Heartbroken

The laptop that has seen me through almost two years of late-night blogging conked out two weeks ago. I am no gadget freak, but I am close to heartbroken. You see, I have this really, really bad habit of not backing up. Maybe it's faith of the wrong kind. I always seem to think that technology will take care of itself, and so my techie friends' advice to regularly back up my files always goes unheeded.

Which means I am not sure if my precious files will ever be recovered. Or if the digital albums I have painstakingly organized will survive the crash. I don't even want to think about the music files. And Tumblebugs. And the ongoing Super Text Twist, which has surpassed the five-million mark.

Oh well, there's no use tearing my hair out. It's frizzy enough as it is, he he. I can only hope that some other gizmo and some other geek will navigate through the unintelligible (to me) tech talk and mine into the dead laptop's memory. The hardware I can live without. I don't even care if they pronounce it totally dead and cart it off to the nearest junkshop. But please, oh please, give me back my memory.

Yellow Fever

We wore yellow, never mind that it was quite unbecoming. We thought Kris was cute, and rallied her on to her dream of becoming the next Sharon Cuneta. We sang Bayan Ko and flashed the L sign, even though we were weaned on KBL and the New Society.

We were in high school, and in an era of defining moments, Ninoy's death changed the world as we knew it. As teenagers who wore angst as a badge of honor, we surveyed our surroundings and realized that our growing-up issues were nothing compared to the country's. We rallied, we rebelled. And then we went on with our lives.

Watching the People's Funeral from the comforts of home, I realized that between then and now, so little has changed. Bayan Ko--the way Lea Salonga sang it--still moved me to tears. There was this unmistakable high as yellow confetti rained down on Ayala once more. We still have the same growing pains: ours and the nation's.

Sure, Kris is no longer cute, but the yellow fever that took the unassuming housewife from her kitchen kingdom to the highest halls of power is for real. Even if sometimes we tend to forget.