When “usual” changes

Just like always, the faded sounds of church bells and roosters gave away an early morning unfolding in the horizon. As in the beginning of any tale, the ideas in my head seemed pointless and confused.

I was 15, and like any teenager, I couldn’t care less about anyone I knew, except probably for some of my friends. It was a school day, and that meant an early morning to prepare for the long day ahead. I stopped, looked at my calendar, it was October 9th, a rather hot morning for that day I thought, I marked a smiley face on the box enclosing the date, and marched out of my bedroom thinking, “a new week, let’s do it”.

The signs of the regularity of a Monday morning were insignificant, almost unnoticeable, but for some reason, I stopped in the middle of the road on my way to school, I smelled the air and I noticed something about it that was not familiar: There was no wind; I could only feel the warmth feeling of the cement of the sidewalk reflecting the heat of the early rays of the sun on my face. There were no sounds, I couldn’t hear the early birds chirping nor see the crows on the fields looking for their breakfast; in a flash, I knew, but just as fast, I seemed to have forgotten and kept on walking, looked at my watch, it was 6:40 in the morning, I had to hurry.

My high-school years were good, I had goals, and several projects going on trying to rebuild my already damaged self esteem from my junior-high years, and I was doing a good job. Nothing had warned me about the build up of anticipation that I could sense, but that I just couldn’t read, I then focused on existing, on doing what I was supposed to be doing.

The long laboratory class room was filled with students, practice books, and hanging objects that were trying to clarify the physics behind periodic movements and the effect of deceleration, the scope of our job: The oscillatory movement. How ironic.

4 long cement desks containing 4 sets of lab sinks covered in cool white ceramic tiles worked as our operation central, two groups of 6 to 7 students would team up to complete the tasks of the class, first planning the experiments, then setting up the area and finally writing the reports on the thin paper booklets that our teacher would collect at the end of the class.

I looked at my watch again, 9:30 in the morning, I was already writing my report and I was happy to be 20 minutes early so then I could wonder around the school before my next class. Some teams were already done with their experiments and were setting their metal benches on top of their tables waiting to line up to be checked by the laboratory assistant to verify that they were clear to go.

One second later, I could sense it, the same feeling I had earlier that morning; the chatting sound of students became softer and softer until it was a distant murmur in the back of my head, I looked out, and noticed the trees were still, the usual morning breeze that came down from the mountains at this time of the day was absent, and then I looked at the grass fields behind the classroom, the crows had fled.

I chose to ignore my intuition, and continued writing my report; the voices of students combined with the clanking sound of benches against ceramic tiles became louder in my head, making it difficult to concentrate trying to describe why the “periodic movement” made my life easier. Then it came...




... Just like an angry tiger who finds a way out of his cage in the middle of a multitude, slowly, but firmly, the table began moving, and in my concentration, I was unable to react.

The sounds changed from friendly chats to silence, everyone’s brains connected in what our suspicions were soon confirmed it was an earthquake, from silence to doubt, to people trying to verify that they were really awake, and in a flash, the levels of adrenaline spiked and transformed into a collective hysteria, spreading from student to student; and just like that, I could hear it, coming from inside the earth, sounds of rolling stone about to emerge, I knew it was about to get worse.

I stood up, I looked, I could only see the faces of confusion combined with fear, then the shake changed, from an almost nursing oscillatory wave to a more chaotic Rayleigh wave that made everything shake and fall.

My heart began bumping, and my head started feeling warm, I sensed fear, and I could only think of getting out of the classroom, my senses sharpened to a point where the only thing I was able to focus was the exit; which began cramming with students rushing out of the building.

And in an instant, reacting to an instinct, I looked back to the part of the classroom nobody else was paying attention to, and there he was, my friend, motionless, unable to rush out like everybody else sitting on his wheel chair waving back at me. Instantly I came back, I re-gained control and rushed back inside the womb of chaos.

With an unfamiliar agility I jumped over his chair to the back of it, gained a firm grip to the handles and warned him it wasn’t going to get pretty; but then I saw the door, it was full of people trying to get out, and I apologized internally (as I wasn’t planning on announcing my intentions) for the running over that was about to occur as I had the firm purpose of using Edgar as a bull guard on my classmates.

…I didn’t do it, I mean, I didn’t need to do it as a strong hero-to-be classmate saw us and must have read the panic in my face, and instead yelled stronger than anyone else to announce Edgar had to get out too and extending his arms, managed to direct the cattle of students to a halt and let us get out of the classroom, we thanked him and re-arranged our priorities to survive.

The movement kept going, it seemed like hours, but only a few second had passed by. I was still pushing Edgar on the hall and considered dropping him like a truck dumps rocks, down the steps to a little garden in the center of the school, but cleverly, he talked me out the idea to proceed to plan B, which was to keep going towards the wheelchair’s ramps that would put us in safe open space.

