I have no recollection how we got Fifi boxed in that afternoon. It was raining lightly and as the raindrops dews splattered gently besides the drain furrow, moistening the soil and collecting into streams around us to flowing into the furrow where our tussle was underway as our figures wrestled that of Fifi. Three against one. The power of memory is able to jolt scenes into stark relief without their sources except the impressions left behind by byways that lead us there time and again for a lifetime.
Critical distance affords those who watch unfolding events from a distance a vantage viewpoint. For the actors in the unfolded events only in hindsight can they make sense of the nexus of those events.
We were not actually sure but it was there, like a hunch that everybody feels at the same time but for lack of a firmer grasp of reality do not want to or cannot acknowledge what’s happening because time has yet to give the unfolding phenomena in front us a shape, a form. And perhaps, at a sympathetic level that is, everyone is hesitant to acknowledge what is happening because all are in it – all are in the box-set of a moment with no leeway for critical distance myopically. I saw it flush around on the faces of majita like a shadow of doubt or a bulb moment as the judgment was passed on by the principal (most of the time pronounced presbala) flanked by the Tight Three: SRC’s president, chairman of the SGB and Prime leader of the Educators. It was a disciplinary hearing and they were facing the rest of those attending the hearing in the staff hall. Our parents dotted that sea of attendees. On the opposite side with us sat our leader, head sunken to his barrel chest, I could not make out what was going on in his mind due to his sunken head and the fact that I beheld it oblique as I was sitting several people away on his left so the positioning of his face defied a reading. His mom sobbed silently while his dad sat unemotionally on the right hand side of the two rows of chairs separated by an isle facing the big boss and the rest of us. I come to think of it I never thought of him as a mama’s boy kinda of an ou. Clearly his pap could not care less. I laughed silently imagining how the old man was dragged from home to hear a stout baas’s case.