So that was 1996

It was the year of R.E.M.’s “New Adventures in Hi-Fi,” of the Manic Street Preachers’ “Everything Must Go” and Fiona Apple’s “Tidal”; of warped americana and anthemic catharsis and brutally beautiful confessions crowding together on your mixtapes.

It was the year just after the December release of the Eraserheads’ “Cutterpillow,” the band’s commercial — and, depending on who you talk to, critical — height, and by then, newly-minted Pinoy pop classics like Overdrive and Huwag Mo Nang Itanong and of course above all Ang Huling El Bimbo were being sung along to by friends and strangers, memorized by yet-to-bloom bands, blared on jeepney radios and out-of-town boomboxes.

You were in between: in between relationships, in between life-stages, whatever you want to call it. Neither here nor there. “I mean a lot, I mean a little.” (Everything but the Girl’s “Walking Wounded”: still possibly your favorite album of that year, even after 15 years of listening.)

EVERYTHING BUT THE GIRL: “Was I different then? Have I changed? And will I change again?”

There was a girl who wore boots, long skirts, blacks and blues; there was another girl, who dressed in a style she called “earth mother,” with layers and layers of Indian skirts, and jewelry from a museum shop; and there was a girl who wore 3/4-sleeve Raglan shirts and sneakers as her daily commuting-from-one-end-of-Metro-Manila-to-another uniform. The first one introduced you to Aimee Mann, the second one shared Tori Amos (and Sylvia Plath) with you, and the third would give you mixtapes with Sonic Youth and Underworld on them; one afternoon, you found yourself at her place, and you both happened to have the “Trainspotting” soundtrack jammed into your Walkmen, and you would think this was some sort of sign, but it really wasn’t.

You let stray reviews talk you out of getting Weezer’s “Pinkerton” even though you had enjoyed the blue album.

You got “Illadelph Halflife” by The Roots and secretly congratulated yourself on being in on something that was still somewhat unknown at the time. But your growing penchant for hip-hop would take a sharp turn for the mainstream before long, heralded by vivid MTV assaults on your senses.

You got a free copy of the first Parokya ni Edgar album from a friend who worked at a radio station, and you were highly amused and entertained by it, but concluded that there was no way this band would ever last. One evening you found yourself standing in a music shop in front of a row of cassettes and considered buying Rivermaya’s “Trip,” and instead bought “Car Button Cloth” by the Lemonheads (you ended up loving, for various reasons, Break Me.) You found the cover — with the items listed in the title child-scrawled on it, beside the words “all of these things sank” — funny and sad.

DJ SHADOW: His music is cooler than he looks.

There were many things that were both funny and sad that year: your showing up at a supposed costume party and finding out you were the only one in costume, for example (on the plus side, you got compliments on your Jedi robes).

You loved the throwbacks and veterans. “Bilingual” by the Pet Shop Boys, flashy and catchy and joyous, soundtracked your Shoppesville Greenhills wanderings. “Fountains of Wayne” was a CD Warehouse find; sweet rock/pop with no edges but plenty of smarts. And of course, Britpop: you were steeped in the stuff. “(What’s the Story) Morning Glory” by Oasis, released late the year before, was ascendant, though you preferred Blur, the Manics, the Boo Radleys.

Things were changing. Music was changing. It was the year of the Spice Girls:  watching Wannabe on MTV, it seemed like science fiction to imagine that these five female goofballs would rule the pop music world before very long. It was also the year you asked an aunt from abroad to bring home a copy of DJ Shadow’s “Endtroducing...” All atomsphere and assemblage, it would alter slightly the way you appreciated music, and influence much that came after.

Fifteen years later, thinking about that year and the music of that year, you recall certain lyrics from Flipside, perhaps your favorite track off “Walking Wounded.” At the moment, you feel there is no better way to sum it all up.

SPICE GIRLS: They really really really wanna zigazig ah.

I think I’ve changed a lot since then, do you?/ Ideas that I’d held for years, emotional baggage, hopes and fears,/ Seen somehow in a different light, not as wrong , but not as right as they seemed before. / Was I different then? Have I changed? And will I change again?