Father Pros was my first spiritual director. Raised by an aunt together with his brother who became a general, he felt the call to priesthood in his highschool. He went on to become one of the pioneer Filipino Oblate missionaries. Jolo, Sulu has a special place in his heart.

He was already old when I first met him so it was natural and insensitive of me to feel like I was punished when I knew that I was assigned to him. What could a sixteen year old boy and an octogenarian missionary with nasty diabetic wounds would even have to talk about?

But Father Pros was full of surprises. Our first spiritual direction session seemed boring as he was the one who mostly did the talking. And whenever I had to reply, I would need to shout near to his big and hairy ears. I was not getting the right amount of direct advice since all I had to do was to listen to him talk about many things. I envied those who had younger priests assigned to them. He has extensive wisdom on spirituality of sexuality and he would describe in great details to me how the union between a man and woman perfectly demonstrates God’s nature, order, and will. For someone who did not experience the love of his parents and has not been married or with a woman for that matter, Father Pros seemed to know a lot about the topic.

He was kind of a mystic too and I struggled to understand his methods of counselling. He would begin our conversation with the words “What are you looking for?” What am I supposed to reply to that? In other days he would remind me: “You do not have to know the everything of everything, just the something of everything.” Man, I was really a lost kid those days.

I knew I had to endure him for at least a year but one day, he showed me his collection of classic poems. I love poetry! That was when everything I perceived about him changed. He would recite some poems he managed to memorize that week and let me borrow his collections for weeks. We became poem-buddies. Then he started to tell me about his special relationship with the seminary’s dogs Dexter and Putol. He said that even dogs could teach us about God. In every aspect of nature there is an imprint and signature of God’s love, order and design. I began to look forward to our weekly conferences. I would thrill on days when I am assigned to bring to him the Holy Communion. This old missionary would look into the Host as if one would look on a lover. That’s when I knew a person could love someone forever.

When You Are Old

By William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

"What are you looking for?" It was all eleven years ago. I’m not a seminarian anymore nor that sixteen year old boy I don’t even know he remembers. But those words from him have found some deep chamber in my soul and stayed there all these years. It made me love philosophy. It made me love profoundly.

Today I learned that Father Pros has died and will lie in state in the place he considered his unhappiest moments – in the seminary. For a missionary to be a assigned in the slow world of seminary to form future missionaries and leaders was like putting a lion on a beach. I wonder how many poems has he managed to remember since the last time we met.

If I would meet five people in heaven, I wish one would be Father Pros. I think he would be interested to know what I had been looking for.

Thanks, Father Pros. You made me know something.

You are now home. I hope to meet your there someday.

There are many ways to spend a weekend. While we had no choice, to spend it with people (and occasional dogs and chickens) of far chapels of Benguet gives me some kind of unexplained gladness. While it is true that I miss a good bottle of wine with friends or a hot bowl of Tita Digna's chili, it is of no comparison to the opportunities to witness and share in the faith of indigenous peoples of Benguet.

In these places where pancit canton and tissue papers are offered among bread and wine in the Mass, plus the magnificent landscapes of mountains and clouds, I can't help but to be in awe of God's becoming man. He came that all may have hope, have meaning, have joy.

Lord, in times when I don't see your plans clearly, at least help me see you in people I meet on my way instead. Amen.

Three years ago, I dated Nikko, a med student about my age. I liked him very dearly and we both knew that. But it wasn't enough to transcend that friendship into a commitment. Deep within, I knew it's still him. I told Nikko about it and begged to stay as a friend. Wise enough to understand, he still let me see his life and share important moments. I would invite him to celebrate Christmas with my family and he would let me have dinner when his parents come to the city. Through the years, he'd let me know of his struggles and moments of bliss. The boys he dated, his passion in singing and dancing, the perennial fear of being not good enough. I'd like to believe that Nikko let me witness and share his life in a close encounter. He's going to take his oath as a physician in a few days. I'm very happy about that.

