Meeting old mates
Recently, my Facebook page got flooded with posts from an account weirdly named “Classic Bai? To the Titos and Titas of Cebu.” The flood was such that some of my FB friends complained because they could no longer see regular posts. “Classic Bai? To the Titos and Titas of Cebu” turned out to be all about mining our penchant for reliving the past and wallowing in our Peter Pan mindset.
That is partly what reunions are about, too. Meeting with people whom we interacted with in our younger years spark a reliving of wonderful moments that will never come again. The difference from that Facebook page is that the sharing is personal and therefore more dynamic. The ohhs and ahhs and the laughter are real, not emojis.
In “Classic Bai,” members post old photos or ask questions about past acts to generate reactions by a few hundreds of friends. One post had the photo of the wooden Luzon Lumber structure that was recently torn down to give way to the construction of a hotel. I was waiting for somebody to post a photo of the old City Central School where I graduated.
My elementary days were as memorable as the time I spent in high school; it’s just that my memories of the former, being older, are hazier. That was why I made sure I could finish my work early so I could go to a gathering of my batch mates in “City Central” and dust off the memories of my elementary days. Interestingly, Leslie, Peng, Lilibeth, Shirley, Fred, Butch, Emerson and I also interact online.
I think the magic of “Classic Bai” and reunions is that these momentarily transport us to simpler and more innocent times than the chaotic and problematic times we are living now. When I pass by the old school building and look at the window of the room facing the corner of Osmena Blvd. and P. del Rosario St., I would remember myself, fear enveloping my frail frame, being egged on to jump to the ground below because my classmate Rommel, who held the keys, had closed the door out of pique.
We are older now, our skins are starting to sag and our hairs are turning gray at the roots. Most of us who are continuing to meet are professionals because, having been in the top two sections of our batch, we knew the value of study and were determined to succeed. But when we gather, we tend to juxtapose our “now” faces with the innocent ones. And we feel like the kids we were again
Frankly, I don’t like the times this country is in now, when decency and old values are being thrown away in favor of the vulgar and the crass. When I listen to the radio the dial is now stuck in stations that play the music that I grew up with. When I watch television, I steer clear of congressional hearings or presidential speeches. In social media, I would unfollow the fanatics and the arrogant. I seek to evade bad reality.
Months ago, the aunt of my wife returned home from the United States for a reunion with her batch mates in high school and college. When we visited her in her hotel room, a couple of her high school batch mates were there. We caught them talking animatedly, and I could sense on their septuagenarian faces the bliss of youthful frolic.
When reality bites, recalling simpler and more innocent times can be a refuge.