Old Clothes
Thirty shirts and polos, five pairs of pants. They’re stashed unceremoniously into big plastic bags, to be taken by dad to the province, over the sea and the mountains, aboard the wind, soaring over birds and clouds alike.
Seems like a grand journey for little things disposed of without compassion, taken from my cabinet to be given to province folk. The moment the poor things were removed from their dark confines and tried on for the last time, only to be cast into the lot of undesirables, is a moment they could have exclaimed, “Oh, the injustice!”
Certainly, they have a case against me. For they were the clothes which people knew me for, the cover by which people judged the book. These were the clothes which absorbed the essence of their master and friend without a protest, even their fresh-from-the-store scent gave way to the odor of sweat, smog, and grime.
Some of them would be more vocal in crying foul than the others. They would be the two trusty pairs of cargo pants (my high school staples), the boastful ‘elephant’ pants of early college, and the humble olive-green polo I wore on my first day in the University.
For this felony I’ve committed, I can imagine hearing a few cries of joy, a few sighs of relief, coming from clothes who found themselves safely back within the cabinet — the faded, shrunken red pants I took to ABS-CBN for tapings and workshops, the innocent grade school intramurals shirt (which miraculously still fits me after eight years!), and, oddly enough, the orange-beige polo shirt I wore on the day my fairy tale with Her ended, a shirt I have no intention of wearing again.
Now, as I stare at the cabinet (slightly more roomy, bereft of a few years of life), I can picture other people gaily trying on the clothes, some branded, many bought from discount stores. Without doubt, the trusty cargo pants, boastful ‘elephants’, faded shirts, and rarely-used polos will be absorbing new essences, recording new memories, writing new histories.
Somehow, for a reason I can’t really fathom, I feel a little pang of loss. Not material, but of another form.
But then, c’est la vie — rediscover the old, dispose of the years, live the new.
Seems like a grand journey for little things disposed of without compassion, taken from my cabinet to be given to province folk. The moment the poor things were removed from their dark confines and tried on for the last time, only to be cast into the lot of undesirables, is a moment they could have exclaimed, “Oh, the injustice!”
Certainly, they have a case against me. For they were the clothes which people knew me for, the cover by which people judged the book. These were the clothes which absorbed the essence of their master and friend without a protest, even their fresh-from-the-store scent gave way to the odor of sweat, smog, and grime.
Some of them would be more vocal in crying foul than the others. They would be the two trusty pairs of cargo pants (my high school staples), the boastful ‘elephant’ pants of early college, and the humble olive-green polo I wore on my first day in the University.
For this felony I’ve committed, I can imagine hearing a few cries of joy, a few sighs of relief, coming from clothes who found themselves safely back within the cabinet — the faded, shrunken red pants I took to ABS-CBN for tapings and workshops, the innocent grade school intramurals shirt (which miraculously still fits me after eight years!), and, oddly enough, the orange-beige polo shirt I wore on the day my fairy tale with Her ended, a shirt I have no intention of wearing again.
Now, as I stare at the cabinet (slightly more roomy, bereft of a few years of life), I can picture other people gaily trying on the clothes, some branded, many bought from discount stores. Without doubt, the trusty cargo pants, boastful ‘elephants’, faded shirts, and rarely-used polos will be absorbing new essences, recording new memories, writing new histories.
Somehow, for a reason I can’t really fathom, I feel a little pang of loss. Not material, but of another form.
But then, c’est la vie — rediscover the old, dispose of the years, live the new.
slipped from the pen of Corsarius at 3:35 PM
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27 Comments:
tapings? workshops? ano ka, artista? bwahahaha.
light, medyo lang naman. grade school pa ako noon..hehe..
my mom reminds me all the time that if i give away, new ones will always come..:)
enjoy the weekend! :)
really? true? omg. a star in our midst! =)
your mom's advice rings true, yayam. new clothes, new memories ;)
nge! light, antagal na nun! :P
hmmm emotionally touching but look at the dark crevices of your wardrobe and you may find something new...on the otherside of the lens. :-)
Somehow, for a reason I can’t really fathom, I feel a little pang of loss. Not material, but of another form.
But then, c’est la vie — rediscover the old, dispose of the years, live the new.
That's how I feel whenever my computer breaks down when I didn't even back-up my files. >:)
Back-up?! Whazthat?
gari, i wonder what would i find? secrets do lurk in every nook and cranny of our house, hehe..
that's how i feel too, quel. the only thing more frustrating when that happens is my own stupidity of not having backed up the files! :P
(What's that white name at the sidebar doing??)
My old clothes are in the lowest drawers of my closet. And right now I don't see myself wearing them. Mounds of old clothes from all of my family members are stashed somewhere, too, without hopes of getting worn either.