He has a partner now. Recently, I invited them over a charity dinner my group organized. Not seeing him for months, I was delighted to see him and his partner N. His walk was bouncy and his eyes are beaming, with a half smile I'm familiar as if telling me "Yes, that's him, Yas. My joy and all." He didn't have to say it. He's brimming with happiness.

I hugged them and for a second, my heart betrayed me.

That feeling of being vulnerable and empowered at the same time, of absolute contentment and belonging, of contradicting phenomenon of freedom and commitment all because of the presence of one person you handpicked from the rest of mankind. 

I miss that.

I miss you.

May katabi akong mag-ate kahapon sa jeep pauwi ng office mula Calabanga. Ten years old yata yung panganay habang nasa-kandong sa kanya ang nakababata nyang kapatid na lalaki. Sa rutang ito, di uso ang lingon lingon sa bintana dahil sa siksikan kaya wala akong nagawa kundi tignan ang eksena ng mga kasama ko sa byahe. Minsan, may katabi kang may dalang anim na manok at kung suswertihin ka, may kambing ka pang kasama.

Habang masid ko ang magkapatid na naiipit, naalala ko ang isa sa maraming eksena noong bata pa ko na umuuwi kami ng ate ko sa Malolos. Grade six sya at grade two ata ako nun. Nakalimutan ko ang dahilan pero isang beses, bumyahe kami ng kulang ang pamasahe. Maraming pagkakataon nung bata ako na ganun ang eksena, kulang ang pagkain, gipit sa baon.

Naka-ngisi akong inaalala yun at ang larawan ng magkapatid sa tabi ko. Pagbaba sa Naga, tinext ko si ate. May nakatabi akong magkapatid sa jeep kanina. Naalala ko nung mga nene pa tayo at kulang ang pamasahe natin pauwing Malolos. Haha.

Reply nya: Hahah. Kapal nga ng mukha ko nun.

Bihira kami mag-usap ng ate ko maliban kung usaping hatian sa reponsibilidad kaya ang mga simpleng bagay tulad nito ay hindi nangyayari. Ang tanda ko, ang huling usap naming di problema ang topic ay nung binanggit ko sa kanya si Marc. Syempre, di ako pinalampas ang pagkakataong yun para kausapin sya.

Text ko: Pramis the little girl really reminded me of you. Pero shemps mas malaki ang mata mo nung bata ka pa.

Nyeta. Di na nagreply.

Kailangan ko ba kayong isa-isahin? Mula sa planong mag-hahapunan hanggang sa nauwi sa isang party, hanggang ngayon ay iniisip ko, napaka-swerte ko naman upang mabiyayaan ng mga kaibigan tulad nyo. Sa totoo lang, wala sa plano ko ang isang party para sa higit tatlumpung tao. Gayunpaman, dumating ang lahat - kaibigan mula pagkabata, tropa nung highschool, ang mga bloggers sampu ng kanilang mga ehem, kasama.


So there, I am officially twenty one. Umamin na rin ako sa kababata ko na hindi ako straight. Pinakilala sa lahat ng maagang dumating si M, na kung babalikan ko ang pag-mumuni, ay syang dahilan at paraan ng pagiging mas totoo ko sa sarili. Baabaa, kung alam mo lang kung gano ako kasaya. Sa lahat ng kasawian at pagkabigo na naisulat ko dito, ikaw lang pala ang hinihintay upang mapawi ang mga kalungkutan.


Salamat,


Kay Nate and Little Nikki na pang-model naman ang height, salamat sa pagdating at sa dagdag alak, napatumba natin sila.


At talagang pinilit nyong magtrend ang #YasParty2012 sa Twitter. Infairness, dinikit nyo pa sa #WhiteParty ha.


Nim at Leo, kayo ang mga perky sunflowers ko pagdating sa relasyon. Salamat sa specialty nyong Baliwag chicken lechon.


Louie, hanggang sa mga susunod pa na perky days!


Ryan, pinapangako ko mas gagalingan ko ang hosting skills ko. Salamat sa chaofan java rice na blockbuster.


Jap, dad salamat sa dala mong bisita saya at cupcake. Sorry di kagad kita nasabihan na di tuloy ang tea and cupcake ceremony. It is always nice to see you.


