first of all, happy birthday to p. in high school, we used to kid about her april fools' birthday, which really never made sense since it's one of those 'celebrations' that never made sense, yet we take time off to even think about it, what it's all about, how is one to celebrate it (as like groundhog day, boxing day, first day of spring, etc.). the calendar at my cubicle is one such calendar that has all these unfamiliar celebrations. i only tacked it against the wall as a reminder of the featured museum i truly regret not having visited. and that restaurant i didn't eat at. and that amusement place i only see in movies. and this. and that.

i opened my computer this morning to make a quick post because my hands and my thoughts are preoccupied with many things (as always). my hands, because of numbers and grading sheets (and it has come to the point of nausea and i think an upset stomach). my thoughts, because of the crossroads beckoning.

i opened my computer this morning to register a dream i had last night that i am afraid to forget yet again. it was for sure a long dream but the only fragment i remember is durga and i at church. now that i'm trying to remember it, i can't figure out if it was a regular mass or someone's wedding or someone's wake. the only probable link to an actual wake would be that of our high school literature teacher (and durga wasn't there, though i knew she wanted to, said teacher being her colleague if only for a few years and boy was it quite an experience).

as always, what i always come out of it are not the details but the emotions that were borne out of the dream. i do remember in the dream (as now) how happy i was to see durga. moreso happy upon the realization that she is also a teacher. here. in los banos. in grade school? in high school? we've concluded not too long ago that her chops are of greater use for students starting on their path to bratland.

i am one such brat.

i never fail to tell everyone who'd care to listen that durga and i have been friends since kindergarten. hers was the first phone number i dialled and memorized (heavy black rota-thing back in the day). on and off major fights, consisting of month-long silences, jealousies, misunderstandings, what-have-you. which makes make-up times oh so sweet. and funny. and really, really awkward, thinking about how the whole brouhaha was really silly.

so let's compute the years: we first became classmates in 1982. we are in 2006. clear as day.

when i say things that are insulting and hurtful, when i say what other people don't want to say to her face, she has, over time, chosen to hold her tongue and revert to the already-abused reason: that's her. i'll let it simmer for a day. and when things are light-hearted and laughter rings, she will let the sour times creep in for a minute, if only to let me know that what i said or did either made sense or was just that - hurtful. to which i'd feel really bad that once again, my tongue ran loose or silently glad that i made myself clear. and then things are good once again, if not better. always better.

when she says and does things i don't quite understand, her quirks, her turn-of-phrases, i just smile, shake my head and think to myself, well, that's her. sometimes a frown. which will then pop into an innocent conversation, as like a footnote that needs clarification. and that's it. on to the next person to be roasted over the phone that dissolves the distance between us.

but when we're in sync, oh when we're in sync, it's madness. within the first five seconds of the conversation, we already know the first point of agenda, so to speak. and we spend thirty seconds laughing over the fact that we both know even as neither one of us has uttered a single word.

no need for words.

i could just imagine what if she was back at our old high school tormenting the students with her offbeat remarks, her fuschia tresses, her vamp lipstick (okay i think i just made her look like elvira's little sister). oh how they'd discover asian literature with her, her glowering eyes, her hand gestures that fill up the classroom. (okay i think i just made her look like cruella de vil.)

i once told her about my dream project of writing chapters about each person in the barkada. i said that when i get to her part of the book, it would probably require five chapters. and that i would do it with no complaints.

she dreams of the day when i finally grow my roots in nu joisey. or, as she hastens to add, not even nu joisey, but near enough for her bruce's wheels to get to. until then, phone calls and ym chats would have to bridge the distance which, truth to tell, i don't feel. hello, you even infiltrate my dreams.

i wonder where all this will take us?

no, durga, it's not your birthday (that'll be more than two months from now). but i like to celebrate you every now and then, if only to show that birthdays and ages are mere wisps on paper and insipid mental markers of days gone by.

i wish you well. i wish you love.