The book posed the question, "Do you sometimes wonder what happened to your school friends? What have their lives been like since leaving the school gates for the last time?"
What did happen to my classmates? While some stayed in constant touch, honoring me with nice titles, like kumare, sister (in crime), partner, etc., the others sort of drifted away and became as distant as the sun on the horizon.
"Could the ’60s have been all that long ago?"
Tidbits from the past came flooding back. Moments shared may be dull, but the passage of time somehow made them look special.
Take a typical day at the school cafeteria:
The bell rings and an orderly line would form outside the cafeteria door. Like a mother’s pride and joy, we would head straight to our designated table, stand in front of our assigned chairs, and wait for the thunderous clap from the Mother Superior to begin lunch, but not before saying our mealtime grace.
On cue, the kitchen doors would swing open and the kitchen staff in their heavily starched aprons and uniforms would come out bearing the gourmet’s nightmare or the soup kitchen’s staple diet: mashed potatoes, spaghetti and beef steak topped with limp onions.
The spaghetti always looked pale and chalky. Not to worry, we had the ever-reliable palate enhancers – patis (fish sauce) and banana ketchup. The steak was anemic; nothing that a flood of toyo (soy sauce) could perk back to life. Day in day out, we endured this frugal diet because the food was eclipsed by little, peppery secrets we shared at the luncheon table.
Who was that Adonis-of-a-date seen last Saturday with the santa-santita Miss Goody Two Shoes of the class? Who dressed like the candied flowers on a Cinderella cake? And who managed to climb past the barbed wired walls, past the detective eyes of the librarian a.k.a. Gestapo spy?
Just when we had enough of this gulag food and the cafeteria air was ripe for a sit-down boycott, the menu would suddenly change. Enticing meals like lechon kawali, pancit palabok and the nun’s ace-in-the-oven, baked guava-jellied tarts, would suddenly appear on our table. Naturally, our version of Les Miserables would fizzle out until the next soup kitchen menu was returned or recycled.
The nuns, particularly the college dean, always admonished us not to look at the world with rose-tinted glasses. "It’s a cruel, heartless world out there." To a bunch of fresh, inexperienced graduates, that was just the outlook of one over-cautious and over-protective school authority. Little did we realize that her words of caution did contain a ton of truth.
If anything, our generation had no game plan. There was no blueprint that guaranteed success in career, love, in life itself. That didn’t matter because, at that time, we had innocence and enthusiasm.
Many got married, raised husbands and children, survived money, health and emotional challenges. Others took bitter pills and became worrywarts. Some became big names in the print media, banking, business, and finance, while others took up careers so contradictory from the school degrees they sought and completed.
One thing that seemed to hold true. Being on top of the class was not a foolproof guarantee to fame and fortune. You needed to be street-smart, gutsy and inquisitive with a genuine interest and desire to work hard to succeed.
There were a lot of hard-luck stories from the prettiest, the most bemedaled, and the one voted most likely to succeed. While some kept their physical beauty, others actually blossomed later and are even more stunning now than before. It was actually the inner beauty that shone through, plus the right attitude to accept and handle all sorts of challenges.
A lot of us discovered that working is a necessity for women, not solely because of the money factor (although that was a big consideration, too), but because of the opportunity to interact, to learn new things, to appreciate what you’ve accomplished and to feed your self-esteem. It is also a humbling experience. It would be fine and dandy if one inherited a big fortune, but the real challenge came from how well you can keep that fortune and make it grow, and still remain humble and compassionate.
A lot of us found out that life is not a dress rehearsal. You have to consistently work hard at it every day. That can mean getting the rough end of the pineapple now, but what a feeling to know that being at the bottom can lead to being the choice cut someday.
In a class of 100 graduates, we had 100 exceptional stories. Now that we have come to appreciate what we have lost and what we have got (and the outrageous clothes we wore), we understand each other better. We are not critical anymore of each other’s failures, but kinder and more generous with mercy. We also know that the only approval we need is from ourselves (not the Mother Superior’s).
Who was it who said that "the women of my generation were raised to believe that the only polite response to ‘I love you’ is ‘I love you, too’?"
Not anymore. We can actually choose whom to love and to drop those who cannot love us back.
There is only one truth worth keeping: to yourself be true. When the crunch comes you know you can cope because you did not count on anyone to face them on your behalf. Being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. What’s more, should occasions arise when you feel like not staying alone, there would be 99 other friends who’d make sure you don’t.
Reunions? It’s when you reach for the phone and the sun moves across the sky to come closer to your shore
Three menopausal "old girls" (Marnie, Kate and Cynthia) return to their alma mater to direct and participate in a song-and-dance skit in celebration of their class reunion. A fourth character, Zhuzhu, join the crazy mix to complete the chorus line.
The girls discover that their lives are all been entwined and connected, past the steel gates of school, because of one common denominator: a man. Geez, what a wacky, shrinking world indeed.
Ah, but that’s only the overture. The finalé will keep your hips swaying and toes tapping.
Catch it at Teatrino, the newest theater at The Promenade in Greenhills. It runs through all the weekends of June 2006.
Are you ready to be one cool and hot mama?