Pit Stop
January 14, 2007 | 12:00am
"Everything has its Season, Everything has its time.... Rivers belong where they can ramble... Eagles belong where they can fly. I’ve got to be where my Spirit can run free... Gotta find my corner of the Sky..."–Stephen Schwartz, "Pippin"
I was halfhearted about driving an hour out of Manhattan into Connecticut in the US East Coast during my last summer break. It was work – cutting into my "ME Time." ME Time in New York should’ve meant strolling in Central Park during the late part of spring in late April – to me, the best time to be in that part of the world. Or maybe immersing incognito in a designer outfit riding the M3 bus down Madison Avenue. Or maybe just curling up and watching the Retro Channel and catch up on lost good TV with Little House on the Prairie on a rainy Saturday. "Bakit ka pupunta Connecticut?" asked Muhammad in funny-sounding Tagalog. Muhammad is an Indonesian who happened to have lived in Batangas, Philippines for five years before driving rented Town Cars in America – my chauffeur for the trip. "Oh, I have a reunion with some high school classmates. Many of them live here and we thought of seeing each other after 20 years!" I wasn’t so sure anymore at this point whether I was kidding myself that I was actually excited and looking forward to the get-together. "How wonderful!" Muhammad said, with genuine excitement for me. Maybe it would be a wonderful thing. It remained to be seen.
Decades after high school graduation from St. Theresa’s College, I one day woke up telling myself it was time to give back to the school – the institution I credit greatly for my education’s foundation. My "communication skills" however my audience, listenership and readers should grade me, I leave to others’ appraisal. But St. Theresa’s did land me my job – and my life today – and for which I will forever be grateful. Therefore the decision to take on the task of organizing for our Grand Homecoming this year seemed moot. I was an active student, selective in academic excellence and distracted by extra-curriculars. I was in varsity volleyball, in theatre, in cheering competitions, dance, singing and writing. And I partied early. While I do consider having been outgoing enough and friendly in high school I just had too much on my plate to bother cultivating everyone else who didn’t share my interests. They probably thought the same about me. You know how high school is – polarizing towards birds of like feather.
I never really had conversations with Ida. I don’t remember talking to her at all, in fact. She was from another section and she seemed too shy to share anything in common with. It was the same with Gladys. She was the batch baby with the highest ponytail you’ve seen and the longest bangs. I never figured out how she survived school looking through those bangs on her forehead. We were friendly but never really conversed. Smithy, as we called her, is actually Editha who had the biggest crush on American singer Rex Smith. Hence the nickname. I never saw her again after graduation but do remember her to be a warm, down-to-earth albeit dramatic friend who spoke always from the heart. Charlotte was a quiet, tomboyish athlete. I remember her to be very close to her family. Queenbee – yes, that’s her nickname – was the singer in the group. She hails from a musically-inclined family from PhilAm Homes, QC. Beautiful, angelic voice. She tried singing in a band after graduation and I hadn’t heard of her since. Maia was my groupmate. Through high school together we just tried it all for the first time. (Don’t let your imagination run too wild. We turned out okay, I think.) We were very close, that is, before a falling out because of some stupid, shallow, juvenile issue which never really was an issue. Maia left before graduation and studied in an international school in Africa. Her mother was from the UN. Joy, I had been in touch with all this time since she moved to study in the US in the ’80s. Joy was the academic and sports icon back then but lagged in the Boys Department where others excelled.
Upon deciding to study at Wharton, Joy decided to change her name, too. From then on she was to be known as Celine. I didn’t even know you could do that. And Celine she became. Not as sporty – but had definitely caught up on the masteral of Guy Attraction as she did her Business course. She married a schoolmate, Patrick, who never let her go since he laid eyes on her. And between these two Wharton graduates with the world at their feet and four beautiful girls on two acres of land for their home, I thought it appropriate to celebrate Celine’s success by anointing her as host to the East Coast girls’ reunion.
I didn’t bother fixing myself up too much. I’d be behind the camera most of the time anyway. Subconsciously I was telling myself, "What’s there to put up a show for anyway? It’s just me and they’re just them..." There was something about seeing people you grew up with that didn’t pressure you to have to pretend. I had an hour alone with Celine, before the other girls arrived, catching up after two years out of touch and we went right down to the nitty-gritty personal issues. The doorbell rang too soon and in they came one after another... Loud screams... simultaneous conversations... hugs... almost tears welling. There were only seven of us but it sounded like a cocktail party of 50 people.
The gladness was genuine. The joy of seeing everyone decades after is simply an experience any student should go through. We toasted to champagne and set ourselves at the table for lunch. Kare-kare, embutido, Inihaw na baboy... guinataang bilo-bilo, ensaymada, buko-pandan... in a warmed home under the cold Connecticut rain. Between appetizers and coffee, I realized this reunion I almost bailed out on was something I was too glad I didn’t miss.