Nox, dad salamat sa pagpunta. Alam kong effort ang manggaling ng Cavite na nakasuot ng killer outfit at may dala-dalang litro-litro ng softdrinks.


Babit, salamat. Sa susunod gagawa ako ng rampahan. Dadagdagan ko na din ang ilaw para mas feel nyo ang rampa.


Pao, salamat sayo at sa boypren. Looking at you guys sleeping together is something... I will always remember about.


Yo, ikaw na mabenta sa maraming bisita, wag ka na ulit pupunta ha. Chot. Salamat sa pagdayo mula Maynila.


Kane, akala ko pa naman regalo mo yung mga dala mo salamat sa pagpunta. It's always fun when you are around.


YJ, ikaw na reyna ng crowd. Thanks for staying and bringing laughter to the crowd.


Tropa, I will always remember that day. Through and through, you never guys left me. Isn't five years after highschool and counting?


Mahabagin friends, you are the best UP crowd I ever met. Para sa mga susunod pang inuman at adventures sa buhay!




To everyone, my sincerest thanks. Kagabi, may dinner pa kong surprise birthday celebration and I realized, I am blessed beyond I ever imagined.


Adele was writing sad love songs when she was twenty one. I don't think I will write sad lines this year. Because grace, far greater than me, is always present to sustain every sadness, longing and lacking. And speaking of grace, I thank You for being on my side throughout the storms and calm seas. You are that tiny whisper in my ears saying, "Gora, dito lang achi. Keri mo yan."


Hanggang dito na lamang at maraming salamat.


AMDG

Pipinid ang gabi at
lalatag ang panibagong araw
dala ang mga ala-ala mo
ng mapulang lansangan ng Plaza Miranda
ng pag-asang hinugot sa Malate
ng masasayang lakarin ng Binondo
at ang matitingkad na kulay
ng dalampasigan ng Bolinao.


Dumating kang dala
ang ulan sa iyong sinapupunan
at lilisan ring madali
katulad ng paghampas ng alon
sa maitim na buhanginan ng Lingayen -
rumaragasang darating kasama ang alon
uuwing banayad, marahang marahan.

The breeze was cold enough for us to wear jackets and here in a small pub facing the sea, we grabbed chilled beers and flicked lighters every five minutes. It is a small pub. Anyone can remember everyone's face and name.

It was my first night in Puerto Galera, in that little shore town lined with drinking spots.


I could recall how he moved and watched and smiled at us all, like a god looking down on his playful creatures. The eyes full of wisdom and hair washed by years. He would transfer from table to table and talk to everyone- us the only locals, Frankfurters, Londoners, Aussies. I am Swedish, travel by boat and more Filipino than any Immigration officer of this country he said introducing. He owns the pub.


He went to our table, to us, two men and a woman from the smoke. He calls Manila smoke, for obvious reasons.


I like your hair he said to the woman. Long, not straight, not curly. Very Filipina. Do not change that, do not follow those women who color their hair and get rebond so they will be noticed. Do not change. You are beautiful.

He went home a little after. He was very drunk he could piss pure vodka.


Everyone got free beer that night and the Londoner gave another round next. It was difficult to refuse but I managed, my companions are engaged in cultural argument with the Aussies. With the last gulp, I picked my cigarette and took a deep breath and listen to Abba sing Fernando and began thinking about what the old man said.


Do not change. In a world that tells us change is the only precursor of beauty and acceptance is a drunk old man who tells otherwise. Lying next to you in daylight and months after that night only I realized what he means.

Can we really bear more than what we think can handle? He always thought he can handle it all. All sadness, all responsibilities, all troubles, all mishaps, all failures. Then when all seemed too heavy to handle, he brokedown. He realized how small he is, how jaded he is all through out. Was he wrong when he chose to make people think he is the happy person? Was he wrong when he took all worries to himself and never bothered anyone to deal with it?

Even in a crowd of people who think shouting would make their conversation more important than the others, too alone he was. Too unoccupied. Too lost.

