Ruth is a full-time writer. Foodie. Happy camper. Wanders a lot. Used to have the worst taste in men. A reformed swipe-a-holic. Reviving her blog after its death.
Saturday, March 15, 2003
Bazooka Fortune: Pick your Friends not their noses.
***
Just had a long chat with a classmate over the telephone.
I realized that I only have TWO WEEKS! Two more weeks as a college student. Two more weeks with my classmates and my friends.
Wow, after two weeks, I’m leaving the four walls that have protected me for the past sixteen years. My alma mater is more than just an educational institution for me. It has been my home.
It’s like this, when I go to the Forbes Exit, I remember the time I stole gumamela (hibiscus) from the garden of the hospital. I remember running as fast as I could, only to be caught. I was so scared then, but instead of the scolding that I fully expected, and deserved, the kindly guard collected more flowers for me. I told him it was for our altar (we kept one in every classroom).
At the Hospital Chapel, I remember praying so hard for God to forgive me for what I was about to do—forge my mother’s signature. I just failed my first math exam, and I was terrified to show the results to her.
At the playground, I remember me and my friends running after Patrick Fran, Dennis Espino, Bal David, and Henry Ong, just to get their autographs. They were our heroes. After two decades of losing, the Tigers swept the UAAP. Everyone was proud to wear the school colors. It was also at that time when I got a copy of my first Varsitarian. That was when I decided that I would become a journalist.
At the soccer field, I remember my high school best friend, Aicel. We would sit at the corner of the green. Chat about our frustrations, our dreams, and our girlish fantasies. Sex was never discussed (Believe it or not, I was innocent, or ignorant, once).
On the same field, I remember the weekly Girl Scout deliberations I suffered with Faye. I remember admiring her for her display of smart-ass attitude.
I also remember falling in-love with a girl. It was a bad case of crush, lust, and love. I was so willing to court her. Unfortunately, she told me that it was just a phase and I’ll soon grow out of it. Maybe, she was right.
At the Colayco Park, I would harass my friend, Grace, to teach me chemistry and physics. And then, I’d floor my cocky acquaintances from the first section with my, ahem, superior knowledge in history (I could name all the wives of Henry VIII, the favorite delicacies of Romans, and explain to them why the Grecian men wear skirts).
At the pool, I remember cheering for my best friend as she competed with our other schoolmates. Most of the time, her own sister beats her. But that’s okay, I was so proud of her.
I remember the La Naval Procession that Marian forced me and Andrea to attend. I never understood the purpose of that tradition, all I cared about was that at the end of the day, the equivalent of my sacrifice would be an additional grade in religion.
In college, I remember wearing the AB uniform with pride on the first few weeks. I had the best uniform in the whole campus. Despite the fact that a few months ago, I watched Calvento Files, and had seen the same uniform being projected as the uniform of flirts.
I also remember one rainy afternoon when I applied for a new organization. I just wanted to have a place where I could stay during my break time. I never expected that I’ll make friends that I could always depend on to if things go terribly wrong.
I know I am being prematurely nostalgic about these things. But I can’t help it. Every time I drive my car out of the gates of the campus, I think how next year I could no longer use the same exit because I no longer have the right.
And yes, I am scared, out of my wits, of facing the so-called real world.
***
I have always berated myself for becoming too attached with my friends. Because I think I always get the worse part of the deal. I tend to build my life around them rather than making my own. It’s the risk I always take whenever I make relations.
God, I want to hit my head on the wall whenever I feel wistful about my time with them. I’m 21-years old, and I haven’t learned a thing.
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