Each had her turn to say what she was doing and where she was at. Magoo now works at the World Bank... ooohs and aaahhs from us... Magoo? Seriously?! Gladys was just two years into migration and talked about biting the bullet as she and her husband left the Philippines for a clearer future for their kids. Ouch. I was floored to learn that more or less one-fourth of the entire batch had left the country to work and live in greener pastures. To them it was simple logic to have to leave and uproot to make it better away. It never occurred to me to leave. And I couldn’t imagine these girls packing up and finding a new home elsewhere than where they first found life as it was.
Smithy is called Smithy by even her workmates in the US. She spoke Tagalog all through our party. But whenever she spoke English she had the most flawless American accent. And her warmth was even warmer than I remember. She would hold my arm tightly and ask me... "Kumusta ka na, Ko? Na miss kita..." Charlotte was unbelievably wife and mother and went home ahead for the kids. She’s now an accomplished graphics artist. She could’ve made a career of standup comedy if you ask me.
I noticed Queenbee on the verge of discomfort whenever I asked her why she never even tried it out on Broadway. She probably didn’t know whether to be happy I was her No. 1 fan (boy, how she sang Leading Player in "Pippin"), or to fret at the idea she might have really made it had she tried. Seeing the photos of her three beautiful kids, I shut up. She made her choice. Meantime, Maia and I shared an unspoken apology to each other, like, "what was that all about anyway?" We were too close not to remember, though. Today we forgot I’m on TV and she a hotshot interior designer in Manhattan. We were back where we left off but, now, speaking, holding hands and once she said, "I’m so glad we did this. Now I know where I really belong," I knew we could start over.
Ida drove us back to the city. She still hardly said a word. After a quick Japanese dinner and as I got off on my street she said, "Korina, ingat ka... Ipapagdasal ko na makuha mo na ang wish mo..." I smiled back knowing that if God would listen to anyone He would certainly listen to her. Ida works fulltime with charity work for UNICEF. She was never really "shy." She is "internal."
With less time at my disposal today than I had 20 years ago it should seem pragmatic to prioritize the pursuit of an experience according to how much you take back from it. As my mother often said, socials take away precious time which should otherwise be used for much worthier pursuits such as reading, family and sleep. But many times a miscalculation on your life roadmap – in this unending race within an impossible maze – leads you to a valuable pit stop. And you get more than you imagined or hoped for. I now recommend attending reunions in a heartbeat.
A few insights from my priceless Connecticut party: While some good things should never change, many things change for the good. People bite the bullet to win the duel against failure and misery. We all have different measurements for success but, as it turns out, usually have one understanding of what love and friendship are. Some good things do last. You bet I took away a lot back with me that day. And the reunion was as much ME time as that idea could hold.
(The St. Theresa’s College QC batch 1982 Silver Jubilee celebration is on Jan. 27 in the STC QC High School Grounds. Registration starts at 2 p.m. For details please call 740-0115, look for Rose Sales.)
I was halfhearted about driving an hour out of Manhattan into Connecticut in the US East Coast during my last summer break. It was work – cutting into my "ME Time." ME Time in New York should’ve meant strolling in Central Park during the late part of spring in late April – to me, the best time to be in that part of the world. Or maybe immersing incognito in a designer outfit riding the M3 bus down Madison Avenue. Or maybe just curling up and watching the Retro Channel and catch up on lost good TV with Little House on the Prairie on a rainy Saturday. "Bakit ka pupunta Connecticut?" asked Muhammad in funny-sounding Tagalog. Muhammad is an Indonesian who happened to have lived in Batangas, Philippines for five years before driving rented Town Cars in America – my chauffeur for the trip. "Oh, I have a reunion with some high school classmates. Many of them live here and we thought of seeing each other after 20 years!" I wasn’t so sure anymore at this point whether I was kidding myself that I was actually excited and looking forward to the get-together. "How wonderful!" Muhammad said, with genuine excitement for me. Maybe it would be a wonderful thing. It remained to be seen.
Decades after high school graduation from St. Theresa’s College, I one day woke up telling myself it was time to give back to the school – the institution I credit greatly for my education’s foundation. My "communication skills" however my audience, listenership and readers should grade me, I leave to others’ appraisal. But St. Theresa’s did land me my job – and my life today – and for which I will forever be grateful. Therefore the decision to take on the task of organizing for our Grand Homecoming this year seemed moot. I was an active student, selective in academic excellence and distracted by extra-curriculars. I was in varsity volleyball, in theatre, in cheering competitions, dance, singing and writing. And I partied early. While I do consider having been outgoing enough and friendly in high school I just had too much on my plate to bother cultivating everyone else who didn’t share my interests. They probably thought the same about me. You know how high school is – polarizing towards birds of like feather.
