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Image by Kabiur Rahman Riyad from Pixabay
Remind Me
This is the English translation of “Ipaalala Mo”
It seems there’s something quite popular these days—
post it on my Facebook,
when we first met,
include the why and the how.
But let me tell you a secret:
I don’t remember
when we
first met.
That day has sunk into forgetting,
wrapped now in mystery,
and I can’t even recall
the very first words you said.
Back then,
there were many things I used to forget.
I’d forget
where I left my umbrella—
something my mother knew too well,
so she’d remind me again and again.
I’d forget
assignments I had to submit,
ending up turning in work
I had just finished typing,
the paper still warm,
received by teachers
with the clicking of their tongues.
Even my phone—
I’d forget it sometimes,
left at home,
ringing all alone,
or buried deep
in the clutter of my bag,
its battery dying,
lost among everything else.
But there are things I do remember.
I remember
the sound of laughter
shared with friends,
teasing each other
inside a restaurant—
the kind where we ordered
just a hundred pesos’ worth,
but stayed the whole day,
still sitting there,
and so I forgot
the umbrella waiting by the door.
I remember too
that crisp “aha”
from a student I was teaching—
the way their face lit up
when they realized
they weren’t stupid after all,
that they had something to give.
And in that moment,
I forgot
that I had assignments of my own to submit.
I also remember
my nephew’s giggles
as we played hide-and-seek
in our tiny house,
where the only real hiding place
was the bathroom.
But my pretending not to find him
was a hit with the child—
and so I forgot
my dying phone.
And you—
I remember you too.
Our conversations,
more confusing
than the talks of brilliant minds—
with more laughter than sense,
and stories that twisted
beyond fables and epics,
even though we started
with something as simple as a dipper.
I remember
how quietly you listened
while I unraveled,
angry at a world
filled with chaos.
You didn’t know what to say—
how could you?
You weren’t meant
to fix my mess.
So you said only one thing:
“I’m here.”
I remember too
the way your eyebrow rose
at my reckless decisions—
ones you couldn’t understand,
and didn’t know
where they would lead.
I remember the warmth of your embrace
when you learned
my father was gone.
You chose to ignore
the tears welling in my eyes,
knowing I’d only make a fuss
if my weakness were noticed.
So you stayed quiet,
and carried me through it,
pulling me out
from the place I hid—
and without even knowing it,
you reminded me
that my life still had meaning.
So if ever someone asks us
for the details of how we first met,
you tell the story—
because I’ll probably forget.
Remind me.
For me, it doesn’t really matter—
not that part.
There are other memories
that matter more.
So let it be you
who remembers.