Familiar Feel-Good

It was long ago but it’s so familiar and it felt good.

Makes me wanna walk on sunshine and go: “And don't it feel good?” ala-Katrina Leskanich.

Yesterday morning, I was chatting with two of my guy classmates from elementary. One of them, K, who is now based in Chicago, will be in the Philippines next week. Early last month, he already told me of his plan to meet up and was asking for venue suggestions (he wants videoke!) and help in contacting our other classmates.

The last time I saw K was also in a sixth-grade class reunion in the late '90s. Yes—it’s been more than 20 years since but thanks to Facebook, we were in touch again after he seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth.

*** 

I digress.

I have been showing off my legs even then. First row, second from the left.

I may have the coltish ugly-duckling episodes that got me somewhat bullied when I was younger by boys who’re now paunchy and losing hair (karma!) but generally, I have a happy childhood filled with memories of playing outside our street and having guy pals in school. It was so fun I wouldn’t trade it for a childhood in the age of tech gadgets.

Since I was consistently in the first section then, I almost always have the same classmates every year. For all those years, we were almost like siblings.

I was never the girly-girl when I was younger; never the type that boys my age would have a crush on. I was more of a tomboy who enjoys the company of boys more.

While I don’t get along with some of them, at least I’m friends with the few nicer ones. I remember one in particular, the guy who every girl had a crush on (except me–at least not later in my teen years because puberty hit me late), stuck up for me against the class bully. He may not know it, and perhaps he no longer remembers it, but those are the kind of things that I never forget: A good deed or gesture shown to me.

Well, K was one of the nicer boys in our class.

K lived a few blocks away from us, so he’d usually drop by the house on his bike. It’s quite weird that older people who see us before thought we were cute together and would tease me about it. And since K’s family also owned a bakery, he’d usually bring me panaderia staples like Spanish bread, pudding or pan de coco every recess that when people see or hear about this, I’d get teased again.

“Huy, dinadalaw siya nung naka-bike!”

“Yihii! Dinadalhan siya ng tinapay!” 

Honestly, it was nothing like the adults think. It’s just two kids—for crying out loud! Adults can be annoying, really. (But come to think of it, if I see us then too, I would have joined the teasing.)

If you ain’t convinced that it’s nothing but a young boy’s good deed towards a classmate, when I reminded him about that recently, he’s already asking me to pay up for all the bread he gave me. Hahaha!

*** 

So I was chatting with K and another classmate, N, planning out the videoke session for next Friday, the 19th, and I found myself laughing like a loony in front of my office computer over the same bickering, teasing and corny jokes. It’s just like the way we were many, many years ago as kids slumped on the floor of our classroom when our teacher’s out.

One of our many conversations (in Tagalog, though) was this one:

“Anyone who asks me why I’m not yet married would be fined one thousand pesos!” I said.

“Okay, I’ll tell them to ask Vayie if she’ll get married already so we’ll get rich!”, N replied.

“Hey. What do you mean “we”? Are you saying you’d get a cut?” I asked incredulously.

“5% for marketing and advertisement”, N replied jokingly.

At the very moment I was chatting with the two of them (three—if you’d include G, who was not in the chat, but was leaving funny comments on an FB post around the same time), I was listening to my `80s playlist on Spotify and it felt like I hopped in a time machine and zapped back to 1989. It felt so good.

Maybe because I know for a fact that even though it’s a time long gone, the memories of our childhood remind us that once upon a time, the only thing we worry about is just coming to school and doing homework after, nothing else. Life was simpler.

Oh well—I don’t really know how many will join in, but it wouldn’t matter even if it’d be just a few of us (considering the short notice and most of our classmates are either busy or overseas), but I’m actually looking forward to it. Four decades may already be showing in our faces, but I’m pretty sure that if we want it, we could still be those silly, guileless little kids we once were even for a few good hours.

It's creeping

One thing about being in your forties is knowing that while you’re not that old, you’re no longer young either so you can’t just throw your caution to the wind when it comes to taking care of yourself. The years are counting faster than greased lightning and your age creeps up on you like that ex-boyfriend you blocked on Facebook.

With people my age (even younger) passing on from illnesses that used to beset only the older people decades ago, it made me more of a hypochondriac wreck than I already was. The slightest discomfort—like belching, for instance—and I’d find myself Googling for serious diseases that manifest such symptoms. And one thing I’ve learned from Googling your illness is, DON’T. It will scare the living daylights off you because everything ends up to either cancer, heart disease or diabetes.

I don’t remember ever fretting about what I eat. I was a slave of my cravings because I eat what I want when I want it (well, as long as I can afford it). If there’s one thing I will always remember from my dad’s many words of wisdom, that is to never be stingy on food. We work so we could eat, he said. Maybe I took that literally because I had no compunction eating what I like and it doesn’t matter if it’s street food, junk food, processed food, or if it’s been swimming in oil, sodium or preservatives, etc. As long as it satisfies my extra-efficient stomach then all’s good.

Sinful Cebu Liempo

I also tend to overeat. I don’t mean this as an insult, but I eat like a construction worker doing hard, manual labor that I need a thousand calories from high-carb foods and had to finish it all by 10 minutes. No wonder sometimes, when I’m done eating, I feel like I could use a wheelchair to get me around.

These things are okay when I was younger, but now I’m starting to feel the brunt of it. And I don’t mean just the effect of it going to my thigh or hips, I mean like feeling sluggish and bloated after. Shrugging it off can only go so far especially when you start scaring yourself by imagining the blob blocking a major artery.

