Tabula Rasa, I Was Poem by Richmon Rey Jundis

(a poem dedicated to John Locke)

Avant shadows of pride,
lurking behind my head,
pretending to be self-inner light
that was born on the same day
when my mother's sight has encountered me
for the first time,
two years after two thousand on the twenty-first of May.

I cannot remember
how my mother caressed me for the first time
in her sweet and tender arms,
yet I was able to know
how warm and comforting her embraces were
as I slowly understand things through my little experiences
gained from her hugs whenever I stumble on the ground
when I was still a carefree boy
and helped me to stand up
and pat my head telling me
that it was okay to stumble
as long as I know how to stand.
Surely, I was a tabula rasa when I was born.

I cannot remember the first word
that my lips had given birth to,
yet when my first memory as a child tells me
that it was not their name I have spoken.
Was it "mama", or "Lola"?
I don't know!
I can recall that I was with my grandmother
until she died when I was eighteen.
Although I cannot recall the word,
But I am certain that there must be a first word
as my experience taught me that every child
has their first spoken word.
Surely, I was a tabula rasa when I was born.

I must flip every picture
compiled in a dusted album
to see at least in my mind
how I was when I was a child.

I must feel every pain
that swallows me for being alone
and away from these people,
whom I cannot recall I have great memories.
I must try to imagine their voices
behind my aching head
that I may not forget
the symphony of their laughs and cries.

So, I must think and understand
what the external things show to me
so that I may fill the sporadic holes within me,
that I may move out from this state of blankness
to a great wanderer
who has learned from various experiences,
even without them.
My family.
Without them at my side.
I must experience to be born again.