Memoirs of an Amnesiac

I do my own laundry. I find it satisfying that they don't get to be mixed with other clothes (which smell I am as unsure as the stranger who owns them) should I decide to have them in the laundry shops. I usually do my laundry on Saturday mornings when I'm off from school work and have the day to myself.

I love the smell of fabric conditioner that reminds me so much that my task is done. But more than anything else, I love the way soap suds glide back and forth in my hand as I take on the menial task of tidying my garments. It is in these rather trivial yet significant moments in my life that I get to sit (because one literally sits down) and ponder (because I'm far away from the internet that usually occupies me).

It is not Saturday today yet I found myself at my usual rendezvous with my basketful of laundry at our backyard. And with this uncanny change of routine are musings that accompanied me when I was having a great time with the soap suds.

I was probably nine or ten years old then when my father taught me how to do my laundry. Back then, I was disappointed because whenever I scrub, I could not make my soap suds bubble. My father went on to teach me how. He was probably hoping I'd begin to love the job should I learn how to make bubbles. And true enough, I loved that task since then.

There are some things about soap suds that caught my fancy when I was younger and held me spellbound until now. Chemistry teachers would aver that they bubble because of some chemical reaction. Yet I see something else beyond those rainbow colored orbs.

Soap suds parallel love in so many ways as they appear in one's basin. Like soap suds, we can choose who we want to be in our bubbles. The nearer the person to us the bigger their bubble and influence. Or you can better burst that bubble before it multiplies.

The appearance of soap suds signify cleansing. It could at other times mean a change of character like when colored clothes stain the white ones (Oh, the trouble!). Love could either make or break the persons involved. There are those who from being a black sheep had turned into a saint after falling in love and those who are the other way around -- good men turned bad.

Too much scrubbing is not good. It could either destroy the garment or change its color (from black to white), aside from the wounded arms. In laundry as in love, too much is not good. When you have placed all your emotions, time and effort on the one you love and losing yourself in the process, it has its pernicious effects also.

The best part of it all is the rinsing. This could be parallel to moving on, after having tasted the bittersweet taste of love and loving. This is when one gains perspective and insight about oneself and about others. One learns to adjust for the next cycle of pain and hurt (as these accompany "real" relationships, more like the dirt and stain on clothes).

Now, I can hang my clothes and let them be dried, ready to get dirtied again.