This week, I started playing the forgotten songs/artists from my teenage years. Gin Blossoms. Frente. Acosta & Russel. Jon Secada. SWV. Blind Melon. PM Dawn. Heck, even one-hit wonders like Lizard’s Convention and Edwin Collins. The list goes on.
And like some cosmic magnet, the music attracted some elements of my past; my orbit crossed the path of friends I have not seen since the last Glacial Age (how’s that for exaggeration).
First, I had a YM exchange with a long-time friend who now lives in another country. Her work has become intolerably frustrating and she begged me to visit her because she needs a sensible ear to listen to her rant.
Then another friend texted me and arranged an impromptu get-together on Sunday. I haven’t seen this group since my dad’s wake.
Finally, after dodging his previous invitations (for valid reasons), I fixed my schedule to allow personal time to visit
D and his new bundle of joy. And it’s not a Pearl Jam boxed set this time but a quiet and angelic little beauty. She is called Zephyra Thierri. Yes, her name is extraordinary and trust her dad to start making things complex.
(Sidebar: I am writing this blog whilst listening to my iPod and as I wrote the last paragraph, Pearl Jam’s "Better Man" came up on shuffle. There is really some kind of cosmic conspiracy going on here).
D was my nemesis since first grade; he was the king and I was his court. But I chose to reign in another castle. Our life intertwined again in high school and in those times of confusing self-discovery, we forged a bond that could only come from shared experience.
Our group was the cream of campus newsmakers; we had the perfect mix of intellectuals, heartthrobs, student leaders and teacher’s pets. He was our rebel with a cause. His claim to fame is his audacity (his you-said-I-should-take-off-my-shirt mutiny in music class was an instant classic) and he spews witticisms like they were cool curses.
I must admit that
D was always a step ahead of us. While some of us were trapped in our academic delusions of grandeur,
D was taking life by the horns. While I was perfectly balancing the chemical equations in Mr. Santos’ lab,
D was already holding the bomb. I was the illusionist, he was the realist. I was quoting Savage Garden but he was already borrowing from Pablo Neruda. While I was jaded, he already came to terms with a lot of things. As I was straining myself to see the crescent,
D already saw the whole of the moon. I think LIFE happened to him earlier.
D belongs to the chosen few who keeps me on my toes. That in itself is a very tall order because most people either frustrate me or fail to hold my reciprocal interest. There are times when I think only three of us in the group share the same cerebellum. For us, learning means transforming our lives and not accumulating knowledge (the thin line between being intelligent and being smart).
In my moments of torment, his (in)sanity was my valium. Who can forget two years ago when I want to get away from it all and dragged him and
V to Tagaytay to shout my anguish unto the volcano’s mouth until it echoed into silent clarity.
Our exchange of sarcasm can last longer than a Federer-Roddick match. In the three hours that I was in
D’s house, we have covered a lot of topics that always turn wax philosophical (another sign of ageing). We talked about the has-beens, the shady characters in our class who now play god to minions of fools (I am so tempted to write their initials). The wannabes who never really broke out of the shadows; forever lost in looking for me-too acceptance in every stone they turn. Or our radio days and how we saw things that never wafted through the waves of FM frequency. The trappings of the music industry and how we admired those who turned their backs to what is “popular” in search for artistic cred. How John Mayer has become full of himself and how TMZ is now his playground. Or the politics that we tried to escape but learned to play anyway.
D knew me for so long that he can read me well enough. And he is one of the few people whose bickering and clever slander I tolerated. His two cents is priceless. Though we don’t get to see each other, our blogs do the talking and he can wade through the amorphous shroud of my words and decipher what I am really trying to say. For only a twisted mind can untangle another twisted mind. Now he tells me that I am living the life of JL and that I am still playing the safe cards. And that last year (when I didn’t even see him once), I lived a very showbiz life (his words); that I tested the waters but didn’t like how it felt. Somehow the truths are kinder when spoken by someone you trust.
In this torrent of déjà vu, we realized one true thing. That as we grow older, the more we need our childhood friends. As
D would put it:
yung mga nakakita sayo nung uhugin ka pa (those who were with you when snot used to trail from your nose). With them, you don’t have to put a brave front on or wrap yourself in some glitzy packaging. There is none of the self-serving agenda and one-dimensional outlook that defines most of our recent relationships. They know the road you have travelled and understand the person you have become.
As opposed to the people you’ve only known for the last few years but think they know you like the back of their hands. Who eventually fall victim to the laughable things people fabricate; which only goes to show that only a fool will believe another fool.
