Remind Me Again

023

Hello! Hello!

I know that last chapter was a bit sad. This story was supposed to be “very sad” but I can’t find the genre “drama” on the side list. Anyways, I made this chapter on the day of the storm surge.

(´⊙ω⊙')！I know. While tree branches and roofs fly, I’m in my room making the best of my time distracting myself by writing this chapter after praying the rosary with my family. Yolanda has been very bad and it had caused the lives of the many especially those people in Leyte, Philippines. I dedicate this chapter to them.

We are Filipinos. We are strong. We always develop the negatives into positives. Kaya natin to mga Noypis! :)

More Power and Without Wax,

B.B

***

Now playing on RMA’s track list:

♪♪ Cat and Mouse by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus♪♪

023  (Tamara’s POV)

“The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we’d done were less real and important than they had been hours before.”

~The Fault in our Stars; John Green

The Amnesiac Files

September 12, 2012

Entry #99

     Dear Journal,

     I come to remember memories of the past with the price of losing the one I love the most. The fact that I fear of losing him then, I have lost him now.

***

The hole in my binder felt like a hole in my heart.

I’ve tried to mend it with the help of a Scotch tape. It did pull the pages together but it was never the same. It never will be. It’s the same thing when people come into our lives. They leave footprints in our hearts and when they leave we’re never the same.

Two bullets had marred my binder. One at the center and one at the left side. It looked like the hole burned through the pages from the outside but my binder was still lucky to have only punctured half the papers. That was how I was able to write on my 99th entry. Somehow it had comforted me to write on its flimsy white pages even though I cannot hide the fact that some of the pages were badly frayed.

 There’s a part of me that says: There’s no use to write anymore because there’s no one to remember. But somehow it gave me the comfort that through these ruined pages; the binder might have been punctured but not fully destroyed. And with the intact pages sealed within my binder, there’s still a chance of someone to remember.

I turn the page and I see a folded piece of paper attached by a Scotch tape. Curious as Dennise with Marky’s Pandora box, I opened the folded paper. It turns out; it was more than just one piece of paper. There were actually three papers folded into one. The first paper contained a poem written in baffled handwriting. Above it was a short message addressed to me.

 

Tamara,

I know I am not a skilled Shakespeare because obviously I wasn’t born in England. But I can assure you that I was the one who solemnly made this poem. Trust me, TweeTams, I tried to make this sound very romantic—if not—then at the least presentable to you.  And I did try to make it rhyme (believe me) but I failed. I hope you like my magnum opus.