But I'm wearing my (dead) grandmother's thick jacket, painted with dullly-hued flowers. (A few days ago I had worn a knitted poncho-like sweater underneath it, also owned by her.) It's a bit large for me, but lately I've been trembling in the cold sala as I type things like these just as dawn breaks. :(
Then there are certain blouses I borrowed from my mom that are so tight that she was even more anorexic than I am when she was my age!
Anyway. I think I want to give up staying up late now.
i gave away all my stuffed toys except for one. it didnt hurt at all.in fact, i voluluntarily gave it away..
but realizing how much i gave away, i felt sad. but to know it would be in better hands then they (the stuffed toys)would surely be happy.
nice blog ah..link exchange?
hmmm...secretive family, i must say. wonder how would it feel like a holmes in every nook and cranny of corsarius house...
how 'bout profiteering in garage sale? hehehe. :-)
ia, the white name's a hopeful candlelight. ;) at least, you do have something that connects you to your grandparents...maybe you should try putting on three jackets at the same time.
btw, i agree -- let's practice some good sleeping habits from now on, eh? (as if that's possible in the thesis homestretch.)
thanks, jackie. now that you mention it, i remember giving my own toys..i was kind of hesitant at first, but i knew that i wouldn't have anymore use for the things. you said it -- they would be in better hands. btw, sure, i'll link you up. thanks again.
gari, well, it's secretive nature is hampered by the fact that we live in an apartment unit. no loud word escapes the attention of our neighbors. hm, garage sale? pwede rin.. ;)
Hi... yeah ganun talaga... we lose some of ourselves so that others may live and when we lose ourselves then we start to gain... hehehe... so r u an artista? I used to be a PA for shows like "All About Men" and "Bodyhunt 2004"... one of my "regretted" years of my life but those days r fun kahit sobrang pagod...
theres no point holding on to one's old clothes. i give away mine every now and then. its a good thing that u do. i knw certain people who burn their old clothes since they believe that they would be giving away their luck to the new wearers of those clothes...
salamat sa payo, noelg. tatandaan ko ang iyong mga sinabi.
artista? not really, andy. been a long time since I've faced the camera (and i mean, a real TV camera). how I looked then is very much different to how I look now. "regretted"? bakit naman, hehe...
you're right, poison. about burning those clothes...hm, seems like strange to me. but to each person his own beliefs. :)
C'mon, bud. It must only be that orange-beige polo shirt that you're very sentimental about. Not even. It's really Her! Dinadaan mo pa sa mga damit-damit, eh. Kalimutan mo na sya. Dami pa babae dyan. LOL!
i think the reason why my writing somehow pierces your hard shell is that despite the strong, cold and unattached exterior, deep inside we're both dramachines. sort of like a secret identity. we feel strongly for simple things and attach meanings to everyday experiences. and this post attests to that.
and i'm flattered that you thought of my writing somehow similar to yours. you write so well. (and more frequently than i do) thanks for that. :)
* and to little light-- nakita ko na si corsarius. cute sya. ;) uuy corsair, nagblush :D
that's interesting.. did tapings and workshops at ABS CBN? bibo sigurong bata noon. well, di naman malayo, it shows in the writing.
there are clothes that one cant almost let go, like some people who mattered to us for some time...
LOL! abaniko, you made me laugh with that one. well, consciously i can attest to my innocence of the matter. but subconsciously might be another thing, hehe...
tita bing, tama po kayo. bibong bata noon, haha. just a couple of shows. kiddie ones at that.
hera...er, uh, um...[stammers]. just kiddin. sobra ka naman! my brown skin hides the blush ;)
and i'm flattered that you were flattered. believe me. thanks, queen.
hm, dramachines...that's the first time i've heard the word. tis a beaut. and so is the description you gave it.
your dad and my dad could party and get together to send all our clothes to people we barely know :D
i tagged you! hope it's ok.
i should give more of myself away. you're awfully generous, corsaire.
zc’est la vie!!!
great idea, claudzki!. "the claudzki and corsarius charity center". c-to-the-4th ;)
thanks, tita bing! no problem.
you should give more of yourself away? trans dearie, that will be a dream come true for many men. hehe.
as they say, let's live life, nina! :)
Mai, yes, I think I remember that.
Somethings might not seem to hold so much value for us until the time comes when we're about to be separated from them. Other people might say, "but it's just a petty little thing". you and i know that's crap -- memories aren't petty little things. :)
I've had a similar situation, this time with comic books. Not those DC and Marvel ones -- just the cheap, "Funny Komiks" you can buy by the streets. I have a whole Balikbayan box full of them -- they were a great source of joy for me back in grade school.
My dad wanted to throw them out (i.e. give them to the bote-and-bakal boys), but I refused, to the point of being quarrelsome. I'm one who's loathe to let go of memories. Fortunately, my dad surrendered. :)
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