Some apocalypse

One of life’s poignant tragedies is the dissolution of false memory, especially the kind that has innocuously lasted a lifetime.  

A few friends—not chronic confabulists like me—have been carrying exquisite and delightful fibs that sprouted from odd childhood experiences. Unlike those that evolved from traumatic events, my pals’ impaired recollections stemmed from juvenile adventures and raw imaginings. Theirs were neither urban or folkloric legends, nor fantastical errors due to gross deficiencies in fact-checking. They were not planted or indoctrinated during an era of misinformation, which was enabled by a military government and an escapist art scene.

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“One way or another, all cities will go under water and sand,” said Tio Jee as he handed me another cerveza negra.

“The remote please.  I’ve lost count of how many times the words tragic and tsunami were mentioned.”

“No, you gotta watch this. How can you tell the complete story to your kid someday? “

“Their robonanny will do that or they can watch it in their e-textbooks.”

“Some wiseass must have said the same thing when the Cagsawa chapel was being buried by Mayon’s lava.”

“It was a church, it wasn’t buried. Please change the channel”

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We all indulge and coddle simulated reminiscences of events to a certain degree. Research tells us that our memories are fluid and changing over time. Recollection is usually prejudiced to circumstances of the past episode and the present moment. Further discussion with another person often leads to some distortion. Thus, bits are surely altered when filed back into the recesses of the brain. 

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“Nope, not switching channel. Now, what do you mean not buried?

“The main church was flat-out destroyed,”  I answered.

“Hah, you are most definitely wrong.  Ask your Tio Ver, we went there when we were kids and I swear that that ground where the campanilla stands now is as hollow as--”

“No church. Change the channel.”

“We’ve seen passages going down. Go there, drop a sizable rock to the ground and listen to the echoes. I hope you hear the ghoulish voices of the whole unfortunate town.”

“No, half a town only. Change the channel.”

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Many memory-challenged acquaintances of mine recall experiences that are utterly detached from their actual lives. Their tales are impressive that I always feel obliged to indulge in them and be glamoured.

Most of them are quite thankful to have their errors pointed out. A few incorrigible ones, however, undergo a mini-crisis and would come back with skewed poise.

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“Oh my, why Japan? Why not China?”

“Sheesh, why not us… oh never mind.”

“Just look at that debris coming inland!”

“Alright… To have a belfry atop a baroque church like that required a technology unavailable in the colony then. Similar to that of Paoay and other baroque churches of the time, the bell tower was erected adjacent to the main church, not on top.  Around  the time of the eruption, new towns have been established nearby and many residents would have already relocated as Cagsawa suffered constantly from heavy water flows.”

I emptied my bottle and opened another one.

“Discovery or National Geographic?” said Tio Jee as he pointed the remote control to the TV.

“America's Next Top Model.”