There are the little things. The ones that bring back the most vivid memories.
Cal Cheese. The one snack my sister introduced me to when she was living with me in Cebu. She was on her way to become an accountant, and I was hurdling my first semester in law school. Those days when we were cramped up in a tiny room with so much on our minds.
TV Patrol. The peaceful nights at the dinner table where my father sat silently for minutes, eyes on his food, intently listening to the news. I would dread the pile of fish bones around his plate, knowing I’d have to wash the dishes after.
Sliding windows. The kind I had to close as I settled into my first college dormitory after seeing my father and brother drive away.
The top of a bunk bed. Where our youngest sister has made a home in. Underneath the worn mattress was the notebook filled with her thoughts, where I read about the things she could never say out loud.
Plastic drawers. The kind my mom grew up with and continues to buy. Where non-fitting clothes of yesteryear dwell, forgotten, but taking up space.
An empty air conditioner space. Just like the one I saw during my college enrollment. The day I swore I would do well. A reminder of broken promises and lost time.
A dark room during a hot afternoon. Where my brother hugged me, saying how he missed me. I was gone for only four hours.
Safari. The chocolate I asked my mom to buy for me that afternoon when we were waiting for our pictures to develop. She loved taking photos. There were so many memories worthy of remembrance. I especially love those involving her.
Bananas. The small kind. The ones I once told my father I liked. The ones he bought when I went home. Because he listened. He remembered. He cared.
It’s the little things. The triggers. And the memories that come with them.
It's a Ping Thing 