22-15-20-1

Since I was a child, I never won games or raffles. Unlike my mom and my sibling, who often brought home prizes, I always went home with nothing after parties. That’s why I was so happy yesterday when I won four times at our class reunion raffle. The first, I won in a game, then won again in the raffle—second, third, and fourth prizes. Of course, I was happy. In my whole existence, this was the first time I ever got lucky in these kinds of games. But I didn’t just win prizes; I also got to see my old classmates. It was really heartwarming to see them again after decades.

So much has changed, and our batch has come a long way. Some of them already have children who have graduated, while others have firstborns who are still in kindergarten. Some have given up on having children and instead focused on making money (mentioning our classmate who sponsored an 18,000-peso lechon and reserved the entire resort). It was fun to look back on our foolishness and innocence when we were young.

In a way, the reunion lifted my spirits. I had doubts about going because I didn’t have much money and only contributed 1,000 pesos. Still, I really wanted to see them, so I made sure to be there whatever happens. And seeing them again and seeing what we’ve all become, I felt genuinely happy. I wish everyone the best and more blessings for our batch. Of course, I wish we’ll have another reunion in the future.

Good riddance

 

Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?

Ever since I turned forty, I find myself reminiscing about the past more often. From time to time, little memories of my childhood would invade my thoughts and make me smile. Maybe it’s a subtle coincidence, because grade school my classmates are planning a reunion this coming December, something I might not be able to attend since I’ll be flying to Malaysia again soon.

But if I could re-live any year of my life, I’d go back to my grade school days, when I was around seven to eleven years old. Those were the years when life felt endlessly full. Full of laughter, little adventures, and the kind of joy that didn’t need a reason. Life was simple. The world was small, yet it felt so big, and every kid like me couldn’t wait to be an adult. Every day seemed to hold something worth remembering.

Back in the 90s, my friends and I would visit each other’s houses after class. We’d hunt for spiders hiding up the ceiling, behind old flowerpots or under tree branches, proudly showing off our “finds” like trophies. We’d keep them in match boxes and bring them to school the next day and letting them fight against each other. Other times we’d play paper games, like Hangaroo-style word games, or even Battleship. Once in a while, we’d have silly “beef” with the other class, accusing them of different things. It was childish of course, but that’s what made it beautiful.

But my favorite memories were always the ones I shared with my siblings. One summer afternoon, we built what we proudly called “the greatest barbecue grill”. Inspired by a barbecue grill we saw on HSN, we made our own out of an old Marie Biscuit tin can stuffed with dried leaves and twigs. Then we snuck into the fridge when no one was looking and stole a slice of meat just to test it out. It never really cooked properly and actually tasted like those dried leaves. But we felt like geniuses. On other days, we’d play basketball until mosquitoes start to bite us or ride the bicycle our father had built from junk parts. It wobbled and squeaked, but to us, it was freedom on two wheels.

Those years were full of innocence and imagination. We didn’t need much to be happy. Just a little sunlight, some space to run around, and each other. Growing up has its own joys, but I often miss how easy it was to live back then. And so if I could re-live that time, I would slow down and pay more attention. I’d savor the smell of textbooks and the laughter of my friends, the taste of those terrible “barbecue” experiments, the feeling of excitement as I rode that rickety bike. I would definitely hold on to those moments longer.

Because somewhere along the way, life got louder and more complicated. And sometimes, I wish I could go back to that time, not to escape the present, but to remember the version of myself who found happiness in the simplest things.

A memory with my Lola (part 1)

I grew up under my grandmother’s care. From the day I was born, it was Lola Flor who slept beside me every night, because both my parents were working. She became my mother in every sense of the word, and our relatives used to joke that I was her youngest child. When I started going to school, it was my Lola Flor who took care of everything for me. Every morning, she would walk me to school, wait for me until dismissal, then we would go home to eat lunch and take a nap together. But one afternoon in kindergarten, we didn’t take our nap, and I ended up doing something terrible.

It must have been around two or three in the afternoon. Lola Flor stayed awake because she was winnowing rice, while I was playing with a marble. I couldn’t remember where I got that marble or who gave it to me. I was squatting on the ground, rolling it back and forth, while behind me, she was busy with her rice. I think that was the first time in my life that I ever had an intrusive thought.

I stared at the marble for a long time and wondered what would happen if I threw it at her. So I stood up, faced her while she was still focused on cleaning the grains, and then I threw it. The marble hit the left lens of her glasses. It cracked.

I just stood there, frozen, while she hurriedly took off her glasses. It was only then that it sank in. What if a shard of glass got into her eye? What if my Lola went blind because of me? I didn’t cry, but fear spread through me. Lola didn’t get angry, and thank God, her eyes were safe. Although she had to use her spare pair of glasses tucked away somewhere.

I can’t remember what happened after that. I don’t recall being scolded. I don’t know what became of that marble. We still ate dinner that night as if nothing had happened. I still spent the evening cutting bits of paper for my crafts. And when I fell asleep on the sofa, Lola Flor still carried me to bed.

We had joy, we had fun

Back in high school, I was one of the few students in our batch who had a cellphone, but I couldn’t really relate to the others. They all had Nokia 5110, while I owned a Trium Astral. I used to watch them gather around, composing ringtones together. Still, I was considered one of the “cool kids” simply because I had a phone. Sometimes I’d bring my yellow Gameboy Color to school so me and my classmates could play Zelda or Furby. That made me look even cooler in my class, even if I didn’t have a Nokia.

During our third-year summer break, I joined the CAT training. Every day for a month, we’d go to school early for exercises and drills. By senior year, I had become a platoon leader with the rank of Captain. It felt amazing to be seen by other students everyday commanding and leading drill sessions, looking sharp during rifle practice. That was another “cool kid” point for me.

One time, during our Speech class, our teacher told us to prepare an English song to sing in the next session. The following day, one of my classmates brought a guitar, and when it was my turn, I borrowed it and sang “What’s Forever For?” My female classmates were amazed. There were only two of us who sang with instruments: me and the guitar owner.

That earned me another “cool kid” point.

Now, I’m no longer that “cool kid.” I’m forty years old, struggling and surviving day by day. But whenever I look back, I can’t help but smile. I remember those moments when my friends and I would sneak out during Intramurals to rent BMX bikes at the PICC and roam around the grounds for as long as we wanted. I remember the time I went to a classmate’s house to watch the first Resident Evil movie on a pirated VCD. And my very first taste of gin… High school really was the best phase for most students, wasn’t it? Truly core memory-worthy.

And even though I’ve long outgrown being a “cool kid,” these days I aspire to be a cool auntie to my niblings.