I never really had conversations with Ida. I don’t remember talking to her at all, in fact. She was from another section and she seemed too shy to share anything in common with. It was the same with Gladys. She was the batch baby with the highest ponytail you’ve seen and the longest bangs. I never figured out how she survived school looking through those bangs on her forehead. We were friendly but never really conversed. Smithy, as we called her, is actually Editha who had the biggest crush on American singer Rex Smith. Hence the nickname. I never saw her again after graduation but do remember her to be a warm, down-to-earth albeit dramatic friend who spoke always from the heart. Charlotte was a quiet, tomboyish athlete. I remember her to be very close to her family. Queenbee – yes, that’s her nickname – was the singer in the group. She hails from a musically-inclined family from PhilAm Homes, QC. Beautiful, angelic voice. She tried singing in a band after graduation and I hadn’t heard of her since. Maia was my groupmate. Through high school together we just tried it all for the first time. (Don’t let your imagination run too wild. We turned out okay, I think.) We were very close, that is, before a falling out because of some stupid, shallow, juvenile issue which never really was an issue. Maia left before graduation and studied in an international school in Africa. Her mother was from the UN. Joy, I had been in touch with all this time since she moved to study in the US in the ’80s. Joy was the academic and sports icon back then but lagged in the Boys Department where others excelled.
Upon deciding to study at Wharton, Joy decided to change her name, too. From then on she was to be known as Celine. I didn’t even know you could do that. And Celine she became. Not as sporty – but had definitely caught up on the masteral of Guy Attraction as she did her Business course. She married a schoolmate, Patrick, who never let her go since he laid eyes on her. And between these two Wharton graduates with the world at their feet and four beautiful girls on two acres of land for their home, I thought it appropriate to celebrate Celine’s success by anointing her as host to the East Coast girls’ reunion.
I didn’t bother fixing myself up too much. I’d be behind the camera most of the time anyway. Subconsciously I was telling myself, "What’s there to put up a show for anyway? It’s just me and they’re just them..." There was something about seeing people you grew up with that didn’t pressure you to have to pretend. I had an hour alone with Celine, before the other girls arrived, catching up after two years out of touch and we went right down to the nitty-gritty personal issues. The doorbell rang too soon and in they came one after another... Loud screams... simultaneous conversations... hugs... almost tears welling. There were only seven of us but it sounded like a cocktail party of 50 people.
The gladness was genuine. The joy of seeing everyone decades after is simply an experience any student should go through. We toasted to champagne and set ourselves at the table for lunch. Kare-kare, embutido, Inihaw na baboy... guinataang bilo-bilo, ensaymada, buko-pandan... in a warmed home under the cold Connecticut rain. Between appetizers and coffee, I realized this reunion I almost bailed out on was something I was too glad I didn’t miss.
Each had her turn to say what she was doing and where she was at. Magoo now works at the World Bank... ooohs and aaahhs from us... Magoo? Seriously?! Gladys was just two years into migration and talked about biting the bullet as she and her husband left the Philippines for a clearer future for their kids. Ouch. I was floored to learn that more or less one-fourth of the entire batch had left the country to work and live in greener pastures. To them it was simple logic to have to leave and uproot to make it better away. It never occurred to me to leave. And I couldn’t imagine these girls packing up and finding a new home elsewhere than where they first found life as it was.
Smithy is called Smithy by even her workmates in the US. She spoke Tagalog all through our party. But whenever she spoke English she had the most flawless American accent. And her warmth was even warmer than I remember. She would hold my arm tightly and ask me... "Kumusta ka na, Ko? Na miss kita..." Charlotte was unbelievably wife and mother and went home ahead for the kids. She’s now an accomplished graphics artist. She could’ve made a career of standup comedy if you ask me.
I noticed Queenbee on the verge of discomfort whenever I asked her why she never even tried it out on Broadway. She probably didn’t know whether to be happy I was her No. 1 fan (boy, how she sang Leading Player in "Pippin"), or to fret at the idea she might have really made it had she tried. Seeing the photos of her three beautiful kids, I shut up. She made her choice. Meantime, Maia and I shared an unspoken apology to each other, like, "what was that all about anyway?" We were too close not to remember, though. Today we forgot I’m on TV and she a hotshot interior designer in Manhattan. We were back where we left off but, now, speaking, holding hands and once she said, "I’m so glad we did this. Now I know where I really belong," I knew we could start over.
Ida drove us back to the city. She still hardly said a word. After a quick Japanese dinner and as I got off on my street she said, "Korina, ingat ka... Ipapagdasal ko na makuha mo na ang wish mo..." I smiled back knowing that if God would listen to anyone He would certainly listen to her. Ida works fulltime with charity work for UNICEF. She was never really "shy." She is "internal."
With less time at my disposal today than I had 20 years ago it should seem pragmatic to prioritize the pursuit of an experience according to how much you take back from it. As my mother often said, socials take away precious time which should otherwise be used for much worthier pursuits such as reading, family and sleep. But many times a miscalculation on your life roadmap – in this unending race within an impossible maze – leads you to a valuable pit stop. And you get more than you imagined or hoped for. I now recommend attending reunions in a heartbeat.
A few insights from my priceless Connecticut party: While some good things should never change, many things change for the good. People bite the bullet to win the duel against failure and misery. We all have different measurements for success but, as it turns out, usually have one understanding of what love and friendship are. Some good things do last. You bet I took away a lot back with me that day. And the reunion was as much ME time as that idea could hold.
(The St. Theresa’s College QC batch 1982 Silver Jubilee celebration is on Jan. 27 in the STC QC High School Grounds. Registration starts at 2 p.m. For details please call 740-0115, look for Rose Sales.)
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