I am still on a “homecoming high.” I am likely to go on and on about how much fun it was and how good it felt, and I will probably bore you to tears.

 

All I will say then is that whatever schools you went to, do yourself a favor. Don’t miss “homecoming.” And if you are blessed to live as long as I have and, like me, are up and about to celebrate a 65th jubilee, by all means get out there and have a ball. There’s no feeling like it.

 

I did, last Sunday. And I had the time of my life. So did my classmates; some came all the way from across the globe. We retraced our steps, visited our classrooms. And although the good old Alma Mater definitely needs a fresh coat of paint and a thorough refurbishing, we walked its corridors still in awe like when we were kids.

 

My favorite remark of the day was from a classmate who had not been back in as many years. Stepping on the grounds with arms outstretched, she gave out a squeal of delight: “Look, they still have the same old tree!”

 

Every group of old friends has one who is the “records keeper.” Ours keeps track of everyone, including those who have “crossed the bar.” She has a skewed sense of humor. When the director asked how many of us would participate in the velada, she answered: “Well, today we are 20. But, hey, who knows.”

 

Lo and behold, on the day of the show, there were 40 of us ’49ers on stage. Praise God!

 

Seasons of love

 

My friend’s granddaughter just got engaged. Her family is ecstatic. After sharing hearth and home for many years, she and her boyfriend have decided to march down the aisle.

 

Of course, Lola had been all bent out of shape because of the situation, a huge no-no in our day.

 

She tried to rationalize. “How else would they know that they are meant for each other? How could they find out if they are compatible?”

 

How else, indeed?

 

I must confess that I have often contemplated these questions myself. Having a lousy score card in matters of the heart, I have wondered, very late in the day, “What if?”

 

There are no guarantees. Isn’t that why they say falling in love is taking a chance; that marriage is a gamble, like a roll of the dice, the toss of a coin?

 

The no-nonsense men and women of the 21st century, in spite of the failures they have seen, believe in love. It is marriage they have a problem with.

 

I recently saw a beautifully emotional video of vows taken by a couple that really took their time—nine years. They finally tied the knot at one of the most beautiful places in the world, at the edge of a cliff on Meditation Point in Kawayan Cove.

 

But we are old school. We don’t understand. Our eyebrows hit the ceiling the same time our hearts hit the floor. There is a sharp intake of breath. I think they call it a gasp. This is not what we taught our children, we think. Did we miss anything?

 

What can we say? Nothing. We can wish them well and pray they do better than many of us ever did.

 

Valentine’s Day

 

In a few days, we shall again battle the traffic while hordes of lovers, all kinds of them, flock to parties, dinners, concerts, the Luneta, anywhere they can hold hands and declare their undying love. Once again, the boys will woo and the girls will blush. Or vice versa. Or whatever.

 

Pinoys love romance. I do. I love chick flicks. If there is no love interest in the story, I am not happy. If it makes me cry, I am ecstatic. An old love song can make me soft and mushy inside.

 

Some say that the kilig factor is only for the young and foolish. I don’t agree.

 

My best friend always said that she and I were alike; that we were in love with love and that our concept of love belonged only in storybooks. Fairy tales? Perhaps she was right.

 

This I know. When it is over, it isn’t the broken relationship or failed marriage that steals your joy. Knowing that love is gone is the hardest blow to bear. We wake up from a dream on a bed of broken promises and come face to face with the emptiness of forever.

 

Is this heartbreak? Perhaps. But the heart is really stronger than we can imagine. The bleeding stops, the wounds heal, and in time you can file away the experience under “growing up.”

 

Yes, at any age.

 

Best description

 

In spite of the scars, I believe in love—a love that transcends all pettiness and pain; that brings out the best in you and the one you love. True love does not cast a shadow. It lifts. It sustains. And it remains true.

 

One of the best descriptions of love is by novelist Brian Moore. I’m having a senior moment and am not sure if I’ve shared this before. I will risk it. It’s too good to miss.

 

“Don’t you know that love isn’t just going to bed? Love isn’t an act, it’s a whole life. It’s staying with her now because she needs you; it’s knowing you and she will still care about each other when sex and daydreams, fights and futures—when all that’s on the shelf and done with. Love—why, I’ll tell you what love is: It’s you at 75 and her at 71, each of you listening for the other’s step in the next room, each afraid that a sudden silence, a sudden cry, could mean a lifetime’s talk is over.”