Birthday Post
It was still pink then, your dormitory, before the night fire that sent coeds (masked in Lyna, with curlers in their hair) scampering to safety. Although it was just behind our campus, I still sweat a lot just going there’97my perspiration not exactly related to the effort of walking. I get sweaty palms just thinking that I would have to call out your name and endure the amused stares of your dorm-mates.
I was too shy, but even then, I realized that there are things worth enduring. Sitting in that visitor’92s bench, being pot-glanced by everyone passing by, from those ladies beside the church selling mangoes and flowers from Nivel Hills, to the Mcduko-duko vendor; you couldn’92t imagine how uncomfortable those looks made me. But again, some things are worth enduring.
We never really talked much then. Maybe it’92s the presence of other folks. Perhaps I was deluding myself because although they’92re inside the dorm, I somehow foolishly believed that they’92re eavesdropping, waiting for me to say something really corny. I always ended up disappointing them. It’92s not that I don’92t have anything to say, it’92s just that I’92m in such a state of awe, unable to imagine that we’92re actually sitting side by side, that you’92re actually talking to me, and looking at me with affection. So I just sit there listening to you, enjoying the attention and the sound of your voice.
Then there was your birthday, the first one you had after we’92re together. I couldn’92t give you anything but a piece of verse. It wasn’92t even great or anything, but you got a pentel pen from your room and asked me to write it on the back of the shirt you were wearing so you would never forget it. And you had on a new shirt, a present from your dad. You asked me then what’92s taking me so long to finish writing. I just laughed. You see, I couldn’92t really concentrate then as I had to continually wipe off something that kept blurring my vision.
They say that you’92re getting on in age when some of your thoughts are replaced by reverie. Well, I am getting old and I don’92t care if I get ridiculed for writing this melodramatic sap. Some things will never change. We still have to endure things in order to say those things that need to be said.
Happy birthday, dearest, I may have grown old, and cynical, and sometimes bitter, but after all these years, I am still as awed as that time when we’92re sitting on that bench in your dorm. I think that’92s one feeling that will never grow old.
