There was something that happened to us. We went to the same college, and we probably weren't even that close then. After college, we went on with our lives. Some of us stayed in the Philippines; some migrated to the U.S. or to Europe; some got married; some didn't. Some of us had children. Some of us had careers. We took different paths, and for many years, we barely saw one another. And then after not seeing one another for two decades and more (so hard to imagine it was that long ago) we got together and reconnected, got caught up with our lives, and now suddenly, these classmates whom we hadn't seen for ages became symbols of home, of our youth, and a kind of ease developed among us. It was no longer important to show off, to be the most popular, the most beautiful, the smartest, the most accomplished. It was all right to be overweight and all right to have dysfunctional families, and all right to have some neuroses. (Next year marks 40 years since we graduated from Maryknoll College!)
That is how it feels now to be with old high school and college friends. . . at least some of them. . . it feels like "going home" to be with them.
And that was how it felt to go to Arrowhead to be with Maria Ciocon and Med Villanueva, classmates from Maryknoll College (class of 68).
I had with me my lengua, some Didi Riese cookies, an overnight bag, when I drove to Upland to pick up Maria Ciocon. In fact Maria's nickname is Baby. So through the years, she has been Baby C. and I, Baby M. (for Manguerra, my maiden name). Technically, she ought to be called Baby N. (for her maiden name, Navarro), but somehow, we ended up calling her Baby C.
So, Saturday, after delays because of business phone calls, I threw my bag and food into my Mercedes Van and drove for about an hour to Upland where Baby lives. She was waiting for me, with a nice cup of brewed coffee. And then we drove to Arrowhead. We were both wondering if we would see evidence of the recent fires. We didn't, at least not from the highways we took.
Med was waiting for us, and the first thing we did, after greeting one another and dragging our stuff into Med's house, was to start heating the food. It's very Filipino to eat during gatherings. It's like Holy Communion. So, the lengua was in the microwave and the mongo soup was over the cooking range, and a chicken dish was in the oven. Rice was ready. The table was set, and by 12:30, we were eating our comfort food.
(Aside: Twice a month or so, I will go down to Vermont to my favorite turo-turo Filipino restaurant for my laing, dinuguan, binagoongan - Filipino dishes - and I pick up the Asian Journal or Philippine News, and I read about Macapagal pardoning Estrada while I eat my comfort food. The food is totally high in cholesterol, but it's all fun, and psychologically healing - it is like recharging a battery. After such a meal, I can leave Bibingkahan Restaurant and face "America" once again. I can go back to my American life.)
Eating Filipino food with other Filipinos doubles the same experience. My batteries feel doubly-charged. We eat the food we grew up on, and we talk about matters that we could not discuss with our husbands and American friends, and we can even do this in Taglish!
So there the three of us were, talking about the recent fire - Med's house had been spared, but she had to evacuate - and talking about our children and grandchildren, and of course our classmates, these other links to our youth and past.
We ate and talked from 12:30 to 2 p.m. And feeling we had to do something else, we went to town where there was an Oktoberfest going on. We window shopped and watched the Men's drinking contest. We each picked a possible winner and watched them down pints of beer in a few seconds flat. Maria thought the young college-age guys would have a lot of practise drinking beer. I picked an older man with a rotund stomach, thinking age and experience might have an edge. Med picked a younger fellow, who made third-runner up. Maria's and my candidates dropped out in the first round.
After the beer drinking contest, we went to Mass in Our Lady of the Lake Catholic Church. We were an hour early, so we said the Rosary and Our Divine Mercy Chaplet, and walked around the neighborhood, and the outdoor Stations of the Cross, and window-shopped in the Church store. Then we heard Mass. The priest talked about the fire and the victims; and a fellow from a volunteer group talked about their providing assistance to fire victims. The priest invited all to the refectory because the Red Cross had brought food.
We returned to Med's place and proceeded to pray the long version of the Healing the Family Tree prayers. It's a very powerful prayer for your ancestors - look it up sometime (I forget the title of the book with the prayers we said, but Kenneth McAll has an excellent book about the subject matter).
After praying, we ate some more. And then we changed into our nightwear and settled down to watch DVDs. Med's machine is apparently temperamental and it refused to read my DVD on Water (by Deepa Mehta), which I wanted to share with them. But it read the BBC's version of Pride and Prejudice, a 4 hour show. I dozed off and on, but Maria and Med stayed awake until around 3:30 a.m.
There were two beds in the guest room but I opted to sleep in the living room with the magnificent cathedral windows. It was chilly, and we welcomed it because this was different. It reminded us we were in another place. Maria kept saying, "Doesn't this remind you of Baguio?" - referring to the cool, mountain place, Baguio, with pine trees, in Luzon, a favorite vacation place.
I was awake by 7 a.m. and through the cathedral windows I watched blue jays hopping on pine trees branches. There were white fluffy clouds and the sky was blue. By 8:30, we congregated around the dining table again for a meal of garlic rice, eggs, bacon, dangit (dried fish), and fruit.
We talked until 1:30 p.m. and then Maria and I packed our things and put them in the car. The plan was to windowshop in antique stores, then we'd bring Med home, and head back home. In Cedar Glen's street mall, I parked the car, and we visited five shops. When we returned to the car, there was a note stuck in the windshield, saying my tire was soft. Indeed a huge bolt was stuck in my left rear tire and my tire was flat. We called triple A, had to wait over an hour, and got a guy named Paul who had a heck of a time figuring out what to do. We stopped by a gas station and had another guy put air into the spare tire and other tires. Then we dropped Med off, and Maria and I drove back down Freeway 10, to 210, and alone to 10 all the way to Santa Monica. The only hitch was I had to keep my car down to 50-60 mph because of my spare doughnut tire.
But I got home safely, and I dare say the three of us were charged once again to deal with Life.
There's talk of another mini-reunion before Christmas.
(Above photo: Seated l-r: Med Villanueva, Chona Preston, Standing: Cecilia and Maria Ciocon;
Middle photo was taken at another Mini-Maryknoll reunion: Seated l-r: Marieda Alba, Maria Ciocon, Standing l-r: Meldy Perez, Med Villanueva, Cecilia Brainard
Bottom photo was taken in New Delhi, India, l-r: Cecilia, Lulah Quiambao, Mila Santillan)
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