out to be a bad idea since he got more confused.

I ran an internet search and found out that “a couple of” could be used for more than one thing but not more than three. In that case, I’d rather use “a few” when it’s three and use “a couple of” when it’s two.

Settled.

***

Four of the remaining kids left for home yesterday. And several times during my class with Judah, kids knocked on the door and asked us to write on their journal some farewell messages. I was never good at goodbyes and as expected, I pulled out the “Nice to meet you and take care” trick. It’s an overused message anyone writes on anyone else’s scrapbook.

Charlotte, Sandy’s friend, knocked on our door and displayed her digital camera once in our room. She asked me to pose and I did, just to get it over with. Then it’s Judah’s turn to smile to the blinding flash. He hesitated and the two argued in Korean.

“Aysh!” Jude protested and shoved the camera away.

“Why?” Charlotte asked, with her distinct childish East Asian accent.

“I don’t want,” Judah replied and thumbed his book. Charlotte was more persistent this time.

“I have to! You have to!”

“Why?” Judah nodded

“If not, I will forget!”

I swear that at that moment, I remembered Abby Mason.

Photographs represent our endless battle against time, our determination to preserve a moment. . . I have a hunch that our obsession with photography arises from an unspoken pessimism; it is our nature to believe that good things will not last.

We put such faith in this flimsy mnemonic device, a moment written in light. But photos provide a false sense of security. Like our own flawed memory, they are guaranteed to fade. Over time, the contrasts within a photo diminish, the contours soften, the details blur. We take photographs in order to remember, but it is in the nature of a photograph to forget.

- Chapter 15, page 157

***

Most of the people I know will tell me I have a good memory. But I don’t tell them that for them to retain their status in my memory bank, they either have to be positively or negatively special. My memory seldom tolerates those in between

The first time I met Alvin was when I bought this book. Before going home, we sat down and rested on an empty seat at the mall’s food court as we removed the price tags on the items we bought. That was less than a week before Christmas and we secured some gifts for people who matter. In my case, they are my newfound friends, my best friend and my family. In Alvin’s they are his nieces and nephews. Well, they were the ones for whom he bought the books.

While we were talking, it was plain that he is a comedic person. And I was an easy audience. I narrated and he made fun of Quasimodo. Then we talked about the poser from Radius. He told me about their conversation a week ago and I was able to remind him some parts of the story when his memory fell short.

He looked at me and grinned.

“Wow. You have a photogenic memory!” he said and motioned his index finger as if to say “You got it right!” then he smiled.

I shook my head, laughing. I told you I am an easy audience.

I’d Rather Be Blogging

(In which it is surprisingly painless this time.)

***

How pathetic is it to still be thinking of the circumstances and people that reside nowhere else but the past? To still keep the memories properly documented? And worse, to still be writing about it? No one needs to tell me I’m just a breath away to being a total freak. But after all the negative things I’ve experienced, looking back still gives me some reasons to celebrate today:

1. I have a safe database of my old poems. That’s the reason why I keep your e-mails, baby.
2. My internal “strength counter” tells me I’m closer to being stronger… as well as to being numb and indifferent.

I remembered to check out my Myspace for some poems and found out that one of my favorites was posted on Bebo. I already forgot the password and had to reset it. However, the computer illiterate side of me has forgotten that some contents might be lost after failing to log in for a long time which includes that beloved blog post. That’s when I remembered to check out my old email address for the comment he has posted on that poem. Oh! The beauty of technology!

Forbidden

My whole being started to dissolve into this endless space
Into this endless square space where I feel my own breath surrounding me.
Suffocating me.
And you were there –
you were always there
to redeem me from my solitude only to plunge me deeper into sin
with such naiveté and warmth.

I wonder if you could see through my mask
which has become thinner time after time.
If you’ve seen the reality,
I should be cursed – as well as you.
We should be cursed.
For in your presence, hell is a garden of roses and butterflies
where we dance with the wind and birds and the leaves.
It is only when you leave that hell becomes hell.
I’ll see you again, to redeem me from my solitude
and if you return only to plunge me deeper into sin,
I would be sweetly submissive.
For what I couldn’t spare is
the present
this perfect moment –
Now.

October 5, 2008
2:40 PM

I couldn’t resist the temptation of looking at his profile which reminds me of the vestiges of words and actions that seemed real once upon a time.

On the title: I read an SMS message quoting The Reader’s Digest about being vocal about your problems to people.

