#school requirement

memory (n.) the encoding, storage, and retrieval in the human mind of past experiences.

               They say memories linger in certain scents or in objects that are linked to a specific event. Some say memories are in emotions, how one event that made us feel a specific way will remind us of another that does the same. But what of the memories that we cannot anchor to feelings or anything concrete, do we just forget over time?

               My memory was never the best. My mind is always scattered and to retain happening events or information, I have to do my utmost best to focus. I always find myself recalling yesterday events and coming up with nothing, unsure if my life is really uneventful or I’m just forgetful. There are numerous times when I feel out of the loop because my family or friends will talk about something that happened and my mind bank stored little to no information. Is my capacity low or something? I feel bad, not gonna lie; I’m very insecure about my memories.

               Have you watched the series “Sherlock” produced by BBC? It’s a series inspired by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes detective stories. You should check it out, it’s really good. (If you’re going to watch it, the next sentences are a slight spoiler.) I am reminded of a scene in the series where Sherlock has a mind palace. His memory storage is like a literal palace in his brain. He visualizes his memories kept behind doors and when he opens one, he recalls them vividly with all the certain details. In contrast, I’d liken my memory storage to cue cards that are unsorted. No labels, no color coding, no titles, no details. Just cue card with a key word, hoping that I’ll somehow recall by a miracle. Maybe it’s because Sherlock is observant and I’m not. Sherlock pays attention to detail, I don’t.

               I made a discovery about myself and my memories though, and it’s about the MBTI Personality types. MBTI makes use of the four cognitive function—thinking and feeling, and sensing and intuition. (If you want to learn more about it, click here). I found out about this around a year ago due to my boredom during the lockdown. I took a test from 16Personalities and got the result of ISTP-A. ISTP’s have the dominant Internal Thinking which I think plays a big part with my memories. Dominant Internal thinkers tend to make sense of their present situation through their past experiences and although experiences are similar to memories, they’re not the same thing. Memories are a general catalog of what happened, meanwhile experience is the substantial information from an experience. So ISTP’s don’t really keep track of things that don’t align to what they believe or not meeting their interests. This is where I believe my memories go missing. This trait makes me more often than not indifferent to everything unless it concerns me. I don’t know if it’s a pro or con but people come to me to tell secrets, because I forget about it after a week or two. But they say I managed to help while I remembered their situation because ISTP’s are known to be objective and good problem-solvers. Disclaimer though, you might get the wrong idea—I DON’T act like I do because I found out I’m an ISTP, I’m an ISTP because of how I act.

Some of the posts are credited to the real owner.

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Last Tuesday had to be one of the most nerve-wracking days for the lot of us who faced the most Scrooge-like of neighbors.

Thank God because we all made it.

"Good afternoon, po! We are Grade 11 students of Laguna BelAir Science School and we are conducting a community survey for our PAASCU Level 1 Accreditation. My name is Dia and this is ZJ. We were hoping, po, to ask you or, better yet, the head of the household these few questions." (Note: "Po" is a greeting of respect here in the Philippines.)

Too scripted? I know. That basically summarizes what I tried to say to every person who opened up the door for us that day. I'm no professional speaker so I definitely went off track several times. You could say that I broke a sweat every time I made eye contact with an intimidating stranger, despite the fact that I live on that very street, like the very pretty lady who could've been the CEO at their company or the somehow-aggressive shop owner who didn't seem to want to get off the couch at our first knock.

Hold up, before I proceed with the story, allow me to dissect the situation.

About a week ago (and don't you start dancing), our school issued out a letter. It asked for our parents' permission to let us move around the subdivision from house to house. PAASCU is like a seal of excellence and quality, and boy, were we working hard for it or what? The school needed us to collect the statistics for approval.

Basically, we were and are still the guinea pigs. From the advent of the K to 12 Program here in the Philippines as declared by DepEd to the events and activities exclusively prepared for Senior High, we were fortunate enough be the very first batch to be granted with the curriculum, meaning a lot of privileges, meaning a lot of changes, meaning a lot of load. This just happens to be part of that load. Enough complaints. On with the story.

That day, it was really hot outside as we were told it would be, so we all brought umbrellas, snapbacks/fitted caps, changes of clothes, extra money for drinks/food outside, and other "survival" necessities. The groupings were by partners, assigned with at least one of the two living on the street they'd survey. Some groups were of three. Each pair/trio was assigned a number of households to interview. ZJ and I sure were relieved when we got 11 households max. on a long street, since some got around 27 for theirs. We made sure to cheer them on.

My suspicions are that our friendships and differences played huge roles in who'd go with who to get things done quickly. I mean, I got partnered up with one of my best friends. Barely anyone wasted time whining and fighting.

We left the school with our teacher chaperones and maintenance bodyguards. We walked together in different groups, say, five pairs with one teacher and a personnel, and split up at some point. Each teacher stayed at one spot while our bodyguards roamed the streets on their motorbikes, checking on us every few minutes for safety.

ZJ and I experienced joking around with the sweetest of old ladies and businessmen who offered us to come inside for drinks and snacks, but we vividly remembered how we were told over and over not to enter any house except one of our own, why there were bodyguards in the first place, and all the gruesome scenarios broadcasted on the news. Now, our subdivision's one of the most secured with guards doing day and night patrols, the clubhouses on call 24/7, and the people friendly, knowing each other well, with little need to commit crime to make ends meet, but it's always best to take precautions. ZJ and I did, however, go to my house for Coke and biscuits. Dad was very accomodating.

After all eleven houses, we met with the group at our teacher's spot, which happened to be a small convenience store. We bought our snacks and ate there, exchanging stories of our experiences, then remembered that we needed to take photos for this blog requirement (whoops, broke the fourth wall!), and so we did. That's the picture up there.