He cannot explain where his sudden sadness came from. He was too empty, too dry. He planned to cry that day but his eyes were an empty well. I haven't seen him cry real tears in years. Even in his most private moments, he cannot cry. For the first time, it shamed him not be able to cry.

He is better off dead. As in dead dead.

Then suddenly the ugly truth struck him like lightning. He felt too broken, too little, too human. I saw it, the most vulnerable him yesterday. I was with him at the tea shop when the barista asked for name to put on the cup, he asked her to spell Hope. For all the words in the dictionary, he picked hope. Pathetic. The barista knows his real name for he frequent the neighborhood tea shop yet she did not refuse. So she wrote hope on the cup and pour jasmine and milk.

She could have frown or laugh on writing Hope instead of Jayson. But she did it anyway. Not that she was obliged to. Maybe because she understood.

Returning home, he played the piano. The sad notes flew and travelled in the neighborhood and joined the fog that breathes on wall glass. When will someone for once stop whatever he is saying and listen to him? He was tired of listening. It was too

tiring to listen everytime.

He slept that night dreamless. Maybe dream is only for the just.

I missed blogging. Or is it the friends I made here that I actually miss? I think it’s one and the same. I promise to be active again.

My current financial status is like that of the nation. But God never abandons his favorite sinner. I guess it's all a matter of how I deal my relationship with Him that he still doesn’t leave me empty. For whatever it is that keeps me alive and surviving, I credit it to God's grace. For who can survive a happiest summer without a generous payslip from the capitalist employer? When savings vanishes like the national budget, friends did not leave me. I cannot wait for the day that I would repay them for all their generosity.

That is my younger brother. I am glad he likes his school and his course. I hope we can talk in sign language soon or exchange some good book review :) See, even my poverty we can make a big change in someone's life. Haha.

I like to think that God breaks us to make us whole. Or if not, he breaks us so we can be everywhere that wind would take us. So we be that little piece of hope to someone else. With little that we have, still significantly paying forward.

It was May and the term has just ended. My first year in the seminary was extremely memorable and fun. I went home with all my books and clothes, leaving nothing of a trace that I once stayed there. She was wearing her usual smile when she opened the gate, she didn't know I was expelled.


There is a Visayan lullaby about a mother buying bread. I could still remember former days of waking up and finding the bed next to me empty. And there at the gate, just before the first light of the day hit our glass window, she would be entering with hot pan de sal in brown paper bag and some nice breakfast.


Ili-ili tulog anay. Wala diri imong nanay. Kadto tienda bakal papay. Ili-ili tulog anay.


It was that same May of three years ago when she went on. Just some few days before I turned seventeen. That was really heartbreaking, seeing your mama wait for you from a long day just to have a company to hospital. She didn't want any other else to bring her. She wanted me. And wanted me late.


Many relatives say I am so like her. I could talk and think with the same nobility and brilliance she possessed. That flatters very very much. After all, I like it. I am a Mama's boy.


Three years after, I would still want her back sometimes. I know there is more life after her and I have moved on. Afterall, she has moved to her loving God.


If Nimmy, Leomer and Louie find my perkiness overwhelming on my first Bachetto night, I think they have caught a glimpse of what type of mother I have.


Mama, wherever you are, stay there. Do not visit me or I would be a screaming shit. I am fine and I have good friends. I cannot send you flowers. Please do not send me one or I will be screaming hell. I am well and I profoundly remember our memories. I love you. Happy Mama's Day.


---------------------
Oh, Happy Mother's day too to my Ate and Amma!

When you told me to stop waiting, I choked.
Don't you remember when I said I don't mind hanging?
No you said. You should leave me from here and move on.




Sana kapag naiguhit mo na lahat ng dapat iguhit, lahat ng defense ay naipasa, at naubos na ang mga dahilan kung bakit wala kang panahong sumaya, yung tunay na masaya, maalala mong hindi nauubos ang lahat ng dapat katakutan. Ang tanging paraan ay ang tumalikod sa dilim, at marahang hagilapin ang anyo at porma ng kasiyahan.