“Do not tell everyone about your troubles. Half of them don’t care and half of them are happy that it happened to you.”

Scary.

But hey… it’s a blog viewable by anyone!

Once upon a time, there was a conversation...

(In which the discovery of the song reminds me of a musical and tearful night.)

***

Can you sing for me?

What should I sing?

Anything. I want to hear your voice.

Okay…

Thank you.
And you? Can you sing for me?
Yes…

To Heaven
By: 조 성모.

괜찮은거니 어떻게 지내는거야 나 없다고또 울고 그러진

않니 매일 꿈속에 찾아와 재잘대던 너 요즘은 왜 보이질

않는거니 혹시 무슨 일이라도 생겼니 내게 올 수 없을

만큼 더 멀리 갔니 니가 없이도 나 잘 지내 보여 괜히

너 심술나서 장난친거지 비라도 내리면 구름뒤에 숨어서

니가 울고 있는건 아닌지

걱정만 하는 내게 제발 이러지마 볼 수 없다고 쉽게

널 잊을수 있는 내가 아닌걸 잘 알잖아

혹시 니가 없어 힘이 들까봐 니가 아닌 다른 사랑

만날 수 있게 너의 자릴 비워둔 것이라면 그 자린

To Heaven
By: Jo Seong Mo

Are you alright? How are you these days?
You aren’t crying because I’m not there, are you?
You used to come in my dreams every night
But why can’t I see you these days?

Did something happen?
Did you go far away so that you can’t come to me?
Are you mad because I try to look like I’m fine without you?
So you are just playing a joke on me as well?

When it is raining, are you hiding behind a cloud and crying?
All I do is worry about you, please don’t do this to me
You know how I can’t easily forget you just because I can’t see you

In case I was having a hard time without you
I kept your place empty so that I can find a new love
But all I can fill in that place is despair

Don’t be sorry; even if you are far way
Your image from before is stilled filled up inside of me
It won’t take that long until we meet in that place where there’s no goodbye
Until than, just wait for me a little longer

translation by: eebyul (also credit: aheeyah.com)

Thank you..

If there is anything I should be thankful for having bittersweet memories, it is the reminder that once, a melody was sung for me. If it is in anticipation of the future that seems so impossible to triumph over, I am still grateful that we had the past. And I believed him when he said his name means a road to heaven. I still do.

Hot and Cold

(In which the wind gave me another memory.)

***

I have had so much hatred to all those FX drivers who have been going through the same route where no passengers get off. Yeah. I like the view in Rainforest Park but the heavy traffic in that area makes me forget all about the beautiful sceneries. It’s really good to stare at all those trees and lovely houses while you get yourself stuck in the heavy traffic due to road repairs and stuffs but if you know you are just minutes away from being late, you won’t enjoy the view.

Today, I am lucky to have a driver who deviates from the usual routine but unlucky enough to have the wrong co-passenger at the wrong time.

So the driver didn’t pass Stella Mariz but the Rosario area. However, a man made an early reminder that he will be getting off at The Medical City. It wasn’t a big deal at first and because I have this very terrible cold and a slight fever, I dozed off. I woke up from my deep slumber just in time to witness a very delightful scene – a road turned into a parking lot. And yes, you guessed it right. I didn’t come to work on time today – again. In fact, the traffic was really bad I have to walk a block to save my paycheck from further deductions.

As I got off from the vehicle, I felt the wind – it was both hot and cold. Whether the feeling was because of my feverish condition, I don’t know. However, I suddenly got the feeling that I want to go somewhere with trees. Somewhere serene. Somewhere quiet and peaceful. It was as if nature can heal me in a way that medicines can’t. And whether it was my body I desire healing for, I don’t know.

I was stuck with that feeling even hours later. What is there in nature that keeps me coming back? Is it the wind? Is it the noises from children running and laughing? Is it the birds chirping? Is it the butterflies that kiss your palms? Is it the tender hands that hold you when you walk? Is it the eyes that watch over your movement? Is it that distinct, foreign voice that shouts your name when you get too far to be held and watched over? Is it the happy memory of sitting under the shade of a tree with a good book and your lover’s head on your lap? Or is it everything?

Or maybe it is just my fever.

On a Chessboard

(In which I rest my survival in Life’s cruel game on a flat surface of white and green.)

