PMS

It’s not what you think it stands for.

But first, a little backgrounder. When I went to university over two decades ago, it seemed like I was entering a new republic. I enrolled at the University of the Philippines fresh out of convent school — and from the moment I lined up at 4 a.m. just to get into a class of a popular teacher (yes, there was freedom of choice if you were willing to rise at dawn for it), to the moment another teacher told us we were free not to report to his class as long as we took and passed all the tests — I knew I was in a very free, truly independent and yes, alien republic.

UP was so big, it seemed the only thing it lacked was a passport requirement. You took jeepneys (“ikot”) to take you to other buildings on campus. You had a church, a mini mall and housing subdivisions on campus.

You entered its acacia tree-shaded campus via wide avenues, whose first landmark was a naked man in stone — the Oblation. I had learned a lesson or two just by looking at the Oblation. The College of Arts and Sciences (which we simply called “AS”), which housed most of the classrooms I went to as a freshman, was an old stone building with several front steps leading to majestic iron grills and stone columns. You could almost imagine yourself as Cinderella running up and down those steps, except that the building was anything but palatial.

Behind AS were the science pavilions, and at the end of a corridor that led to one pavilion was a long wooden table that was home away from home for many freshmen and pre-Med students. There was a bench in the AS lobby, and there were clusters of cars in the AS parking lot that were the “Forbes Park” of tambayans, but this long wooden table flanked by two wooden benches in a pavilion that smelled subtly of formalin was mine. It was the tambayan of the UP Pre-Medical Society (UPPMS or PMS). Now, no matter how you twist and turn my curriculum vitae, you won’t ever see a science or Medicine-related job. 

You will see that I had attempted to take up Business Administration before succumbing to my first love, Journalism. So why was I in PMS?

Perhaps because I knew that I would be a hypochondriac one day and free consultations in mid-life would be a definite perk from my PMS membership. Seriously? Seriously.

And also because most of my Assumption Convent batchmates gravitated to PMS because there were other AC girls from senior batches there. Assumption girls in UP — we were virtually foreigners in that Diliman Republic and we bonded and banded in PMS.

I saw less and less of my PMS groupmates when I moved to the College of Mass Communications, an ikot jeep ride away, but the friendships have withstood not just the smell of formalin, the chasms between our fields (Medicine, Economics, Journalism, etc.). We were together at one point in our lives when we were newbies, needed buddies, a table to park our books, a person to chat with or copy notes from.

There must be some sociological advantages to a tambayan — whether in a sari-sari store in a slum or in posh Greenbelt 5 bar. Tambayan is such an ’80s word, but you get the picture. Nowadays, you say a “place to hang out” or “chill out.” Whatever you call it, a tambayan has the effect and the benefits of a psychiatrist’s couch, a pew in a confessional, a coffee shop, a bar. Just like the bar in Cheers or Central Perk in Friends.

At UP, we had different class schedules, and it was pure luck who you’d bump into when you went to your tambayan. But you felt safe, you felt at home, you felt secured to a mooring. Life-long friendships, romances, even marriages were born in the PMS tambayan.

Fast forward. They say UP alumni are not as cohesive as those from Ateneo or La Salle, or those from their respective high schools. My Assumption high school batch is as tightly knit as Spandex, and we see each other regularly, whether to drink (the “fruit of the vine”) or to pray. My UP Journ batchmates I only see at work, or during press conferences, hardly on social occasions.

But my PMS batchmates I was destined to bump into because I was (still am) a hypochondriac. I had foresight, didn’t I? Very occasionally, the ailments I have are not imagined so I get to see some PMS batchmates. When a relative needed to consult one of the top neurosurgeons in the country, Gerry “Gap” Legaspi, one text to the PMS network and lo and behold Gap himself called me up. Sometimes, I get to be a patient of one of them, as when I went to orthopedic surgeon Mark Macias after I sprained my right foot. After five months, I fractured my left foot (horrors!) and went back to see Mark. After he took off my cast for the left foot, Mark said, “Can you do me a favor?” “

“Sure,” I said.

“Please don’t come back soon, okay?” he quipped. I gave him my word and promised to see him only under more “normal” circumstances.

That occasion came to pass when a PMS batchmate of ours, cardiologist Lala Rama de Padua, daughter of veteran journalist Nap Rama, came home to Manila from the US for a visit. Lala, a batch younger than me, is also from Assumption. We used to even ride the schoolbus together.

We had a reunion last week, and it was just like old times. Not all of us turned out to be doctors, but the bond of our college days remained. We enjoyed good food and lots of laughter, gossip, advice, confessions, and the part I like most, free consultations. If anyone choked on his tequila that night, he would have had several people jumping to give him CPR.

So isn’t that what friends are for? To be there for each other through time, despite different callings, different postings, and different “pairings” (a match that stood the test of time is that of Cecile Yupangco and Rudy de los Reyes, who met in PMS and will be celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary this year.).

Our PMS group will meet again soon as two more batchmates are arriving from the US. I’m sure it will be another fun night.

And when we drink to good health — I somehow know that in a room full of doctors, I can truly drink to that.

(You may e-mail me at [email protected])