Speak, Memory!

My memory is no longer playing tricks on me these days because maybe it has deserted me. I got to the Butuan bus terminal late in the morning yesterday, thinking only of getting the fastest bus home. I placed my backpack on my lap, not on the overhead compartment as most people would have done; perhaps, a sign that I didn't trust my memory that much anymore. I took my seat and left my memory (or what was left of it) spinning the images of the past weeks: mostly of how the yellowish lightbulb of a late night bus from Malalag cast shadows on the tired, bent bodies of farm workers going home from work or how the reddish light inside the jeepney fell on the faces of women trying to find humor out of what happened to them that exhausting day selling sackloads of durian in the market; and how---when I arrived in Gingoog late one night, a grumpy tricycle driver broke into a grin when I told him I was about to die (with exhaustion)!
There were still three people on the Cagayan-bound Bachelor's bus when I arrived at the terminal late in the morning yesterday. When the bus was about full I happened to look around and got a sneaky feeling that something was wrong. Why was I on a bus for Cagayan de Oro when I knew I was supposed to be going home? It took a long while for me to figure out where my home actually was. When I did, I got off the bus very fast only to be told that the aircon bus for Davao city has just left.
Oh, memory, my memory, why has thou forsaken me???