***

The second unit of the academy is filled with busy people making do with the very sufficient time left before coming up with a presentation tomorrow. I, together with the other teachers who just came from a pictorial with a student who’s leaving, trotted towards the other aisle to see how the students’ rehearsal was doing when a petite, slim girl wearing a baby pink blouse approached me with widely open arms. I was actually surprised to see her since I thought she was supposed to be in school today. Nevertheless, I received her with equally wide-open arms.

“Hi! How are you?” Emily said.

“I’m fine. Thank you” I said, and followed it up with a cliché that I’ve mastered in this profession. “And you?”

“Yeah, good. Oh! –“

I automatically knew that there’s something juicy she wants to share. Then she began laughing like something’s tickling her and she looked around. She grabbed my arm and led me to my room. The door wasn’t locked and we entered. I leaned on the backrest of my chair and waited for her to speak.

“Tomorrow, “See-You” will have a sports fest. And they’re gonna join.”

I waited.

“You know, Rain, Joe and…?” she looked at me, waiting for the dreaded name to be mentioned. I did.

She beamed. “Yeah, they’re gonna join the sports fest! Rain, is going to play taekwondo, Joe will be swimming and he will be playing – “

“Soccer?”

“No. Chess! Walang soccer.” and she laughed heartily.

“Not a bad choice. “ I said, smiling. “He’s good at that. But he said he rocks in soccer. (I remembered him bragging that when I see him play soccer, I’ll be oh so proud.) Were they required?”

“No, they just wanted to join. But I was laughing at him because he wants to play chess. So I told him ‘No one’s gonna watch you. Your game is so boring.’ That’s really funny!”

“Tell him I am.” And we both laughed.

“When was it?”

“Tomorrow.”

I nodded and looked at her. The smile from her hearty laugh remained. I refrained from asking more about him and the chess game.

“How’s school?”

“Oh! Terrible! You know? I have English 1 subject and I thought it’s madali. But no! I’m wrong! It’s mahirap!” she exclaimed, placing the stress on the wrong syllable when she pronounced the last word. She told me stories about how she thinks of me every time she has difficult essay homework and that she should have listened to my lessons more carefully when we’re talking about essay witting. I managed to respond to her inquiries while my heart is sinking. We went out of the room and were welcomed by the gazes of the students who were practicing how to sing Michael Jackson’s “Heal the World”.

I walked slowly to my other room. It seemed like the students are so busy doing their stuff that they don’t mind skipping classes. I sat down on my chair waiting for Jean. I thought for a moment. How long that moment seemed for I have went back to my old safe of memories within that short span of time.

He is good at playing chess. I discovered it when I asked him if he wants to play Scrabble.

“No. I like chess. You like chess?”

“I used to.”

“I want to play chess.”

“I don’t think we have a chessboard here. You should bring yours.”

“I don’t have. In Korea.”

When we finally get a friend to bring her chessboard, we played. Mine was black. And in a matter of six pieces, I lost. Not that he’s an expert for beating me but I don’t have to be an expert to see that he knows how to play. And he plays well. We never had a serious chess match after that. Either I get bored upon arranging the pieces or I give up at the first sign of defeat.

Once, he and his friend Deum had a bet. Chess match. Best of three. We were sitting around a huge rectangular table. Each player has their cheering crowd around them. Or should I say, Deum has his. I was sitting on the neutral corner. He looked at me with sweet, confident eyes.

“Who will win, you think? Me?”

“I think he’s better. We’ll see.”

“Aish! Ok. I’m alone. But I’ll win.” and he flashed a smile. It must be the kind-that-charmed-women-all-over-South-Korea sort of smile which Kaye has been telling me about.

The game ended. He lost and charged the other player of cheating, which Deum responded with “No! Touch move!” and was answered by another “Aish!” and an appealing sideward look at me. “Yeah. Touch move.”

One more “Aish!” was muttered.

The second round ended with a score of 1 – 1. The crowd was dispersed when the bell rang. Everyone was eager to go home. Deum gave him a thumb down. “I was just kind.”

“No! I won!” and he looked at me. “Right?”

“You did now. But it’s a tie. You still have one more game. So who won?” I inquired with a smirk. "No more. Time is finished." Deum responded.

I was facing the empty seat of Jean and I asked myself again. Who won? Come to think of it, everything that happened was like a chess match with crystal pieces. Mine was black. And I cringe when I look at the state of my game. I should have castled. My queen was gone. My rooks were gone. And I’m counting on a Bishop and a Knight, struggling for my pawns to get to other side.