Blocktech and memories

Today, I part ways with my Blocktech parka — the only one of its kind that I was able to purchase without breaking the bank. My father — who, after decades of being unemployed, has finally landed a job — gave me P5,000 to buy whatever I want. I was then a young professional commuting the streets of Makati, and downpours often meant that I’ll come to the office sopping wet. I eyed that lovely pink Blocktech coat which was on clearance sale, and thought how its hot fuchsia color will make me visible amidst zero-visibility typhoons or monsoon rains. Finally, I managed to buy it. Now, after eight years of faithful service, its lining is shredding into bits. I felt my heart sink as I shake off the jacket, hanging it to dry for the very last time.

As I finish lining up our freshly spun laundry along the clothesline, I think about how hindsight can make grief more pronounced and heartbreaking. Intrusive thoughts start rushing into my mind. Should I have spent my money on that parka instead of buying something more durable, like a watch or nice pair of authentic leather shoes? Could I have taken more pictures with my father which could be hung in our home, instead of just listening to his armchair politics-based opinions, thinking how these thoughts surely won’t sit well with our generation’s woke politics? Could I have blindly yet immediately taken his offer of sending me to a Ph.D. program, instead of calculating how that will lessen my time to take on part-time jobs? Could I have done more to see our family problems from his perspective, instead of immediately taking sides, only to find out that he was right all along? It’s funny how a parka could evoke such guilt-ridden memories, but hindsight makes us think of what could have been — how a relationship could have been saved and savored longer if only our loved ones lived longer—as well as makes us develop a fear of forgetting the happy, lovely days.

Having said that, I also remembered a lesson on memory which I picked up from reading “The Whole Brain Child,” a parenting book by Drs. Daniel J. Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson. In one of its chapters, they talk about implicit memories, which are impressions of experiences and feelings stored in our minds before we are even born. While we do not remember every single event from 0 to 18 months, the emotions which these experiences evoke shape the way we see the world even until adulthood. That information was useful for me as a young mother of a highly sensitive toddler and who has recently miscarried our twins. It was also valuable for me as I wrestle with these momentary periods of grief.

My time with my father was short-lived, much like the beloved parka which made me remember how sorry I am for lost time. But I know I have much love to give, thanks to his towering presence in my life. And perhaps, I can use, or have been using, my limited explicit memories of him together with the larger implicit ones to quell my intrusive thoughts, and see the future with much hope. I could not change the past, but I will store up new photos while savoring every family moment with my husband, daughter, and sister. I could still take my Ph.D. and hopefully dedicate my dissertation to my father’s memory. I could persevere in ensuring that my family knows how to contribute to the common good, and not just absorbed in its own concerns—in the same way that my father knew how to help in his highest and lowest points in life. I could still live the dreams he had for me and make him proud.

For now, I could still buy a new parka, watch, or weather-proof leather shoes. After that hot pink parka is dry, I can safely donate it to the shop’s recycling program. If he were alive, Dad would probably tease me for being so environmentally conscious, but I have never doubted his love and pride for me. That is the most important memory I’ll keep.

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Mira Cabrera, 29, is a mom of three and teaches Philippine development at a Metro Manila-based university.