a walk down memory lane

It was not a welcome sign. Nearly a decade since we last saw each other, the “pull” was still evident. Who would have thought that this would be the case? Apparently, the years did not blunt the attraction that drew us together in the first place. Suddenly, Barry Manilow’s “Even Now” started reverberating in my ears, and I was once again lost.

Ours is a story of a big adventure.

Suffice it to say that while my relationship with the first boyfriend was as smooth-sailing as a gondola ride, my journey with this one was as turbulent as whitewater rafting. After all, he nurtured my daring side. What the first boyfriend failed to break, he was successful in doing so: my rigid self-discipline. For nearly four years, he encouraged me to fly with the wind, to smell the air, to laugh heartily, and to just simply be. With him, I learned to ignore social rules. He taught me that happiness does not come in a box. We were young and we craved for adventure. We would visit places we’ve never been to before. Because of him, I developed a love for the unknown. We were reckless. We were having fun. We were happy. Looking back, he showed me happiness so deep and real that even a dot of pain would instantly be glaring.

More than anything else, I so admired his brain. He was intelligent in a way that the four walls of the classroom cannot mold. There were times when we had no money so we would content ourselves just reading newspapers from cover to cover. He was fond of reciting poems and it was from him that I first got a glimpse of Beowulf. He would tell jokes and we would laugh like hyenas. Oh how we laughed!

But even then, I knew the adventure was somehow going to end. Early on, I thought I had already mastered the art of letting go, but I was wrong. Understand that he and I parted the soap-operaish way. He just sort of disappeared. Although technically he could not disappear because we run around the same circle of people, we both understood that it was time to let go. We were forced to drift apart. And though there were no tearful goodbyes, the hole he left in my heart was so huge it took years before I finally healed.

Indeed, his influence in the way I lived and breathed was so overwhelming that when I was studying in Japan, my daily prayer included asking God not to let us bump into each other there. I knew he visited Japan every now and then, but I often failed to remember that Japan is a big country. One of the scariest thought I harbored then was accidentally meeting him in one of Tokyo’s busiest train stations.

Of course, my reaction to him or anything connected with him is always, to say the least, hysterically exaggerated. This is because my experiences taught me that between the two of us, there was no half-way or in-betweens. We would often go for the kill. We learned to temper this as we journeyed along, for fear of negative repercussions. In fact, we mastered the skill of civilized but impersonal conversations in public.

You see, several times since we parted ways we would still bump into each other, usually in big gatherings. It was during these times when conducting small talk became a tedious chore. Yet, we HAD to talk, otherwise people would. We were known to be extraordinarily close to each other that public displays of affection like holding hands and hugging were not considered unusual by those who knew us. Acting differently then would have started tongues wagging. We did not want that to happen.

Then, lo and behold, in one of those big parties the family held early this year, we met again. I knew instantly the moment he stepped within my boundary. I felt it. When my friend whispered about a man who was staring at me, I just knew it was him. As much as I refused to turn around to face him, I had no other choice but to force myself to come face to face with him.

“Hey,” I hoped a smile was plastered on my face for everyone to see.

“Hi,” he smiled back. Then the farce began. He took his lunch as far away from my table as possible. The rule was and will always be: the less interaction, the better for us to act normally.

Soon enough, people started leaving the party and we were left with relatives and few close friends. I was talking to his sister when I felt that it was time for the inevitable to happen. At that point, he was already prepared, and so was I.

“Hey, come over here and join us,” I called out to him. He excused himself from his group and joined his sister and I. To break what seemed to me as stiff atmosphere, I blurted, “How are you na? I missed you.”

“Oo nga. When was the last time ba that we saw each other? How long ago was it na? How are you? When are you going back to Manila?” the volley of questions between us left his sister out of the equation. Perhaps she was keenly observing us. Around the ever-discerning family, we would tread even more carefully.

Late into the night, when his sister beckoned that they already had to go home, I desperately hoped he would ask to be left behind. He did. He tried to convince his sister that he could just hitch a ride on the way home. But his sister put her foot down so he relented.

Right before he had to cross the gate, we were given the chance to be alone together. “Number,” he said. Dense and tense as I was, I shot him a questioning look. “Number…cell phone number,” he muttered for the second time.

“Oh,” I said and quickly took my mobile out. He then recited his cell phone number and instructed me to call him right away so he could record mine. Such impulses are welcome if only for the fact that this would somehow be forgotten the moment we get out of each other’s periphery and on to the real world.

Suddenly, we found ourselves hugging each other. In a few precious seconds, we were just being ourselves minus the prying eyes of the public. I whispered, “thanks.” Then we let each other go.

That night, I could not sleep. As I tossed and turned, I realized that maybe I did love him at some point. Between the two of us, the word “love” was never spoken. But maybe we really did have something special, aside from the intense attraction we felt for each other. Then again, it’s not easy to admit. Doing so would only heighten the pain of the loss.

In this world where social norms still reign, insisting to be together would only raise a lot of issues. And although we were allowed by law to end up with each other, we never wanted to purposely hurt the people most precious to us – our family.