March 23rd, '07

It was almost the same feeling as that which I had four years ago. A feeling of excitement and nostalgia. However, it is rather more of a parallelism rather than a repetition of the past.

One of the greatest experiences of a Thomasian graduate is the Baccalaureate Mass. I should know, because I’ve been there… twice for that matter. Four years ago, we were clad in our AB uniform, which naturally, by virtue of our somewhat unique quality as the college of liberal arts, became impromptu vandal posts. Messages from friends are written across the clothes and in every space available in Technicolor. During the parade we carried balloons and streamers, we were shouting chants and laughing all the way. We didn’t pay much attention to the mass, except to some parts thereof, perhaps because we were seated far away from the grandstand. Cameras were clicking here and there and laughter and tears resounded every corner of our little space in the football field.

That was AB.

Last Friday was another baccalaureate for me. This time, we were clad in the Formal Barong Tagalog, the ladies were wearing dresses (although the instruction given to them was for them to wear knee-length dresses, still many prompted to deviate… either by wearing almost ankle length, to above knee, which can quality as mini.) But us guys were feasting our eyes out… the beautiful shone as they used to, while some regular girls became “She’s All That” for the night. While still, the others, never mind…

Rem spread a rumor that I was wearing a P7,000 barong. Of course, I had to deny outright. (it’s only 2,849.00) But when everybody gets together, it’s fun to play with the girls who have no idea that what the gentlemen wear during formals are far more expensive than their dresses. And so, gullible as they are… they believed that I was indeed wearing a seven grand jusi barong.

More than that, we were seated this time so near the grandstand, in fact, just behind the Dean’s and Regent’s seats, and alongside with the Faculty of Medicine, the Ecclesiastical Studies and the Graduate School. Okay, we’re old! Seniority rule prevails. And of course, despite our cheering everytime our College was called, we still maintained a formal air. This time we can feel the solemnity of the mass… Dominican Style, and as remarked by a friend who came from another University, it was like being in Rome, without the Pope. You don’t call UST the Royal and Pontifical University for nothing…

After the mass, the final rites began, we were made to light candles, then asked to face the main building, and on cue, the lights from the cross down to the foundations went on. It was always an awesome sight to behold, followed by the singing of the UST Hymn, then the fireworks. The fireworks were, of course, less than that of the Paskuhan, but still better than those that you can see at EK or MOA. After that, college by college, one makes the final exit to the Arch of the Centuries, that stone gate which was transported from the old UST in Intramuros to Sampaloc.

Now, for the more memorable part…
No baccalaureate party is considered a party unless there is some drinking… and some bad luck…

First, Bespren’s Starex was dying out. (there apparently is something wrong with the alternator. He had no headlights or tail lights, no stereo, worse of all, no means to signal.) I went with him together with Jewel, in an apparent attempt to reach paranaque and switch cars. But the Starex eventually died down at the corner of Padre Burgos and Roxas Blvd. in front of the Manila Hotel. Wala naman kame magawa. We’re lawyers, not mechanics. What going on through my mind that instance is that probably the people we’re thinking we came from a wedding since the three of us we’re dressed up. But a kindly good Samaritan suddenly stopped in front of us, then offered to pull us out of the situation and brought us to the Kalaw side of the Grandstand. We had to call a towing service, and took a ride inside the starex atop the tow truck.

Second, Pantas’ place in Cubao had no electricity. The De Leon house in New York Cubao was fine, it had a sun roof for that matter, and lots of artsy stuff. (His late grandfather was a national artist for music) The electricity was revived around 2 or 3 am.

Thirdly, Ernest broke the metal chair, and fell to the ground. Okay, it wasn’t me, and it was funny. However, how much bad luck can you get in a night that you were supposed to be engaging in a fun-filled drinking session?! Anyways, we were cool with it. And five years from now, we will have plenty to talk about while reminiscing of this particular event.

xxx xxx xxx xxx

We haven’t been talking for more than a week. I’ve said my apologies, and told her I wouldn’t bother her anymore. I guess, for a guy so much in love with a person, you’d hope until the last drop of hope before you give up. I did my best, and finally, I shall give her peace, and I shall gain mine. It’s time to part ways… Sad to say, friendship is not enough for me. I want something more. This friendship-love-hate relationship was made in six momentous years, and I’ve learned a lot from it. And every time I think about it, it is as if fate is always mocking me. Does she really have to wear the little black dress? Does she really have to let her hair down? She knows… perhaps mockingly, she did. My sole weakness is that amalgam of a woman in a little black dress and straight jet black hair. Was is the game of love? Of Seduction? Or perhaps, plain paranoia? She was the ‘it’ girl for me last Friday. And we didn’t speak nor utter any word to each other. We simply cannot.

Bygones…