But believe me, I tried. I really did.

There aren’t that many healthy choices, at least from where I am most of the day. Whether I bring lunch to work or eat out during lunchtime, the selection is limited to fast food, microwavable food from convenience stores or the hit-or-miss Jollijeep menu.

I don’t know if people will agree with me, but heck, eating healthy is more expensive. A nearby salad bar, where you can make your own, charges per 100 grams and can go as much the same price as a quarter roast with unlimited rice at another place.

I love vegetables, but veggies alone on a main course/viand feel incomplete. I get hungry just as quick and before I know it, I am stuffing sandwich on my mouth barely two hours from my last meal. If you’d ask me, it kinda defeats the purpose of not eating meat.

Aside from unhealthy eating, another sin I’ve been doing these days: Indolence.

How can I possibly burn all these carbs if my work entails me to sit on my coliseum ass in front of the computer for almost seven hours? Sure, I often hit the 10,000 steps but on a regular day, all this walking would eventually end up with me crashing in bed and asleep by 9pm. Spell sedentary.

In my twenties, I thought I would live forever. I cringe when I am reminded of how much abuse I forced upon my own body back then. I worked at night barely sleeping during the day, skip meals, eat junk, drink alcohol–name it.

And now, whether I admit it or not, I am slowly paying for it. 

At early onset of Alzheimer’s...

...play ‘80s songs on repeat and I promise I’d come back.

According to studies, music can give Alzheimer’s patients a cognitive buzz. Do you know that Alzheimer’s and dementia cannot touch the area of the brain where musical memories are stored? This means that listening to music from your youth can get you out of the fog. We all saw that scene in the Disney/Pixar movie Coco, right?

If that’s the case, if I ever suffer from that illness later in life (hopefully not), play me songs from my childhood and I’d probably be back doing the jitterbug faster than you can say, “Wham!”

People who knew me the longest will tell you of my love for the `80s to early `90s songs. Name it — pop/synth-pop, rock, new wave, euro disco, glam metal, punk—even the obscure ones. I can listen to it all day and it makes me happy.

If I want an immediate pick-me-upper, I’d just play these songs and it never fails. In my moments of sadness and even depressive episodes, my playlist can shift my mood and lift my spirits almost instantly. I mean why mope when I can dance along Wang Chung’s Everybody Have Fun Tonight? (“Everybody Wang Chung tonight!”—whatever that means.)

Have you ever felt that tingling sensation that crawls from your neck to your scalp when you hear a song you used to really love but haven’t heard in a long time? That’s the kind of feeling it gives me every time. So even if some people sneer at me because of my choice of music — saying it gives away my age too easily, or it’s a cheeseball — I don’t give a rat’s a** what they think. Instead, I plug my earphones and headbang to “99 Luftballoons” and get lost in my own rabbit hole.

It isn’t rare being told by people how hearing such songs reminds them of me and I like it when they say that. I’d probably win millions in Name That Tune under that category if ever I joined one. Frankly, it’s one of those trivial things I’m pretty good at.

My love for music is something that was hardwired at a very young age, almost like a default. We were exposed to many songs of different genres. My earliest memory was watching Video Hit Parade, a music video show on a local channel in the early `80s (remember this was long before cable TV where MTV became accessible to Filipinos). I’m like that little girl from the movie Poltergeist glued to the TV as if I was hypnotized with the audio-visual experience.

Don’t get me started with the artists from that era. They are a breed of remarkably talented people I look up to to this day. When I watch them on YouTube I’d always wonder who among the current artists can match them. Maybe Bruno Mars? Or Lady Gaga? I honestly don’t know anyone else. (That’s coming from me who didn’t even try to be cool by updating myself on the newer, ubiquitous genre such as KPop.)

I think I even learned to speak good English (well, not to discount my mother and school) because of these songs. So yeah, I might as well thank the likes of Tony Hadley, Simon Le Bon, Roland Orzabal, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Whitney Houston and yes—even Madonna—for the education. Sometimes for the heck of it, I’d randomly recite the lyrics of some `80s song and people would go: “Wow, that’s deep”, without them knowing I just quoted lines from a Nik Kershaw song.

Growing up, I fantasize my crush would do a Lloyd Dobler outside the house (who am I kidding? I still desire for that to this day. Only the guy would have Chris Evans’ face and not John Cusack's). You don’t know how my eyes would glow and my heart flutters in very, very rare times I come across a guy who had the same musical taste. I gravitate towards them to the point na nagiging guwapo sila sa paningin ko.

Frankly, I don’t think I can even date a man who can’t stand my musical preference no matter how compatible we are on many other things. Disliking or critiquing my musical taste will be the impending doom of the relationship. As in, it will crash before it can even lift. I’d probably get bored at some guy who thinks Falco is a detergent bar.

If there will be a soundtrack of my life, then 80% of it will be `80s to early `90s songs. And it's going to be in volumes since I have a song for every feeling and every memory.

It has to be said, I know nothing about the music that younglings are playing and listening to these days. And I know I will sound like a music snob for saying this, but I don’t think I’m missing out that much anyway. I’m good with my own playlist that can last me for days even if the only ones who’d probably appreciate it are the people within my age bracket or older (or young people with good taste, I dare say).

So promise me that in my early stages of memory decline, plug this very playlist in my ears to bring me back.

And because sharing is caring, click here to be zapped to a time of big hair, nasty shoulder pads, acid washed jeans, plastic bracelets, leg warmers and great music. Trust me, there will be one, two or more songs you haven’t heard in a long time.

You’re welcome.