Like mosquito bites, high school reunions give you an itch that only lasts for awhile. This post is long overdue but, like anybody else who sees something's inserted in an old book and is thrown into the distant pasts, I suddenly remember just right now the day when we grabbed those beach essentials and headed straight to Dumaluan.
I can’t blame nostalgia to have such an impact to me. Most of my buddies are my childhood comrades. From those days when we ran towards the monkey bar every recess time, the almost-everyday knee scratches we got from playing dakpanay and bihagay, the consistent warnings we received for not listening to the discussion, the never-ending role as a contender to every poster-making competition in town, the sudden shift to a military setting when high school came, the monthly spelunking and mountain trekking, to the night when we were all plunged to a game of hide-and-seek at dawn against our high-ranking officials. Indeed, these events that we’ve endured or experienced remain our footnotes that we constantly refer to every now and then on our very own book of history.
And last June 14, there was no stopping us looking back to our juvenile adventures. As if we were transported back to 1995, we played games like sprightly little children, unmindful of the stares from other people, as we were shrouded in a familiar atmosphere where the impending sense of maturity was of the least concern. On that day, the contact of sand beneath my soles and the spray of salt water on my face were never the same again.
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