The Boy Who Lived

I am certainly no Harry Potter in any case whatsoever, not even an inch. I’m pretty sure I’m not blessed with magic powers nor a place with extraordinary beauty, but I never said my life is not as magical as Harry’s, mine is just far more realistic and believable.

There is no conjugated-spell-that-reverberates story of my early childhood stage, but there is a catastrophic scene that  is embedded in my memory. All I can remember is that the sky grew darker, there are several bangs, the air doesn’t only smell ashes, it’s really ashes. We are on the way home riding our family jeepney when this suddenly occur. We can’t barely see the road, it’s really catastrophic. The wind shield is full of dusty-ashes-turned-clay that even the wind shield wiper can’t  agitate. You can’t really ponder whether it’s daytime or nightime already, it’s really confusing.

These scares us all, a family stranded in a hell on earth, don’t know our chances at all.

Funny, but this is the scenario that reminds me of my childhood, probably the first thing that is really embedded deep down in my memory. Not my first walk, neither of my first talk and our place of residence. This is our story when we battle it out on our way home with the simultaneous emergence of Mt. Pinatubo’s eruption.

I barely turned 1yo that time, since the eruption occurred on June of 1991 leaving behind thousands of casualties and millions of agricultural and infrastructural damages. It’s a great memory for my first one, of course an understatement. It’s great because of it’s historical significance and extremities, but understatement because of it’s damaging rage and high perils.

Fragmented as it gets, I don’t know when my awareness of the event starts, all I can remember is the struggling windshield neither my awareness when it ends at all. It came with no explanation and vanishes with no explanation. Just fragment.

It’s so surreal that you can’t distinguish if it’s real or not. Seventeen years are gone, yet the memories still lingers. I’m so sorry if I can’t narrow down the words to use rather than this vague writing. What else can you expect from a memory from a 1 year old kid who does not even know the meaning of the words to be defined?

That memory starts it all, I know from that day all other subsequent memories follows. Well, it can be accounted as the memory of The Boy Who Lived in that case I’m the boy and as I said in the beginning, mine is far more real and believable (?)

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~ by Dyepri Budoy on July 7, 2008.