It is ten o’clock in the morning, my father’s record of Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie No. 1 plays downstairs, my conscience nags me for drinking coffee after I promised to abstain from it a month ago, and I am wearing my favorite Bart Simpson shirt. My room suffocates me with the fascinating traps of nostalgia that haunts me better than it ever did before.
It is the year 2016 , I am walking on the long bridge that connects Doroteo Jose to Recto station for the first time; three hours prior to this trip, I finished playing ‘Outlast’ and ate sixty trucks of salty chicken drumsticks, plus a ‘diet’ soda which explains why I feel a bit nauseous. I kept telling myself that I’d be a good stand-up actress for a Philippine drama that tries so hard to show that its lead is having a baby soon, excuse the shade.
As soon as I reached the other side, a friend handed me a fine sketch of Alex Turner, with words behind it that read ‘I bet you look good on the dancefloor’, my heart leaped from the peak of the Everest down to Pacific’s bottom. I had my own ‘Rachel McAdams in a romance flick’ moment.
Inside the train, I tried breaking the silence by sharing stories of how my phone suddenly played Kanye tracks loudly in the bus--after all, it’s Fête de la Musique season, I might as well honor the power of music by sharing shameful stories that happened when they played.
Five hours in, and my friend and I had the best time in the world. A movie, a conversation about the people we see underneath the balcony, and big scoops of ice cream inside the ‘only living’ part of the old Magnolia gelato factory, were just enough for us to kill time and proceed to Intramuros and celebrate Fête de la Musique with our mutual friends.
The night was young, random bands were already playing songs that I am not quite familiar with, we had so much to do, and I had so much to remember.
Those cozy nights in Cubao Expo when I would sit near a vintage-looking vendo machine that offers a five peso coffee, how fascinating Manila looked at 11 pm, how Manila Cathedral’s bells sound, 2 am walks inside the walls, the old Family Mart and how my friends and I would stay there for hours or so after only buying a cheap cone of ice cream, and so on.
For minutes I had a glimpse of the person I was a few years back, a girl in her ponytail who just won the student council election, eagerly shaking hands with everybody. Things may have changed now, but the people I’ve met, the places I’ve been to, will always bring me into the spirals of pleasant remembrances.
The point here is that I’m being such a senseless, mushy person for being able to graduate from this fine fine institution. ANYHOW, to the next News Editor of The LANCE, please take care of this spot in the paper for me, and everyone who has written here before us. Cheers to you!
PS: Please excuse this boring, self-centered narrative, I wrote something personal for the first time, ha. *giggles in Latin*