mind's eye

being somebody suffering from memory loss, it's pretty much difficult trying to piece together fragments of my memory. my mind's eye, eludes me, no matter how hard i try. i am unable to determine which of those memories are true, which of them are twisted half-truths, and which of them are imagined. i can only piece them together so far as to make up what seems to be my past.

i recall when i was a kid, there was this small frame hanging on one of our doors in one of the houses we used to reside at. that time, i was too small, and i could never make out what was written on the frame because the font was too small and it was hung so high up. so i've pieced together fragments of my memories in hopes of one day finding out what the inscription on the frame was, because in the process of our migration from house to house, the frame was lost, and nobody can recall whatever happened to it. after twenty long years, i've managed to get a glimpse of that frame and what was written on it, because of occasional memories floating every now and then to remind me of how it looked like, and what the title used to look like. one memory in particular reminded me that i stared at the small, black frame back in my childhood days, thus, allowing me to distinguish the letters making up the title. the title was the only thing written big enough for me to see. i grew up, and i learned that those letters represent the letter I and the letter F.

the internet, proved useful in helping me figure out what it was and why the title of the inscription had to be a very common word, "IF". because it's a poem.

IF - by Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

reading the poem made a part of me whole again. it's ironic that one part can be whole, but it's true. i can never express in words the joy i felt when i managed to piece together my fragmented flashbacks to make it a solid memory. reading the poem and understanding it, i now realize why the poem was not meant for me to take meaning when i was still young. because i was not of proper age to digest it's depth and meaning.

now that i'm a grown man, i understand everything that it wanted to tell me, and more. the inscription on the small frame was indeed written for me. i only had to grow up and figure out what it was all about.

that fellow Rudyard Kipling was right. i became a Man, after all.