Monday, August 19, 2013

Old Pictures

2011.  That was a very good year. 

That year I failed one subject each in the spring and fall semesters. It was, in a way, the last ‘noisy’ year. That was the year everyone was there. The fall semester was my best semester then. I guess the feeling that it was the last hurrah, the last run together, we’d make it the best we could. 
 
That was, really, a very good year. I wonder why we didn’t take much picture that year.

All I have now is only very few random photographs of one of our many trips out. 

I guess we all missed each other. In a way I wished we could have a reunion, somewhere, somehow. Just get together again. Getaway vacations? We didn’t do that enough. Folks getting married? Then I guess I’ll start worrying about how many more times we’d be able to do that. Never had enough eh? Greed. Humans.

2012 was quiet. This year it’s still quiet. Last week I finally got MVP 13 on my machine. And it’s awesome. It was just like when I fitted up MVP 12. The pure joy of baseball, the sounds, the rosters, the players, the graphics mostly. Last year it was the 50th Anniversary of the Mets. And all the memories flowed back again. 

Remember how people debated whether Dickey should win the Cy? Or how San Francisco turned their fortunes around, twice, in the face of elimination, in Cincinnati and St Louis? And finally how Matt Cain controlled the strikezone and refused to leave the game during the World Series, where games in San Francisco would last long after lunch time? Panda’s 3 homers in Game 1, 2 off the super pitcher Verlander? And Miguel Cabrera staring at strike 3, and Romo’s joy? Then there was hurricane Sandy. 

It’s hard to put that period of time into perspective of any kind. It was hard, as it was back in May of this year. I needed something then. Something had to happen, I had to do something, I needed to have something. Like a kid who suddenly grew up and realized the true value of sweet candies. Assurance, despair, hope, truth, something to hold on to. I might even have started smoking then. But then it didn’t stick. I didn’t like the smell. 

There was one night, I was alone back there. I refused to move in with Robert even though it’d be more convenient, because I loved where I stayed, like I was guarding the Alamo for the last few droplets of memories in that house to sink in. Anyway there was one night, it rained hard, 3 am. I had a couple of beer more than usual, I was playing my guitar out in the front porch. I even penned out a song. 

They say baseball is the only thing that hasn’t changed in America over the past 100 years, and that baseball witnessed every moment in the history of America. 

Maybe, in a few years time, we will finally get together. And when people start to reminiscence, I might not remember it as 2012, but the year the San Francisco Giants gave something to my life. Something to believe in.

When life is long, you wanna live fantastic. But when life is fantastic, you just want to live long. Zivjeli. 

Saturday nights are so much different now. It used to be the best time of the week. Now, there’s actually work to “look forward” to on Sundays. And all I have now is only very few random photographs of one of our many trips out.

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