At kapag naubos na lahat ng dahilan na pwede mong maisip at natapos na ang mga pangangatwiran, makahanap ka nawa ng ayos at daloy.

Nitong nakaraang linggo lang, pagkatapos ng mahaba-haba ring panahon, naisipan kong tumambay saglit.  Doon, sa tindahan sa tapat ng Faculty Center sa aming unibersidad, naupo ako’t nagpahinga, pinanood ang mga sasakyang nakikipag-unahan sa mga guro’t estudyanteng may kanya-kanyang pinanggalingan at pupuntahan.  Nagsimula nang mamunga ang mga puno ng bulak sa unibersidad, ihinihipan ng mainit na hangin ang hibla ng mga halamang-ulap.


Karaniwang eksena na ito sa amin, tulad ng inaasahang pagtatanim at pagtubo ng mga Mirasol sa pagtatapos ng Marso’t pagpasok ng Abril.  Pinagmasdan ko ang mga tao’t sasakyan, ang mga hibla ng bulak—parang langit na bumaba sa lupa—inisip ang mga Mirasol na malapit nang mamukadkad.  Pinantasya kong lumilisan ang aking kaluluwa, sumakay sa pumpon ng mga bunga ng bulak, papunta doon sa mga tanim ng bulaklak.


Sa aking pantasya, pumitas ako ng libo-libong dilaw-kahel na bunga, at inialay ang bawat isa sa kanilang magtatapos at mag-uumpisa.  Isang bulaklak para sa bawat munting tagumpay, sa pagpupugay sa bawat puwersang naghatid sa direksyong ito.  Sa aking pantasya, lahat ay may perky Sunflower na matiyagang nag-aabang, isang Mirasol para sa bawat magtatapos at doon sa paparating pa lang, isang bulaklak na mamumukadkad sa panahong sakto sa kanya, mamumukadkad para sa kanya at wala nang iba pa.


Vlademeir Gonzales,
Graduation: Perky kids, ritwal ng wakas-umpisa at M2M S-A-S-A-Y-A
UP Diliman 2010

Finding ourselves sometimes requires us to go away, travel the road or climb the mountain or just simply join a long travel trip to nowhere. And on the way, we realize we are picking some of our broken pieces one after the another. And maybe, just maybe, when we return home, we are ourselves again. Ever alive.

Pray that the road is long. And on the road are stories of loves found and lost, of run away grooms and childhood sweethearts, of waiting and faithfulness. We immortalize memories on glossy papers and tagged posts. But heart remembers most- the shades of every color of the sun, the every emotion and memory we associate with them.

Life is shitty we know. But after long tricycle rides and boating the angry waves, I came with the realization that life, in all its fine thousand ways, will get me back from my hollowness and, eventually, take my breath away.

Once again.

Pundaquit Beach
Anawangin Cove, Zambales
(c) Juan Carlo Medina

From the nowhere I used calling home, I wandered the streets trying to hide the evidence of a word fight with the righteous person inside the house. There were a lot that day for me to bear. And sometimes, to save your sanity, things should be half remembered.

This is what passes when a boy grew up and finally becomes a man.

Sometimes, I wonder why I could only write when I am sad. Maybe, just maybe, it is because all that I should only write is what is profound. So forgive me, bored readers.

All I want was to be happy that day. Just that. To visit the long gone parent, to remember. On mornings when you just arrived from call whoring, you do not have enough energy to shout or to complain. I am never good at fighting so I never start one. I just slip away if necessary. So I do not start a fight. All I want is to be happy that day. To remember. Very simple. I want to be happy.

Once I complained to Kane why some people could hoard happiness. I just really wish happiness is tattoo- ever there, black and permanent.

I only want company with them, no things more than that. If a brother refuses company because he will visit the grave the next week with his girlfriend, fine. But if a father tells you he does not want to come because he does not believe to the teachings of the church about the dead and that he prefers watching action movies, fuck. That's when you start to fire the first war shot. You can do many things when you are mad. I only did two things. I rant and cried. More often than not, we rarely use proper reason and argument with people close to your heart. Because we use our heart so you may only hurt them much.