We reached the ramp, and got our backs in the middle of the school’s patio; then I looked up and saw it, the trees moving like if hit by the winds of a strong hurricane, the poles of the flag swinging crashing against the lanterns on the green spaces, everyone there felt safe, but still vulnerable. We couldn’t do anything, just observe, dream, and fear.

2 minutes later, it was over. What seemed an eternity transformed into uncertainty, would it come back? Are we safe? Where is my family? Has it finally stopped?

And there we stood, as the new structure dictated by nature took place, the sky was still blue, the birds came back, and life begun rebuilding itself after an experience that I would always remember with fear, admiration and a smile.

SDIH (5/22/2008)

A morning's Drama

“The Cocoa is Over!” Cried the voice of an upset child from one side of the large wooden kitchen, “You can’t possibly think that I can go to school on a stomach without cocoa”

The nanny who observed in disbelief how little it took for the child in her care to transform into a brat responded calmly “All I can think, and hope for, is that in fifteen minutes, you will be off to school, and I will be free of your unreasonable demands” The nanny said in a clever mood.

Seconds later, the mother rushed into the kitchen looking for all the necessary items to start her day and hurry to work, and from the back of the kitchen a voice cried “There’s no cocoa!” The mother pretending she didn’t hear the cries continued its frantic search for the loose items that seem so indispensable in her large bulky bag

“I SAID THERE IS NOT COCOA” the voice cried in a laud, sharp annoying tone that made the mother stop and look straight to the Nanny expecting that she would take care of this drama; the nanny simply occupied herself under the sink pretending to look for cleaning supplies.

“Well my dear, I am afraid you will need to go to school without your cocoa, there is vanilla shake mix still on the fridge”

“Mother” The infant voice replied “There is a reason why Vanilla is still in there, and it is the same reason why it hasn’t disappeared in the last three years… IT SUCKS” The boy replied in a rather impertinent voice.

“That’s enough of that” The mother said firmly, “You will go to school at once, and if you continue with that behavior, you will be reduced ten percent of your weekly allowance”

Having a doctor for a mother made things difficult for the angry boy who laid with a very uncomforting expression on his face “You know, other children get straight numbers deducted from their allowances!, I am in third year mother! I can’t tell percentages”

The mother looked back with an incredulous look; her boy had the aggravating gift of saying the right things for the wrong reasons. “An that finishes this conversation, and by the way, your allowance will be five pesos less than usual” the mother expressed angrily “and that for you, is 10 percent of your allowance”

The boy looked annoyed and got his calculator out of his bag to double check her mother had done her calculations right, “Well I don’t care mother, now a day, with that kind of money you can get nothing good or worthy anyways!” the boy exclaimed in his angry voice.

On the back of the room, the nanny could not do anything but to think with anger that what the spoiled boy considered to be “the kind of money you couldn’t get anything good for” was her daily salary.

The alarm clock rang and the child was rushed with relieve by the nanny on to the waiting car to take him to school. The nanny remained still, looked into her pocket and saw the 20 pesos she had just pulled out of the brat’s piggy bank and thought to herself “And this my dear, is for this morning’s drama”. She smirked satisfied.

SDIH (3/4/2008)

Because I cared.

I walked the narrow paths of grassy fields
And often times, I would stop to observe
The story would be born in the centre of my brain
And the grass would be trees, and the dirt roads.

I could seat for hours, creating imaginary landscapes
Miniature worlds in which towns, cities, villages
And lonely homes would live
I would stop, and observe, because I cared.

I would create characters, and stories to live in,
I would use my head, stones, flowers, grass and weeds
As this world had to be perfect, and it usually was
When a story was born, it was alive for months.

I walked the stoned roads of my street
They were oceans, and the blocks of houses, islands
My friends lived there, and sometimes they didn’t
I would stop, and get inspired, and suddenly, I cared.

Hours would fly by, one by one, as I would see
And play, and imagine, and create
An imaginary world that would exist and be alive
Just and simply because I cared.

And just like that, the world around me changed
I was the stone, or the grass, and I was being observed
I lived the fantasy so many times, that one day
and there was no more to care for, I had changed.

SDIH (2./27/2008)

Sleepy head

A gentle breze from a dusty fan
periodic sounds of a tic and a tac
My brain is numb, without a spark
Sleepy head, sleepy mind

Erratic data from blury thoughts
Dazed memories, confused grow
state of limbo, of tic and tac
Sleepy head, sleepy mind

Sublime mumbles of someone out
Buzz around, up and down
Nothing has a shape, everything is blind
Sleepy head, sleepy mind

But then the puzzle seems clear now
Its moment is gone, that state is past
Sleepy stops, awake arrives
and fully conscious my head turns mind

SDIH (2007)