Kindly click on the play button before reading the main article. I intentionally included this video to add up to the emotions i have now.
I am presently listening to Yiruma’s ‘Kiss the Rain’. As every part of its melody plunge down deep in my sensation, im becoming sentimental. With its melancholic sound, flashbacks come running in my remembrance. I close my eyes for awhile and from nowhere I see familiar faces. Faces of bliss and celebration, moments of cheers and salutations. Without a doubt I knew from my heart, those were the days of my four years in high school. Now, we all have different paths to stroll. Away from each other we should learn how to stall. The world is moving, we are not in control. Though it’s hard to let go of the wonderful things we’ve shared together, we must continue with the lives we have right now.
Here, nostalgic again, looking around every spot in this place, staring blankly on every trace of memory there is in this room, there’s only one word I have in mind. Einstein. I found in this group the true meaning of friendship. I learned from them the essence of trust. I saw from them the different phases of reality. I felt from them the sense of belongingness. I understood from them the essence of loyalty. Although “The section of the Rebels” as we were labeled, still firmly I’ll say, I am proud of them. They can never be compared to anything for they are remarkably unique. We built a good company, a strong league and a happy family. We were able to show everybody our own version of teen angst. And putting together all of these, we were one great team. We were oftentimes despised by our own alma mater; we were misunderstood and were easily judged. But despite of every wrong presumption against us, still in the end, we proved them we’re winners. Yes there were times we acted wild and disobedient, but at the end of the day, whose section do the teachers say they are really proud of? Aren’t ours? Upon being continuously challenged and deprived, we became one and fixed on our stand. Thanks to them for bringing the best out of us. Because if not for the circumstances we had, our section will not last. It was great being a part of this class. Honored to share the journey of this batch. Barkada, tropa, or however we call our “samahan”, the conclusion is one: directly from the heart, we built a matchless bond.
I remember the days when we used to hang-out, chill the whole room with our chuckles and knacks. We laugh about everything, do the same stuffs together, share the warmth of every victory, and comfort our companion over despair. Every day I spend with them is another page in my chronicle.
I can’t deny the drama I feel inside. Because every scene of joy that no word can describe, is forever engraved in heart. The loneliness and longing I feel today will continually be a shadow of my past. My dear Einstein, you are the delight of my past, the strength of my present and the light of my future. In you I found a kind of friendship that will remain till the end.
I have been trapped in this inescapable feeling, missing the moments of emotional attachments. I miss the corner where I used to sit. The blackboard where I used to write. The locker that housed my things. The conference room where we spent our leisure times. The college application forms we were so busy filling out. The gym where we played. The playground where I broke a log. The lobby where we call for Jollibee delivery. The fetcher’s area where we greet each other ‘good morning’. The ramp where we sang our songs. The colored bleachers where we sit when we wait for the flag ceremony. I miss the laughter and I miss the cries. I miss the dramas and I miss the fights. I miss the hugs and the smiles.
If only I could bring back the times when we were so young and gay, still dwelling in the world of our own fairytales. If only I could, I would. But the story has a twist, it must be pursued. That certain ‘world’ is a puzzle where each of us represents a piece. Please don’t forget to look back when your way seems so narrow. Bring back the spring time when you first learned to love and be loved.
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Indeed, life is like a paper where passers-by leave a mark. My sketch pad is colored with giggles and charms. ;]
Till then.....
-SeReNe-
Labels: memoirs, nostalgia.
tied up.