That was what happened. That was not planned.

Good thing friends are always handy- ready to accompany you anywhere, any time of the day, where a single family member would not dare to join you.

Pictures, they say, make us remember. I only remember how angry and pitiful I was to myself for the very first time.

When I grow up. Swear. I will never be like you.

From where I am sitting right now, there is neither a bottle of beer or a cup of coffee. Maybe, just maybe, I missed the train on platform nine and three quarters.

Sometimes, happiness is cheap. And sometimes, even with all the savings you have, you do not know if you can ever afford it.

This is to remember the dead and the living. To life, to all.

This is to remember the nameless heroes and heroines who took great leaps to serve without ceasing, to give without expecting return. To those who relied in the goodness of men, this, a thanksgiving.

A year ago, there were no Catholics nor Muslim, no richer nor poorer, just Filipinos. For this, a thanksgiving.

-----

Last night, I joined everyone is celebrating the miracle of humanity through a concert with Bukas Palad Music Ministry. Yes, I performed in a chorus. The concert is called Christify, after their new album. Christify means transforming all things to Christ, a mission everyone is called every after Mass. Because intimacy with God does not end after the Eucharist, it actually begins there. Because God is not confined in the hallowed walls, he should be known and met in the streets, on the road.

Beautiful it is to look back and move on. And learn from it. But what's more beautiful? To realize that God is with us. Hiding in thousand disguises.

I am writing this in my best friend’s sala. While watching her sleep after a discussion about love coming and going, I thought of how faithfully you guarded my house from those brain-eating freaks yesterday afternoon. While discussing which plants to defend my backyard, I started to feel that in ways more than one, good things come to those who wait.

You called it oxygen when you willingly accompanied me to smoke outside Ateneo’s theater. I didn’t have a stick to light. You were amazed how I got a stick from and a lighter from a stranger. I was amazed that you actually brought a black jacket accidentally, surprised as if you really planned to watch a stage play that night. In ways more than one, good things come to those who wait.

I was expecting a busy Saturday running from home to Diliman to Makati to Katipunan. Then when you laughed hard to the fact that I just started beating zombies, I got the feeling that this day shall be spent planting cherry bombs and a good friendship.

Next thing I knew? I did not run from anywhere, the moon is showing up in the sky and all was well.

76 or 79?
I was born on 1931. Do the Math.
But your fading senior citizen's card tells you were 60 on 1994.
Never mind municipal records. I was born on 1931.
Fine. You are 79 then. Happy birthday.

She woke me up three minutes before the 6AM Mass in Monasterio de Santa Clara. Virginia, my Amma (grandmother), celebrates her birthday along with the feast of the religious virgin. I told her it is ironic that her birthday falls on the same date Catholics remember a pious woman. She didn't like my joke and hit me with a bottled water.

Believe it. My coolest barkada is a 79ner


She knows almost everything from leafy plants to broken hearts (though I never dared to talk about this with her. She is preachy I tell you.) She forgets dates but would always remember memories. Of all nicknames I have, her calling me Edjey is something sweet next to ice cream. Difference in language is never a struggle for her to gossip in Cebuano, Kapampangan, Ilokano, Pangalatok or Tagalog because she is very well versed.

Amma is a small woman with a big faith in her God. I think that is the common thing I share with her.

Ikaw lang ang kamukha ng nanay mo. Salamat nandyan ka. Madalas ang kasama kong lumabas dati eh sya. Kung buhay yun ngayon, kaming dalawa siguro barkada mo.

Someone said we do not remember days; we remember moments. The thing with Amma is she remembers so well; the countless sampaguita garlands she have graced, her struggles as a single parent in her 40's, the days she buried her son and daughters one after the other, the days she spent taking care of us as kids, every flood she had to flee from, every little accidents she had met. You can sit beside her and she will tell all in vivid details and emotions. And for someone who has nothing but a wardrobe of everyday clothes and imported soaps, generosity is a virtue she holds so well.

