Getting old

(my journal entry dated April 12, 2012, a Thursday)

I came home at 1:30 a.m. from our get-together with college friends last night, but I didn’t get to sleep until it was around 4:30 a.m. I woke up at 9:30 a.m. just now, just five hours of sleep, but I’m not complaining because five hours suffices as enough sleep time for me.

I did not specially like waking up this late, with so much noise and bustle already happening around. This morning, however, is different because everything around is so quiet and the sun shines so brilliantly already, and I can see that through the bathroom window as the sun’s rays hit the leaves of the trees and vines in the backyard, you’d think you woke up somewhere in the middle of a jungle and just at anytime, an elephant would come out in the clearing.

I guess if I could have a “shortcut” way of describing these impressions, it would be all right to say, “I woke up in an African morning today,” or “I had a French evening walk last night,” or “I haggled like Chinese comedy actor in the market this morning.”

The French evening walk would have to do with the night sky and the stars and a quiet evening of coffee, or simply just walking in such a landscape with accordion music swirling in your head. As for feeling Chinese, well it’s not limited to haggling or to comedy actors. I sometimes feel like I’m a Chinese chef, a Chinese scholar, or a kung-fu master, depending on the situation I find myself in.

While there would be those who would say that it’s got to do with being an “old soul,” I’d just safely assume that it’s got something to do with having lots of memories. Memories of impressions. Growing up, watching lots of Sampaguita and LVN movies [there was no cable then], and then you walk into a very old house with wooden floors and wood staircases, and you just can't help widening your eyes looking around, expecting Gloria Romeo or a gangly Dolphy to pop up at anytime.

When I was very young, Nanay and I went to Malibay, Pasay, where she grew up, and while we were walking, I asked her, “Where are we going?” and she answered, “We’re going to Canita.” Canita was her half-sister. Back then, I thought I heard her say “Juanita” instead of “Canita,” and I felt very excited because I thought we were going to see Juanita, that character which Rosemary Sonora played in that old movie. So, I asked her, “Are we going to see Juanita Banana?” I forgot whether she found it funny or whatever.

I guess that’s one of the benefits of growing up in a world that was slow to change. There is wonder in your head, with only just a small percentage of your daily life concerned with the latest that has happened with the rest of the world, or with what’s in and out in trends and fashion. I mean, my goodness, there has got to be a better way to live than being “in the mode” all the time.

I guess you can say that it’s just me getting old. I’d counter that by saying it’s just me gaining sense. Or having gained enough perspective in life to arrange it in the compartments of my mind and deciding which ones make sense and which ones can be considered garbage.

Last night, my college friends and I had a get-together. We did karaoke and sang old songs and we had a good time. Making friends and keeping friends make sense. And keeping them to just a few people make sense, too. One does the talking, one does the listening, one does the funny stuff, and one keeps it together, and so on.

And it was very special not because of what words were said or what gestures were exchanged, but rather, all the time that these were happening, you feel special. You feel privileged being in such a company.

And when you look back on these things, what else do you remember? What else do you treasure in your heart? The rest would just be “enhancers.” Like those unruly Koreans who were fighting among themselves in the parking lot when we were leaving the karaoke house. Thanks to them, my friends and I were even more “together—with them being the “enemies”— and it made the night even more special.