A Letter For Myself
March 16, 2001. My freshman year in the Ateneo was about to end. In our last English 14 meeting, our teacher, after summarizing what we have gone through the past five months, asked us to bring out pen and paper for one last writing activity: we have to write a letter addressed to ourselves. The letter should basically contain what we have learned throughout the semester, and to write what we feel that moment. After finishing our letters, she then gave each of us an envelope, and asked us to put our letters there, as well as to write our mailing addresses at the back. The letters will be sent to us after graduation, she informed us. Probably most of us forgot about the activity the week after, since the final barrage of exams already started.
Fast forward to the present. Last week, I woke up with a white envelope beside me (obviously someone wanted to give it to me, but the person fond me peacefully sleeping). No, it wasn’t another Landbank letter informing me of my available balance left. I looked at the back portion, and it took me about 5 seconds to recognize my own penmanship. This dumbfounded me for a moment, but, after some pondering, I realized that this might be the letter that our teacher promised to send. True enough, after opening, I found a back-to-back letter written in intermediate pad, written by and sent to myself. Before reading, I calculated how long I wrote it, and wow, the letter’s more than 6 years old. Then, I tried to recall the stuff I wrote, but I couldn’t remember a bit. Thrilled, that’s when I started reading.
I have to admit that I was disappointed about my letter’s content. Apparently, I did not take the exercise seriously. I think I assumed that my teacher would be reading the letters of the class, and this made me write sipsip comments for her. Also, the content of the letter is very exaggerated and sarcastic: I was wishing that the English block could take more classes together, when, in fact, I am not close to any of them. And I had to hold back nonexistent tears because of such “once-in-a-lifetime experience”. Wow. My letter is devoid of what I was really feeling back then.
On a positive note, there was unadulterated thrill before I opened the letter. I never felt that sensation in a long while. Also, it was fun to reminisce what happened to me in my freshman year, specifically in English, since my letter specified some events:
1) Our En11/12 teacher would ask a random person from the class to write one paragraph from his/her composition. After the student finished writing, he will then ask the rest of the class to edit the work. I was surprised (and relieved) that even my very fluent classmates had problems with their grammar and tenses. But I was most delighted when our works were made “tighter”: unnecessary phrases and metaphors were deleted to give way to simpler and more apt ones.
2) Our En 13 teacher made us read 8 novels – in one semester. Considering that I was a slow reader compared to the others, this was a nightmare for me. But of course, the rewards came later.
3) I had to do a small part in the play of our En 14 class. That was very unthinkable back then, since almost all the other actors were close friends already, and they can really act, while I was only volunteered for it since nobody else would. I played a priest with issues that I already forgot (I think gambling).
I am considering to write to myself again; I believe this is a healthy exercise. The letter from years ago can highlight the many changes that you have been through. An electronic version just wouldn’t do – it takes away some essential elements. Though I just can’t keep it in our home and read it five years after; it will guarantee a lesser experience, for the envelope’s sight will make you remember the stuff you wrote. Asking the post office to mail it to myself years after might only result to prolonged stares or laughter. Having someone to keep it for you might be the best alternative, provided that the person is very much trusted (and not a voyeur or a fledgling blackmailer), is still young and not forgetful, and can be traced when the time arises.
Past might be past, but we are equipped to go through them even for one last time.
Fast forward to the present. Last week, I woke up with a white envelope beside me (obviously someone wanted to give it to me, but the person fond me peacefully sleeping). No, it wasn’t another Landbank letter informing me of my available balance left. I looked at the back portion, and it took me about 5 seconds to recognize my own penmanship. This dumbfounded me for a moment, but, after some pondering, I realized that this might be the letter that our teacher promised to send. True enough, after opening, I found a back-to-back letter written in intermediate pad, written by and sent to myself. Before reading, I calculated how long I wrote it, and wow, the letter’s more than 6 years old. Then, I tried to recall the stuff I wrote, but I couldn’t remember a bit. Thrilled, that’s when I started reading.
I have to admit that I was disappointed about my letter’s content. Apparently, I did not take the exercise seriously. I think I assumed that my teacher would be reading the letters of the class, and this made me write sipsip comments for her. Also, the content of the letter is very exaggerated and sarcastic: I was wishing that the English block could take more classes together, when, in fact, I am not close to any of them. And I had to hold back nonexistent tears because of such “once-in-a-lifetime experience”. Wow. My letter is devoid of what I was really feeling back then.
On a positive note, there was unadulterated thrill before I opened the letter. I never felt that sensation in a long while. Also, it was fun to reminisce what happened to me in my freshman year, specifically in English, since my letter specified some events:
1) Our En11/12 teacher would ask a random person from the class to write one paragraph from his/her composition. After the student finished writing, he will then ask the rest of the class to edit the work. I was surprised (and relieved) that even my very fluent classmates had problems with their grammar and tenses. But I was most delighted when our works were made “tighter”: unnecessary phrases and metaphors were deleted to give way to simpler and more apt ones.
2) Our En 13 teacher made us read 8 novels – in one semester. Considering that I was a slow reader compared to the others, this was a nightmare for me. But of course, the rewards came later.
3) I had to do a small part in the play of our En 14 class. That was very unthinkable back then, since almost all the other actors were close friends already, and they can really act, while I was only volunteered for it since nobody else would. I played a priest with issues that I already forgot (I think gambling).
I am considering to write to myself again; I believe this is a healthy exercise. The letter from years ago can highlight the many changes that you have been through. An electronic version just wouldn’t do – it takes away some essential elements. Though I just can’t keep it in our home and read it five years after; it will guarantee a lesser experience, for the envelope’s sight will make you remember the stuff you wrote. Asking the post office to mail it to myself years after might only result to prolonged stares or laughter. Having someone to keep it for you might be the best alternative, provided that the person is very much trusted (and not a voyeur or a fledgling blackmailer), is still young and not forgetful, and can be traced when the time arises.
Past might be past, but we are equipped to go through them even for one last time.
posted by mardan at 11:12 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home