Backpack

I got my first backpack when I was in Grade II.

It was a week before the first day of class when nanay told me to dress up and accompany her. I had no clue where we’re going until we rode a green Kimberly jeepney. We were heading for calle real. Nanay made her “sa lugar lang” in front of Socorro Take Home Counter. I thought she’d buy me a waffle dog. It’s Socorro’s specialty and bestseller. But I was wrong. We entered not Socorro but Commoner. Then, she told me to choose from among the hanging backpacks on the walls. “Really?” was on the tip of my tongue but that was shunned by my reflex to choose. I picked the white one with red stripes, of course, with a grin.

I had always thought of the backpack as the coolest bag ever designed. I never let go of my backpack as my official carrier of books and school stuff until my fourth year high school. As Cattleya Notes became a fad for college students, I choose not to carry a backpack. One day, as I was delivering my lines during our practical examination in public speaking, my professor took notice of my posture— my uneven shoulders and slouching back. He told me such posture was attributed to the heavy backpack I carry during my grade and high school days. I attempted to object but flashes of memories flooded my mind.

I then recalled what’s inside my backpack in those years. It contained a textbook for each of the 8 subjects plus 8 lecture notebooks and 8 assignment notebooks. My backpack also carried a metal Batman pencil case containing  four pencils, four ballpens, a two-hole sharpener and two transparent erasers. And on Fridays, add to that load a pair of tennis shoes and white shorts for my P.E. class and an art envelope containing No. 16 Crayola, drawing notebook, Artex watercolor, and Orion ruler. Yes, my backpack would exceed the baggage weight limit when you board an aircraft. I really can’t imagine how I managed to carry it all those years— to think I was only weighing one-third of my present weight.

Now that I have grown with age, it seems that I still carry a load on my shoulders and my back— not a heavy backpack filled with books and school stuff, but life’s backpack filled with unnecessary burdens. I must admit—these unevens my soul and slouches my being: things I worry which are actually beyond my control, grudges to my unloyal friends and sworn enemies I keep and nurture, past failures resurrecting every time I fail, insecurities brought about by discontentment, the desire to please everyone to appear “cool”, guilts forgiven yet continue to persist, effects of perfectionism and the list continues. With such burdens to carry, it had caused and is causing me pain. If there is Alaxan for the soul, I should have taken a tablet every 6 hours. If there is Efficasent Oil for one’s being, I should have soaked in it. But there are none and there will be none.

I should have unloaded my backpack. If I had, my shoulders would have been even and my back would have been straight.

I should unload my life’s backpack. Carrying unnecessary burdens spoils the journey.

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