The past two and a half decades have come and gone in the blink of an eye. Of course, I exaggerate. But it would seem that way. I guess it is because I am a creature of habit. I have an everyday routine and I stick to it religiously.
For example, there was a period of time — maybe a stretch of nine to 10 years — that I would drop by this watering hole near Fuente Osmeña Rotunda to meet friends for a drink before heading home.
And when I used to live in Sto. Niño Village, I drove to the office along P. del Rosario St. using the same route. Every day. When I moved to Urgello in 2017, I hung up the keys. After all, the office is only a 10-minute walk from my place. Thereabouts. And since then, I’ve only changed my route twice.
I used to joke around that if someone wanted me dead, it would be very easy to find me… precisely because I’m a creature of habit. And because of that, I often rely on muscle memory.
I remember this one time — and no, it wasn’t at band camp — I was driving to an appointment when I inadvertently found myself in the vicinity of the office, which was in the opposite direction of where I was supposed to be heading.
So where am I going with this?
Sometimes it seems that time has flown. Perhaps it’s a cliché statement for people my age. But many things have become a blur. For example, I’m terrible with names. And the faces attached to them. And because I have met so many people over the years, it’s only understandable that I would forget the majority of them.
Of course, I’m not talking about the people I interact with on a regular basis. Colleagues in the industry, especially those I’ve worked with in the newsroom for five years or more, are hard to forget. Some have gone their separate ways, and we might only see each other occasionally, but when we do, it’s like we pick up exactly where we left off. That’s how I am with people I am close to. Well, it helps that, like me, they too are creatures of habit. And just like me, they are also single.
Sometimes I feel like time has stood still. That it hasn’t changed at all. For example, I still find it hard to believe that the children of my colleagues at work are all grown up. The little boy who used to sit on my chair so he could play with the computer keyboards, for instance, is all grown up and has a son of his own. That’s the problem when you are single. You tend to be selfish. Not in a bad way. But you only mind yourself.
Right now, the local media industry is celebrating Press Freedom Week. Every day, there are activities that gather members of the tri-media. It’s the only time of the year that we get to mingle and gather as a group. Often we talk about the good old days, but these past few years have been a bit depressing, especially when we remember friends who have passed on. It’s a topic we would rather avoid, but sometimes it’s better to just talk about the person. I guess it’s also cathartic.
But since I’m not one to dwell on the macabre, I prefer to bring up funny anecdotes. I’m sure some have evolved over time. I’m sure the people I talk to notice or remember things differently, but they don’t seem to mind. As long as the gist is right, then the rest are mere details that I can either embellish or withhold.
Which is why I’d like to share what happened during a luncheon earlier in the week. At least the experience is still very fresh, so it happened exactly the way I’m telling it.
So there I was, having a chat with two colleagues from another paper. I knew the guy, even with his mask on. You see, like me, he is an old-timer in the business. But I didn’t recognize his companion. In fact, I was sure I had never met her before. And it wasn’t an I-don’t-remember-your-name moment, which would have been equally awkward. So when there was a lull in the conversation, I grabbed the chance to ask her, “May I know your name?” She told me.
“It’s nice meeting you,” I told her.
“But we’ve already met,” she said.
That’s when I stared at her incredulously. “I don’t think so,” I said.
She said it was during a Press Freedom luncheon at a hotel a few years back. I told her that’s not possible. I never went to lunch at that particular hotel during Press Freedom, I said.
“I could never forget you,” she said, “because you were entertaining us with your funny anecdotes.”
I agreed; that sounded like me. But again, I didn’t remember.
“Ikaw lagi to (It was you). Imo pa gani gilibak si (You even badmouthed) [another media colleague],” she said.
Impossible, I said. I would never badmouth, ahem.
Then she took out her cellphone. She went to her gallery and started scrolling through photos. Then she held out her phone to me. “See, that’s you during the luncheon.”
Well, what do you know? It was indeed me. And since it was me, it goes without saying that I also badmouthed, ahem.