Memories. Amma had endured enough sacrifices through her life that I simply want to fill her memory with good moments. I want her to remember that she is being well taken care of, is being cherished, is being so valued. She had seen failure many times that all a grandchild could do is to give her are hours of dinner dates, occassional ice cream sessions and a ready heart to listen to her repeated stories.

For her I am still a boy of five she desperately teaches how to sing. The truth is I am her nineteen year older grandson trying to understand her stories lost in exact date and time.

She wears her age like a crown. And if it is really a physical crown, hers should be a heavy one laden with seventy nine diamonds twinkling like stars in the August night sky.

It was May of 2007 when fourteen boys got their first experience of mops and wheel barrow. They had all the enthusiam of a neophyte; excited, pretentious and diligent. Three were from the plains of Luzon, eleven came from the countrysides of Mindanao and two were from the metro. The first weeks were terrible, everyone hardly speak in Filipino. There were only five boys who could not understand the rapid french that automatically made them the minority. I was one of the five boys. And at this moment of writing, only two were left to carry on the mopping of floors, sweeping the paths and dreaming to join the order.

We were a promising class according to the upperclassmen. We are musicians, orators, dean's listers, sports champions and craftsmen. We also are rule breakers, late comers and escapists. We practically excelled. Ours was an ambiguous motto: One batch, one promise.

Three years ago, we were boys full of idealism and dedication to persevere. We faced the challenge of sacrifing regular teenage for something greater than ourselves. We want to set the world on fire and illumine it. To live with the lumads in the mountains, to celebrate diversity with the lake people, to pass the parcel to a more hopeful generation. Dreams. They were so powerful that we forgot life is transit. I am sure they'd also miss class debates, cursing in Ilonggo, dragging feet to attend the 6AM mass, study hours, the long silences in the chapel. May of 2007 seems like a day ago.

Year after year, our group got smaller. Some are forced to leave, asked to return after a year and some just don't feel the need to stay anymore. Practically, everyone who left went back home. Including me. My stay was cut short when I was asked to leave for a year, that is to adjust. They said I am not mature enough to continue. A year passed and I got the invitation to return but I did not. T'was the year I began to take other calls.

Where are the boys now?

Patrick is graduating from Ateneo de Naga as Richard, Ryan, Erus, Vince and Keepee from Notre Dame University. Erique has returned to his mother's flowershop in Malolos and does occasional guitar gig. The last time I checked on Ronnel and Aduana, they were helping in their respective plantations while studying. Rey was accepted this year to Don Bosco Seminary. Leroy and I are still undergraduates of Diliman. Only Galilee and Sisoy are graduating next year as seminarians. The plan to set the world on fire together is now an impossibility. We now face different paths. But I always believe that somewhere, beyond horizons after horizons, paths converge.

Most of memories are fireworks; beautiful, mesmerizing, ephemeral.  But some memories are stars; however distant and ancient, they would appear every night, to influence us, to make us remember some more or to dream some more. Nature has no room for forevers because in its very sense, all would pass. But stars don't blind that is why life stories continue after heart breaks and disasters.

Our dream to become missionaries was cut short. But that does not mean we stopped pursuing to be arsonists someday. I have burned some people's photographs before. I am sure I will be a fine one.

Alam mo nung umaga na pumunta ako ng Vito Cruz para mag-lunch kasama mo kasi sabi mo vacant mo ng 9:20 - 11:30 AM, todo effort akong gumising umaga. Dapat alas dyes ako gigising dahil alas onse ang oral exams ko kaso dahil sabi mo libre ka at pwede naman akong mag-extra mile sa relasyong ito eh gumising ako ng alas otso. Alas dos ng madaling araw ako nakauwi sa bahay galing ng opisina nung araw na yun. Spell effort talaga diba?

