I'm standing still, Jenny

I was talking with Piyar again last night, and as always it's a conversation peppered with obscure food-related metaphors. This time it's something about lechong kawali and how it's crunch can mean death by cholesterol for some, until I eventually floated the idea of eating puto bumbong with her one weekend. Despite some awkward gaps, we were our usual crazy selves - until I decided to say something.

I never said it, though. I never really had the time, because the parents have announced our departure, and I resigned myself to leaving another thing unsaid. Not now, though.

I don't miss school.

When I proposed the puto bumbong treat-a-thon, I got inevitably asked about work. I did answer the question - the food metaphors referred to work, or what's between it, anyway - and reiterated something.

"Pero ang sabi ko," I said, "weekend, weekend!"

"Ay," she merely replied, before letting out a laugh.

Before sleeping, my mind paced back to how the two of us reached such a state of affairs. I find it enjoyable, perhaps amusing, to trace back events and realize how far-flung things are, and how lucky I supposedly am. We may be in the same course, but I only knew Piyar during my second year in college, and only because we took the same class. To make things more obscure, I only knew her because I began chatting with Cam, who already knew Jason - yes, everything links back to connections.

How exactly we started to talk about serious matters with food metaphors remains an escaped moment. It's just one moment with bulalo as the topic, which definitely would've happened if I wasn't invited to her debut, which means I would've seen her become some rock star debutante. Then again, it happened - just one of the people that made my college years worth it.

I don't miss school. Or, to be exact, I don't think I have to return to the DLSU campus just to get myself a nostalgic shot. We can easily replace places and get used to new surroundings easily; a week into employment, Pearl Drive has become pretty much my Taft Avenue. It's the people that you miss - the moments you've spent, the jokes you've shared, the love stories you've never acted on. That's what gives those places meaning. Besides, you'd be considered weird if you talked to a Corinthian pillar.

Working becomes complicated because you have to adjust to the people around you. If you're like me, who's managed to get attached to practically anybody, this is a challenge - shoved right in your face is the reality that things are absolutely different this time. I can't tell Kris the same things you tell Ariane. I can't say goodbye to Neobie the same way I say goodbye to Les. And I can't use those food metaphors to anybody else but Piyar - that's how things work.

But the problem with attachment is having too much of it. Sure, when it's gone, it's not the places you remember, but the people. That bench will remain the same, but the context changes when you're surrounded with strangers, or with people who unabashedly shun you all of a sudden. And you'll never move on if you're like me, lying on the bed, tracing back the events that changed your life.

So, about Piyar. We've shared a lot. She found out something new, and I found out nothing new, really, but it helps to have a listening ear (or an observant eye, since you don't hear people when you chat online). But when she has to move on, what will happen to me? If I do take that next step and get shunned as I was warned, will I go to the extent of bothering Piyar when she becomes a listening ear to somebody else? Or, worse, will I end up crying because I've lost my listening ears?

"Mamimiss na naman kita niyan," I said. "O, siya siya... paalam na! At kailangan ko pang i-save ang chat na ito para... wala lang."

There wasn't an answer.

And your responses...

interesting title!

Blogger N.8/13/2008     

Post a Comment