Forgetting the Remembered Part I
It’s hard to forget someone whom you like and love for years, but we are all trying to; I am trying.
I don’t have the talent of forgetting a person in a snap of my fingers. In fact, if it’s a subject- Forgetting 101- I already flunked it and am now bruised with all the removals and make-up tests.
"Move on," said this Carter guy in his forwarded emails to me (he’s this guy who has a book on relationship blah-blah and if my friends find out I’m reading his crap, I’ll be grilled with jokes). But how, dear, when all of these are easy said than done?
"Write it," one of my dearest friends said. Writing, as professed by a seasoned writer, buries our past with words. Okay then, I shall let go of this repressed depression… (Fingers crossed, I hope he will not come across my blog even if it’s under an alias…but who cares? Will he? Ha!)
When I was in high school, I got addicted to signs that I made some for my future better half. One, I must meet him in an airport (I was probably high with romance movies with endings of hugs and kisses in airports); two, his family name should be similar or close enough to mine (like his should start with the same letter or rhyme with that of mine); and three, he should sing my favorite song without my command. Cheesy…
The signs I made, however, were forgotten because I was busy with my studies; with making my neighbors believe I was an addict because I always talked on why I love the darkness, death, blood and gore (which is still true up to now); and investigated if our Research teacher was in a cult or just having a daily cup of his being messiahnic (or d___-nic, hehe). I didn’t even remember about the signs after high school grad.
College came. I was glued to studying in the morning, writing my articles for the college pub at night, island-hopping in Guimaras islands on scheduled weekend, and painting backdrops for classroom plays. Of course, I did have crushes from time to time- from a guy from another department to a student politician. But my interest for them lasted only for days, weeks, or a month. But never three years. (Okay, okay. This is it.)
One morning, I, along with the chosen ones from the university, went to the now defunct Mandurriao airport for a student congress in Subic. While waiting for my turn to be acknowledged by our acting adviser, I saw this tall guy talking to an older man who seemed to be his father. I wasn’t attracted to him at all; I was just curious if he’s from an extension of our school. As if planned, that was also the time when one of the chosen ones, who happened to be a close pal of mine and his, introduced us to each other and I found out he’s just a building away from me all those years.
Fast-forward. I didn’t take a good look of him as his eyes were covered by the tip of his cap (is is really called a tip?hahaha) but because my classmate had a crush on him, I took glimpses of him from time to time and wondered, "Ngaa lalagson ‘ni siya sang mga agi man?"
After hours of traveling, eating and sleeping, we arrived in Subic with our butts aching and heads dizzy. We carried our backpacks to the registration area, hoping that we can check in immediately and rest; only to find out that the accommodations got scrambled. It’s already dark when we checked in into a building that had the makings of the venue for Hostel VII or Wag Kang Sisigaw Part II.
A little flashback. During our first lunch in the place, we’re on the same table. One of our seniors requested me to get a cup of water for her and so I did. When I came back to the table, that senior asked me, "Lamig ang tubig?" "Lamig s’ya, Nang but indi gid lamig," I replied. Then he laughed. I sat down and wondered if I gave a stupid answer. But at least, we got some connection— blurry connection.
Fast forward again. After we left our bags of cement, er- clothes, in our rooms, we went to the function room in another building and attended the welcome program. Boredom bit us, however, so four of us —I, him, and two students from my department (let’s call them One and Zero)— went outside and looked for our group. The event seemed to be scripted because we never found the rest of the guys and off we went to our little night exploration.
Because One and Zero were friends, they paired off and we ended as a "no choice" pair. We then circled around more tall buildings and passed through bushes and trees where One and Zero chatted while we shared silence all through out our walkathon (And *sniff*, that was our first night together. Hahaha!)
Fast, fast forward. One morning, I heard soft knocks on our door. Being the first one who got up and fresh from the shower (thankfully), I opened the door and found him there, smiling and scanning our room if there were students who were up aside from me.
The scene of asks. First, he asked me if Miaw*, was already up; I answered him she’s still asleep. Then he asked me if I have a comb; I said I have. Finally, he asked if he can borrow it; okay, we’re friends, I said to myself; so I handed him my comb and he returned it after combing his hair in a couple of seconds. After closing the door behind me, I said, "Weird. He’s rich and he doesn’t have a comb. Ironic." Well, I lost that historical comb when I was in fourth year but the feeling continued.
A voice insert: This is not a novel, you @$%*&!!! Finish it up!!!
Fast forward times five. When the seminar ended, our advisers agreed that we will go directly to Manila domestic airport, leave our luggage, and explore the sin-um, scene city. While we were traveling along the North Luzon Expressway (or was it South Luzon Expressway?), he broke the silence by singing a couple of line from my favorite song. Bells ringing?
My high school imaginings on signs rushed back and slapped me. The airport meeting. His family name’s close to mine (in terms of letters and not rhyme). The song.
That’s when I started asking my self, "Is he or is he not?" (to be continued)
