Tuesday, May 15, 2012

A Backpack Story

I love looking at people’s behind. Don’t get me wrong. I am not sick nor a pervert. What I mean is that I am just fond of checking out passing stranger’s backpacks.

I have been a fan of backpacks since kindergarten. Though I have a couple of messenger bags in my closet, I am more comfortable with bags on my back than sling baggage on my shoulder.

That’s why a head turner for me is either a sexy woman or a nice looking backpack. Sometimes while I am in a fast food shop along a busy street, I would find myself looking at passersby. Big bags… small bags… blue bags… red bags. It’s like I am watching a parade. There’s even creepy backpacks shaped like a coffin or Jack Skellington of Nightmare Before Christmas while others are bag version of cartoon characters from grandma’s Betty Boop to that annoying- but-kids-love-him Barney the Dinosaur.

My most favorite backpack is the yellow Jansport that I bought from Bratpack in Robinsons Galleria in 2003 which I considered as my best buddy during my 2-year stint as an OFW in Saipan, Northern Marianas. I bring it anywhere I go, from our quarters to our work station to the different islands of the tiny nation. Each mark, dirt and scratch on my bag is a reminder of the places I’ve been and experiences worth remembering.

But I committed one stupid thing that still haunts me until today. That is when I traded my Jansport bag for a luggage a month before I came back to the Philippines for good. I was forced to make that decision because I really needed a big luggage for my things which a friend was willing to give in exchange for my battle-tested bag.

I don’t know whatever happened to my backpack. But I’m pretty sure it still good to use simply because it is a Jansport. As for the luggage with Chinese characters on the tag, I found a great use for it in keeping old clothes, bags and shoes.

That’s why last week, I bought a brand new Jansport backpack for me. Yay! But the celebration only lasted for about an hour after my wife told me he love the bag and asked if she can have it for Mother's day.

I told her, "Mahal, you are not my Nanay."

"But I am the Nanay of your son."

The bus stop here.

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