Back in the Summer of ‘89

One lazy afternoon that summer, I put a few stacks of 3R-sized family pictures in a photo album. It’s not that I was itching to do that; I just wanted something to do. I volunteered to organize them and stick them into the new sleeves, which were held together by a three-ring binder. One of the photos was a closeup of me (left) when I was in third year high school, just a few months before. Styling gel was kind of one of my best friends. A razor was not, although some would say it still isn’t, these days. Some weeks after this pic, I shaved off my teen facial hair for the first time, if I’m not mistaken.

I was mostly a regular teen, in that I was awkward and sometimes lacked confidence. By this time, I had already shown a keen interest in the arts. A friend suggested that I draw his older brother’s action comic book, about a squad of special agents. I drew costume samples and weapons, based on his ideas. I drew a few pages of his story. I knew that the drawings looked amateurish, and I was expecting the guy to dislike it, too. The project, which was supposed to be presented to potential publishers, was quickly shelved. The pages were literally shelved; the drawings were kept in a closet, never to be mentioned again.

But my interest in comic books, and the process of making it, didn’t wane. I’d buy a few that I really liked, and read the rest at bookstores and department stores. I was also expressing an interest in music; I remember liking When In Rome’s “The Promise” and “Heaven Knows” so I bought the vinyl version of the album after school started. I’d listen to my brother’s records and a bunch of my tapes often, and I’d jump and dance to them. There’s the old radio-phono-cassette player, behind my old high school friend (below), when it still functioned. I think that’s a 3D rota-air electric fan in front of it, by the way. This wasn’t taken in ’89, but about two years later. That guy is still my friend; he drops by and borrows comics from time to time. I remember him teaching me how to play basketball--in vain--one summer afternoon in ’89.

Anyway, below is a pic of me and my kid sister in Pasay, later that year. It was Christmas, I think, and we were at our late grandmother’s place. I was eating a Pinipig Crunch, and wearing a pair of acid-washed jeans. I was probably worrying about an Algebra test, or getting a college entrance application. Or, asking a girl to the prom.

Twenty years later, I still feel child-like. Sometimes, I cling to certain things that I’ve loved since I was a kid. And I just realized--while looking at the old photo album--that I’ve had arguments with every member of the family. The reasons vary, but I guess that’s pretty normal for any family unit. Time and maturity do heal old wounds, I suppose.

When I look at these old pictures, I see naiveté and innocence, and maybe an eagerness to belong and be validated. Still, I miss the way I looked back then, sometimes. I miss being fit. And I also miss not worrying about real-life, grownup things.

Two decades after, I’d say that I’ve gone through a heck of a lot of changes, inside and out. I’ve experienced failure and success, met people with whom I shared interests and moments, known bonds that were never taught back in the confines of the classroom, and regretted mistakes. I learned and unlearned things. I wondered about my survival, fulfillment, and legacy. I think about my place in the world, and sometimes, I think about not caring. Some days feel more half-empty than half-full.

I’d still say, though, that despite some recurring challenges and hair loss, I turned out pretty okay.