Something Else


Whenever I encounter the word ‘oblivion’ (which is actually rare), first thing that comes to mind is Augustus Waters.
The thought that you will be forgotten and not a single soul will remember you always brings this heartbreaking kind of pain.

I know how it feels when you watch people (thanks Facebook!) go on with their lives, see how far they’ve gone, how successful they’ve become, the milestones they had and apparently no one remembered to invite you, or not even a single chat, call or text to check on you. I know how it feels, the realizations, the pain, I know it so whenever I can, I make people feel that I remember them.

Before my 25th birthday,

I tried to meet up with my friends. I have a lot of time now since I’m a full-time mom.

First, J and K (I wrote a letter after that day). It was Rui’s monthsarry and we had some pasta. They came over at our house around 5 or 6 and they stayed up until half past nine. I really missed them. They are the kind of friends that we pick up our topics from the last time we talked and we catch up from there. I love them, I simply do. No photos since we forgot to take any.

Second was Z and R who came with his wife. My bond with these two started from our COCC training days. Z was my “cousin” so I call her “insan” and R was my buddy (buddy system you know, you two together always, etc) so I call him “budz”. We met at Moshi Koshi that day and we head back home ’cause Michael and R decided to drink. I was a really nice catch up. We didn’t talk much until R and his wife went home.

I used to love R’s presence because he’s the only guy friend who really sticked with us. He would tell us his worries, his plans, his fears, all of it. Me and Z knew his past relationships and somehow seeing his wife, I personally feel like there’s something wrong. We simply can’t put the pieces together. You see, R met his wife during their military training (yuo, he’s in Mindanao right now) and she got pregnant around four or five months after R went to Bicol (where their training happened). If they were batch mates for that military training, how…..? Amd also, I know that it’s his wife who’s answering all my chats since she got pregnant and I’m not O.K. with that. I simply stopped communicating with him that time. During our little catch up, I saw that he really changed a lot and he’s totally different now.

Third, a little meeting with two of my college friends, E and N. I’ve posted about how bad I felt when they didn’t ask me on their group hangouts and stuff. Actually, that is the last time. I will never see them anymore. I only wanted to see them one last time, for my own “closure”. They are dear to me, all of them. But it hurts to know that no one remembered you, when you’re in fact waiting for them.

And for the past few months I’ve been searching (on Facebook) for all of my old friends. Good thing I was able to find them.

JT, the first person who taught me how to curse (it’s all directed to our class adviser, she simply hates her). I’m so happy to find out that she’s about to finish her studies and a soon-to-be architect. She also have a son now.

F together with K, who are responsible on why I lost faith in friendships. It happened when I was thirteen years old and I can still remember the things they did, I never really forget but I’ve forgiven them. Three years ago, I saw her in one of the well-known malls in BGC where she’s working as a sales personnel. She’s stationed in Baby Needs area and we happen to be buying some new feeding bottles and clothes for Alexis (I’m still pregnant with my second child then). She’s the only one available so I approached her. It feels really awkward because after all the shitty things they did, that was the first time that we talked again. She assisted us but after paying for the items, I can’t see her anywhere. Last night I was able to find her on Facebook and we had a little chitchat. I’m glad that she’s finally settled with a nice man, and she’s about to give birth in two months.
I hope there is someone out therewho remembers me too.

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About mrsacbc

Some of the greatest writings comes from our greatest pain.
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