The high school reunion event is a powerful ritual occasion, whether you decide to go or not. And the real reunion is not with other people so much as it is with yourself. Daily, we reunite with self in the bathroom mirror. The first high school reunion is an invitation to look into a larger mirror. – Robert Fulghum
(Click to listen to Ariel Rivera’s “Photograph”)
Without batting an eyelash, I’d say Fulghum is one of best inspirational writers of our time. In fact, I’ve been re-reading three of his works that I raided from my younger sister’s closet last summer. Couldn’t help but nod at the veracity of his words. Sometimes, I get carried away. I often have my own insights and nuggets of wisdom scribbled in my blue-colored notebook. But not as good.
Lately, my high school batchmates have been organizing micro-reunions left and right. Pardon me for the word. I used ‘micro’ since the number of people present weren’t quite that much. However, there’s a big one going on in 2014. By then, we will have graduated twenty years from HS. A classmate and friend exclaimed – gururang na kita! (yaikks, we’re old!). Lucky for our generation because we’re in a time and place where the Internet has revolutionized social communication. Instant feedback became a buzzword. One type away and you’re off with your cliques for your much-awaited ‘get together’.
We actually are having virtual reunion each time we communicate over at facebook, may it be through comments, birthday greetings, or simple “hi, how are you …”
As a prelude, some already started posting scanned pictures of momentous events: of girls and boys in dainty uniforms, of memorable field trips and CAT stints, of JS Proms and retreat/recollection events, etcetera etcetera. I was keeping tab of it, and guess what, 2 days after the publication of photos – comments soared as high as 300 plus! Getting old, indeed we all are. Hahaha!
Rummaging through all these memories cemented my notion that life will always be a weird mix of tribulations and blessings. There are happy times and there are painful events as well. These two co-exist like husband and wife.
Looking at the photographs, some smiled at the recollection and some have had their sutured wounds re-opened. On a personal level, I can say that my life (then) tipped on the other side. It was, to borrow a line from a George Clooney film, a “cocoon of self-banishment”.
Friends were only a handful and that was intentional, even pre-planned. You know how adolescent years can be painfully tumultuous – it can eat you alive if you aren’t spirited enough. You grow up entertaining unknown fears. Need I say that at that age, I already exhibited some form of existential angst. I was always embarrassed to tell people where my address is for fear of being laughed at (kasi naman I lived in the remotest part of the earth!), I was always questioning the dichotomy of rich and poor (and why I can only afford a ‘pink’ chit which is just enough for a teeny-tiny piece of cassava cake, while the others line up in glee at the school canteen to gulp cans or bottles of soft drinks and munch on those crunchy,oh-so-yummy junk foods!).
It was due to said reasons that mingling with classmates became somewhat difficult. We may all look the same on the outside because of the uniform we’re wearing but there’s a huge difference in a deeper, stricter perspective. Similarly, my young heart tried to block infatuation as though having one was tantamount committing a deadly sin (which I found out was soooo unhealthy,see, I married early in the process). I built a wall to keep my distance and fortified it with my stone-cold demeanor. Tough on the surface but deep within, I was crumbling piece by piece. There were a few who tried to smash and hit the barrier I built. And sadly, I found out just recently – they’re GONE forever.
How can I forget? (Warning: this is the first time I am making all of these ‘top secrets’ public. Please bear with me.)
One boy used to insert pages after pages of love notes (written in flawless English, mind you) on my sophomore books , accompany me extra hours during Wednesdays (because that’s when my group’s assigned as the class sweeper), do errands for me, and walk with me after school. His name brings to mind a few things: his black leather jacket and the folded, black umbrella he carries around and shares with me when the sun’s too hot or when its rainy. He was a transferee who speaks rapid English (but converses in broken Bikol – Tagalog) and who excels academically. On most occasions, he would sit in front of me with his face propped on shoulders and declare his ultimate blackmail: if you don’t say yes now, I will never ever talk to you again. Nervous and stupid, I tore all the lovely letters then set them on fire. If he only knew how I almost contemplated on saying yes. But I was only fourteen and was doubtful of his sincerity. In short, all his efforts were put in vain. When we reached third and fourth year – we were no longer in speaking terms. It seemed like we no longer existed. We graduated without uttering a single word and it still puzzles me up to this day. Why? (Pareho ba kaming sobrang taas ang ihi? )At one point, I want to reverse my decision but it was too late.
The other guy pursued me in my junior – senior year like a stalker! Like a man on a drunken stupor, he would gaze at me endlessly inside the library (I frequent the library in fourth year because it’s only a few steps away from my classroom). Even if I was an ugly duckling, I felt pretty with the attention I get from him. Anytime there’s a chance, he’d glance at my direction any way I was. He would always offer to walk me home although I was so sungit and was shooing him away. What do you expect from a sixteen year old spinster-in-the-making? One time I was surprised that he visited me at home. No one braved doing so. My sister, not used to seeing boys, laughed hard at the way I carried my self throughout his presence. Eh kasi naman, naglalaba ako nang dumating sya. I was lost for words. And so was he. I kept pinching my nose. He kept staring at me. Eeeeek, it was super awkward. And just like guy number one, we did n’t become ‘us’ .
I can only heave a sigh knowing I will never be able to see them again. Maybe in the next lifetime, who knows? But wherever they are right now, I hope they are at peace. Oh they’re both genuinely kind – God must be hugging them in heaven right now.
As for the fun part, there were aplenty.
The first time I had petty fight with a classmate was in freshman, after I masterminded cheating at an exam. Imagine that! I wasn’t really good at it otherwise, I wouldn’t have been easily caught. Amateurish! LMAO. In third year, my kikay side was set to full-gear. I grew my hair longer and stayed longer at the restroom too, armed with my reliable comb and baby powder! Thanks to the pretty and equally-kikay classmates I was with at the time. At about the same year, I also had a major fight with my best bud who was a gay. Being Little Miss Conservative, I think I confronted him for pinching me all of the time even in public. He was so enraged we snubbed each other during the months that ensued. And oh, best of all — I enjoyed seeing my name on the honor roll, well except when I flunked Physics! Duh! (I pleaded to Sir Dialogo but he was deaf lol)
You know why I used to downplay this whole thing ? Partly because I thought high school was the LONELIEST event of my life. Now, as I revisit my old self –boy, was I so proud to have survived that particular stage. I have learned that it takes sheer grit in order to cross the bridge. And the truth is, my high school life could have been more enjoyable had I known that seizing the day does wonders. You only achieve it when you don’t dwell too much worrying over silly, insignificant matters.
Anyhow, happy or not, I still do not regret what happened in high school, how I spent four solid years with my SCLS family – the nuns, my former teachers, and my batch mates. No matter how many buildings get erected and demolished with the passing of years, no matter how many students and teachers enter and exit the school gates, our footsteps will forever be etched at the faculty room, the corridor, the school canteen, the nuns’ quarters, the principal’s office, the library, the gardens, the stage, the class rooms,the side benches, and at the old bahay kubo(s). It’s all these things that makes 2014 worth waiting for. It’s all these things that makes the heart overflow with excitement ! See you guys then. 
T. Harv Eker, author of New York Times bestseller “Secrets of the Millionaire Mind” offers nuggets of wisdom useful not only in matters of gaining financial freedom but more importantly in living a better life.
March is International Women’s Month. And though it lacks the glitter and festivity of Valentines, Christmas, or New Year — it significantly heralds in this world a woman’s existence, her resiliency, and her loving heart.
all through my wild days, my mad existence, I’ve kept my promise….” Evita is María Eva Duarte de Perón,
