Almost Me

When I did a general cleaning of my closet last week, I found, among other things, my two old diaries which I kept hidden someplace where they are most secure. As I leafed through their pages, I couldn’t help smiling at the concerns of my once young heart and utterly innocent mind, telling myself over and over: "Ah, to be so young and so full of dreams! To be so innocent and so hopeful of a very bright future ahead."

Did I say smiling? Make that bursting with sporadic laughter, for from time to time, I would see a line or two that I find so corny and childish. Especially so when I saw what I’ve written at the second page of the newer of the diaries: it’s really the most kaloka of all. No, it’s not a secret about some crush or anything; it’s my Japanese welcome greeting. It’s so kaloka because I can no longer read it (it’s written in hiragana and katakana); and, if not for the translation I’d thankfully provided when I wrote it, I would not even know what it means anymore. Besides my official transcript of records and the cheap Nihongo grammar books I bought, it’s the only relic left of a gone era of my life: the time when I almost learned to speak and write Japanese.

I remember that I was taking up Japanese 10-11 when I wrote the greeting; I was in my first year, first semester in the university. We had not yet touched kanji at the time; hence, the use of hiragana and katakana (I’m sure I would have used kanji — just to show off to myself, because of course I don’t expect any other pair of eyes to see them besides mine — if I had already known how to write in those beautiful characters.)

During the past days, I kept wondering why I can't seem to forget my 're-discovery' of my diaries, especially the hiragana greeting. But I wonder no longer, now that I've remembered the disturbing thought that played in my mind as gazed at that diary entry. When I saw the greeting, I felt sorry that I did not truly learn Japanese; it would have been an asset. Then I realized that I was a piece of an undeveloped potential when I was in college — just an almost. I mean, I almost learned to speak Japanese, but didn’t (Alas, I should not have given up!). I was almost sent to Indonesia as a foreign exchange student, but wasn’t (Damn the Asian crisis!). I almost graduated with honors, but didn’t (Hmmm, should I blame my being a working student or my not studying well enough?).

As I was thinking this, I chided myself, saying: “Stop it!There’s no point crying over spilled milk. Move on. Just look at what you’ve become and be content.”

So that’s what I did. Only, as I looked at my present self, I’ve come to realize this: I am still an almost! Almost a writer. Almost an artist. Almost married. Almost an MA degree holder. Almost, but not quite!

Ah, to be just some kinda. Some sort of.

Ah, such potential; such right start that’s wasted. Well, almost wasted (because I did not end up a total waste, did I? Nyehehehe)


//Sherma Benosa
15 January 2008; 1:40am


As I was about to post the earlier piece (Almost Me), another thought hit me: that if we look closely at ourself at any point in our life, we’d realize that we are both an accomplished and un-accomplished person. There are chapters in our lives that we’ve come to close, but there are also those that we are about to open, or are still trying to fulfill.

There are things in life that we could have achieved if only we tried our best; hence, from this point onward, we should always struggle to pursue excellence. There are also those that we couldn’t, no matter how hard we try because they aren’t for us; hence, knowing we’ve given our best, we must learn to accept that there is a Greater Being that holds the rein of our destiny.

Just an almost? We’ll, that’s not really a sad thing as long as we know we are giving our best shot at everything we do; and that we are able to become “quite” on the things that are meant for us.