So Happy Together
Though four were conspicuous in their absence, the get-together at Chili’s in Morato last Friday with my college journ barkada has got to be one of the best nights I’ve ever had in a long, long time.
No denying that a year can change a lot, and it was apparent when stories were swapped over dinner. Some have already been predicted years earlier, and some came as a welcome surprise. Lia marveled at her exhilarating participation in the moments of Philippine history, while Gracee recounted weird instances while hobnobbing with the society’s elite. There’s Rhas and her work in public relations, and Nek just a week away from glorious freedom and her quest in finding The Writing Job. But while change seemed a constant that hovered over our conversations, little pockets of old times lingered at our table. Lia still refuses to use fork alone on principle and so demanded the waitress for a spoon, and the rest of us still drank iced tea in enormous proportions. And always, there’s the almost absurd, inane happiness of togetherness.
Through the (scarce) hours Nek and I would blurt in a chorus: some things will never change. And with each outburst I knew—I was absolutely certain—that we delighted in saying so.
***
Some of my favorite (but still unpolished) excerpts from the first draft of the short story I (technically) last wrote. I just remembered because the muse behind it (whom I've just realized while watching wansapanataym at work, does bear an uncanny resemblance to Paolo Paraiso) just called to tell me that he misses me. And despite everything I have to admit that I miss him too. Hahaha.
She didn’t exactly remember. Maybe it was when she saw how, with positive glee, he stepped on that big weight contraption at that local drugstore that she’s had the epiphany. Or when the machine started talking, asking him to hold on to the metal handles jutted out to measure his body fat or something. How his eyes lighted when from the machine a white paper started to roll out, signaling the end of the entire process, reminding her of those cashier registers at the groceries more than anything. The automated voice of a woman told him to “pick his belongings” while she collected her thoughts, deciding on what best possible plot to put him in, or how to best portray him: Ronin-like as he has always claimed to have looked like, or that certain soccer player who became more popular when he married a Spice Girl. (from i.)
How beautifully he played The Beatles’ Blackbird, ever graceful hands that seem to have a secret bond with the guitar itself, the notes effortless in their lilt. Or maybe what captivated her more were the stars in his eyes, glinting of pure happiness just like a child’s as he strummed and plucked away, conveying what he felt about the song more than all languages, whether known or secret, could ever say. (from volume ii.)
(Dream sequence)
He would grow seraphim’s wings; small bumps forming at each side of the first column of his spine, where the sudden burst of light will be later traced. The light would soon morph into feathers of startling white, growing in length as seconds ticked past, until they became the perfect accessory to fly. And she knew he had to, but as the realization sunk in she felt a void eating at her slowly, painfully, so painful it deprived her of words or tears. (from volume v)
And of course, the ending! (spoiler, hee!)
She wasn’t sure if she liked the how the story ended, for she knew he would have wanted a happy ending. But there are stories meant to be ended sadly, and she has come to accept that with resolute finality. Some things come into life, things you should be grateful for (and you are), but will pass just as quickly as they had come. They’re just there, waiting for the right moment to happen, and then waiting for the right moment to disappear. But while they’re still there you just have to capture them the best way you know how, as in a picture, a song, a movie or a story.
That’s why you see, that one day, I just knew I was going to write you a story.
***
I need a new muse.
***
Finally, I’ve got glad news. A very good friend I’ve made during the Dumaguete workshop is going to start working in ABS-CBN! It would certainly make this “air-conditioned sweatshop” more tolerable, and even make me reconsider staying. Hmm, seems like the Dumaguete Mafia is going to join forces again soon (albeit one is uh, too busy), with Chitchat here and Anina texting almost regularly. I do hope we meet up soon—and with Nikko Vitug still in Manila, I’m sure it will be bliss! I’m so excited!=)
No denying that a year can change a lot, and it was apparent when stories were swapped over dinner. Some have already been predicted years earlier, and some came as a welcome surprise. Lia marveled at her exhilarating participation in the moments of Philippine history, while Gracee recounted weird instances while hobnobbing with the society’s elite. There’s Rhas and her work in public relations, and Nek just a week away from glorious freedom and her quest in finding The Writing Job. But while change seemed a constant that hovered over our conversations, little pockets of old times lingered at our table. Lia still refuses to use fork alone on principle and so demanded the waitress for a spoon, and the rest of us still drank iced tea in enormous proportions. And always, there’s the almost absurd, inane happiness of togetherness.
Through the (scarce) hours Nek and I would blurt in a chorus: some things will never change. And with each outburst I knew—I was absolutely certain—that we delighted in saying so.
***
Some of my favorite (but still unpolished) excerpts from the first draft of the short story I (technically) last wrote. I just remembered because the muse behind it (whom I've just realized while watching wansapanataym at work, does bear an uncanny resemblance to Paolo Paraiso) just called to tell me that he misses me. And despite everything I have to admit that I miss him too. Hahaha.
She didn’t exactly remember. Maybe it was when she saw how, with positive glee, he stepped on that big weight contraption at that local drugstore that she’s had the epiphany. Or when the machine started talking, asking him to hold on to the metal handles jutted out to measure his body fat or something. How his eyes lighted when from the machine a white paper started to roll out, signaling the end of the entire process, reminding her of those cashier registers at the groceries more than anything. The automated voice of a woman told him to “pick his belongings” while she collected her thoughts, deciding on what best possible plot to put him in, or how to best portray him: Ronin-like as he has always claimed to have looked like, or that certain soccer player who became more popular when he married a Spice Girl. (from i.)
How beautifully he played The Beatles’ Blackbird, ever graceful hands that seem to have a secret bond with the guitar itself, the notes effortless in their lilt. Or maybe what captivated her more were the stars in his eyes, glinting of pure happiness just like a child’s as he strummed and plucked away, conveying what he felt about the song more than all languages, whether known or secret, could ever say. (from volume ii.)
(Dream sequence)
He would grow seraphim’s wings; small bumps forming at each side of the first column of his spine, where the sudden burst of light will be later traced. The light would soon morph into feathers of startling white, growing in length as seconds ticked past, until they became the perfect accessory to fly. And she knew he had to, but as the realization sunk in she felt a void eating at her slowly, painfully, so painful it deprived her of words or tears. (from volume v)
And of course, the ending! (spoiler, hee!)
She wasn’t sure if she liked the how the story ended, for she knew he would have wanted a happy ending. But there are stories meant to be ended sadly, and she has come to accept that with resolute finality. Some things come into life, things you should be grateful for (and you are), but will pass just as quickly as they had come. They’re just there, waiting for the right moment to happen, and then waiting for the right moment to disappear. But while they’re still there you just have to capture them the best way you know how, as in a picture, a song, a movie or a story.
That’s why you see, that one day, I just knew I was going to write you a story.
***
I need a new muse.
***
Finally, I’ve got glad news. A very good friend I’ve made during the Dumaguete workshop is going to start working in ABS-CBN! It would certainly make this “air-conditioned sweatshop” more tolerable, and even make me reconsider staying. Hmm, seems like the Dumaguete Mafia is going to join forces again soon (albeit one is uh, too busy), with Chitchat here and Anina texting almost regularly. I do hope we meet up soon—and with Nikko Vitug still in Manila, I’m sure it will be bliss! I’m so excited!=)
posted by hija_giovanna at 2:39 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home