At nung dumating ako ng before ten na naka-polo with chinese collar sa Mcdo sa harap ng CSB, akala ko nandun ka na. Tama, blue ang checkered polo ko and naka-black pants with black shoes ako sapagkat oral prelims ko sa epistemology. Huli ko na nalaman na 10:30 pala ang tapos ng klase mo. Pero dahil mahal kita, naghintay ako sa Mcdo at nagreview ng mga questions na pwedeng itanong sakin ng prof kong sira-ulo. Imagine andaming batang taga-la salle sa paligid. Di ako makapagconcentrate. Tumunog ang cellphone ko at tinatanong mo kung nasan ako naka-upo dahil di mo ko makita. Heller, nasa likod mo lang kaya ako.

Tinanong kita kung anong kakainin natin. Sabi mo kumain ka na. Okay, so anong oorderin mo? Gusto nya daw ng pink McFlurry at pink McFloat. Kaya umorder ako ng pink McFlurry at pink na McFloat. Dahil di pa ko nag-aalmusal, umorder ako ng cheeseburger meal. Pagdating sa upuan, bigla mong inannounce na kailangan mong bumalik sa press room kagad sabay abot sakin ng dalawang issue ng pahayagang la sallista. Gusto kong kumunot ang ulo pero dahil mahal nga kita, tinanong na lang kita kung nasan sa magazine na yun ang likha nya. Infairness, okay sa olrayt ang drawing mo ng icon ng UE Red Warrior. Ikaw lang ang nagdrawing na anime inspired.

Umikot ang usapan natin sa pagdodrowing mo para sa pahayagang plaridel at kung paano kayo nahihirapan sa pagpoprodyus ng isyu dalawang beses isang buwan dahil sa paglalapat ng lay-out. Naishare ko lang naman sayo na ang Kule ay lingguhan kung maglathala at ang pinaka mahirap na parte siguro ng pagpoprodus ng isyu ay kung paano hahanap ng pambayad sa publishing house. Di ko maakila na maganda ang papel at kulay ng plaridel. Di din naman ako nagmamayabang na wala sa kalingkingan ng Kule and pahayagang plaridel pagdating sa laman at kalidad ng editoryal. Totoo yun. Buti di ka na umangal at inaway ako.

Labing walong minuto lang ata tayong nagkaharap habang kumakain pagkatapos ng isang buwan nating di pagkikita. Papasama pa sana ako sa'yo bumili ng regalo sa MOA kasi alam kong freetime mo kaso di ako pwedeng humarang sa tawag ng pamamahayag. Eh nagmamadali ka kaya. Sa labing walong minutong yun, nakabaling lang sayo ang paningin ko maski umuulan ng maaamong mukha at singkit na mga mata sa paligid. Para akong scanner slash xerox machine sa pagtanda ng itsura mo at kung pano lumubog ang pimpols mo sa lalim ng pamatay mong dimpols. At nung saktong tapos mo nang nguyain ang huling piraso ng french fries, niyaya mo na kong lumabas at kailangan mo nang bumalik. Hinatid kita sa gate ng pamantasan mo, nangakong magpapakabait at dumiretso sa istasyon ng tren upang bumalik sa diliman. Saka lang bumalik sa isip ko na may exams nga pala ako.

At ngayon naman dahil prelims mo, di ka naman nagpaparamdam. Kapag nagtatanong ako, madalang pa sa regla ng bakla ka magreply. Ako naman ang sinusungitan mo. Ano ba to, karma? Sumasakit migraine ko.

Gusto kong sumigaw o kaya magtampo sayo pero di ko magawa. Gusto kong sabihin sa'yong yamot ako na mas matagal pa ang byahe ko kesa sa pagkikita natin. Gusto kong magreklamo kung bakit kapag may investigation ka sa akin eh nagrereply kagad ako pero kapag ako naman ang nagtanong eh walang napupuntahan ang tanong ko. Alam mo kung baket di ko magawang magreklamo at magdemanda sa barangay? Di ko ma-explain pero alam ko kung bakit. Ewan. Sarap mong lasunin.... sa pang-unawa.

Sa dinami-dami ng kailangang isipin araw-araw, dumagdag ka pa. Pero sa lahat ng problemang nakalista sa notebook ko, ikaw ang masarap hanapan ng tamang sagot, kasama ang formula at solution equation.