We’ll laugh together again — 25 years later

Dear Boy,

Wouldn’t it be great when old friends and classmates get together over a notably sumptuous event after 25 long years? We will exchange stories, give encouragement, challenge and rib one another, swap ideas. We will laugh ’til our sides ache as we remember everything in our shared past. We will reminisce how we started out as knuckle-cracking, almost stammering tyros. How we stood in awe at the great Jesuits who lent their brilliance to us – the towering presence that was Fr. Dela Costa, the equal amounts of fear and pride at being Padre Ferriols’ target of the day, the enticing humor and wit of Fr. Galdon. We will recount the days of youthful exuberance because back then, nothing could deter us from our lofty ideals.

We will recall our diverse backgrounds, more so with us coeds as we trod on virgin territory with the manifest burden to prove ourselves equal to or better than our male counterparts. We will reminisce the joy of two championship seasons, and if the struggle to understand the yin-yang of male-female bonding was not enigmatic enough, we will shudder at the idolatry we (dis)placed on a god called the QPI. Then, we went our separate ways – resolute to face the real world, testing the limits of our character in a rapidly changing spectrum of life.

A quarter of a century later, the girls and boys of Ateneo Class ’78 are now either captains of business and industry or pacesetters in technology, the academe, public service, banking and finance. Not to mention celebrity icons (got you there!). Others lead charmed lives, some choose the path less taken.

Now, after all this time, we are COMING HOME – to where it all started. Let’s raise a toast on this Grand Silver Homecoming – Dec. 6, 2003 at the Ateneo de Manila Loyola Heights campus: To everything that we were, we are and still are destined to be.

Let’s give thanks to one of the things we wouldn’t change in our lives – the gift of graciousness to one another. See you there, my dear friend!

Sincerely,
Nini Santos-Borja

Dear Nini,

I’m still trying to wiggle out of an unclear commitment to host an opening of a mall in the North so that I can be with you on Dec. 6. I think I’m going to make it without being incarcerated. The other day, I found myself speaking to the owner of the mall since his agents have given up on me because I kept on invoking my state of partial deafness that created the confusion. I heard Jan. 6, not Dec. 6 and also no contract had been drawn. He went berserk over the phone, I thought he swallowed his cellphone in satanic fury, he could not even say my name properly–he kept on saying– "Vhoy, Vhoy– It’s hard–It’s hard." He was half-screaming and half-praying–to a merciless gay imp–who stood his ground that he heard Jan. 6 and not Dec. 6. "Vhoy, Vhoy, how can that ve? How can that ve? Ask Bert, your agent. It was he who spoke to me," I was cold and diabolic. "Oh that Vert. This is not the first time he f—–ed up. I knew it. I knew it. but how’s your Dec. 5?" "I think I’m ok," I whispered victoriously. "Let me call you vack Vhoy." "Vye," I shot back. Nini, I’m still waiting for his call. Meanwhile, I’m looking forward to seeing you so that together, we can look back and laugh ’til we cry and fart.

I truly miss you Nini (not in the romantic sense girl because I have no prowess to desire the female species, which is a shameful violation of the commandments of a gay social climber). I miss you because you were kind to me in our shared past at the Ateneo. When many were nasty, you were friendly to the waray-waray boy who sashayed in the corridors of Kostka & Berchmans like a wanton hippie.

When Tatay, Nanay and I took the fabulous De Dios bus from Pasay to Cubao, I loved the pungent smell of the city. I felt privileged even when the bus started to fill like a can of sardines. We passed Makati, then Guadalupe and then Cubao. Wow – this is the world, I told myself. It looked exciting and dangerous. "Be careful, pickpockets are everywhere and don’t trust anyone." Nanay was firm and clear. This was different from my small, quiet town of Borongan where I knew everyone, including the unborn babies. Then we walked a short distance and took a jeep that brought us to the corner of Katipunan. I was so impressed with Tatay’s familiarity with the big city, like Tarzan in the jungle. He moved fast and he knew which PUV to take. He knew which jeep would drop us off at the corner of Katipunan where there were tricycles that would bring us to the Ateneo campus. I was proud. If my classmates at the seminary could only see us then, they would have been awed – especially by Tatay’s mastery of the maze that was the city. We immediately found a tricycle and we boarded it like Bill, Hillary and Chelsea boarding a limousine. I loved the sound of the tricycle. I was used to it. It was the means of transport in my town. And you had to be a little well-off to always take the tricycle, otherwise, you walked around town.

The tricycle driver who immediately bonded with my father brought us to the administration building.

Tatay was in his favorite jeans and Spalding rubber shoes and he chose his checkered bush jacket that the town sastre made for him just before we left for Manila. Nanay was in her Sunday’s best, a dress made by Inse Puyang, our neighborhood seamstress. I was virginal in my white polo shirt and black pants – which I wore every Sunday for Mass for the past two years – and a pair of shoes two inches bigger than my size (It’s always good to have an allowance, Nanay would say). We came out of the tricycle like royalty.

We were directed to the administration office. Tatay and Nanay decided to rest on a bench outside the Registrar’s Office while I surveyed the place and I heard the words of Tatay, "You will study here at the Ateneo because this is where Rizal studied."

Like Alice, I was in Wonderland. People looked different. They were fair and most of them rode in beautiful cars. Their mothers wore make-up with hair coiffed like thick seaweeds and they spoke with a different twang. They had nice teeth and beautiful smiles.

I realized I was different and it was good.

But Nini, I started to get excited and for the first time, I truly prayed.

I watched Nanay and Tatay on the bench, lost perhaps in their dreams and aspirations for their only son who was going to get an Ateneo education.

I now admit that I shuddered in fear but I promised that I was not going to fail the two people who love me the most.

That night Nini, back in the house of my tiyahin, I quietly wept.

(Tomorrow, Nov. 27, Nini Borja, together with our batchmates Nato Caluag, Sev Sarmenta and Winnie Jimenez will be joining me on Private Conversation with Boy Abunda and you are invited to eavesdrop.)