WHAT’S with me these days?
Sentimental. That word alone gives me the creeps. I don’t do emotions — not in public, not even during movies. Nancy, who’s known me long enough to call me out, once said, “Bato kaayo ka, Gabs.” And yet, here I am. Nostalgic. Teetering on hormonal. I don’t like it.
Am I getting old?
My friends say otherwise. One even asked if I was getting Botox. I still don’t know if I should be flattered or offended. But knowing it came from the “Breathless” lady, flattered is the way to go.
She earned that title not because she was gasping for air, but because she sang Breathless by The Corrs every night before the wireless center’s closing time. Paging mic turned concert mic. You knew the shift was over once she hit that final note. Honestly, it was the most consistent system we had.
And that’s what brought it all back. In just five days, I had two reunions with people I once worked with — though calling them “former colleagues” feels off. These people survived deadlines, outages, kids, and karaoke together. A working team turned family, as someone’s husband likes to say.
We weren’t wild, but we were wildly efficient. Back then, if we needed a night out, we dropped all our toddlers — and their yayas — in one house. The kids played. The yayas bonded. The parents danced. No disco balls, just mood lighting and denial.
Fast forward — wine has replaced beer. Fruit platters are the new fries. The desserts weren’t sugar-free — we’re not that ancient. The grapes were a peace offering to our arteries. One even declared, “Technically, wine is made of grapes.” And we nodded. Midlife logic, backed by fermented facts.
Conversations have shifted, too. From breakups to blood pressure. From crushes to creatinine. From fashion trends to fiber intake. It’s no longer, “Whom are you seeing?” but “What are you taking?”
Yet traces of our younger selves linger. One woman is still effortlessly graceful. She’s now raising two girls who speak their minds before dessert. Her husband, the silent-type tech guy, still sneaks in sarcasm sharp enough to cut through pancit.
Some rituals live on, like asking Kako to sing. At every reunion, it happens. Two women reminded him that he sang at their weddings. I almost asked, “Were you paid, or just fed and sent home with a scented candle?”
His nickname is still more wholesome than his brother’s. Filipino nicknames are either cartoon characters or borderline adult content — no in-between.
One refuses to acknowledge her “Lola” status, even while toddler-wrangling version 2.0. Another now hauls a grade-schooler and a bag full of dinosaur toys — less partying, more prehistoric playdates. One runs half-marathons but still wears the pants in every conversation. And someone — once told off by a customer to “please lower your brows” — still rocks the Resting Raised Eyebrow Face. I had to clarify it wasn’t attitude, it was architecture.
And Dante — not the poet, but the former telco guy who now grows crops instead of subscriber counts. Same voice, same swagger, different yield. Reinvention, still on-brand.
We’ve all changed. We’ve all stayed the same.
This isn’t about getting old. It’s about circling back — not to relive the past, but to reframe it. With better lighting. Less sodium. And the wisdom to laugh where we used to panic.
So no, I haven’t gotten Botox. But if I do, it won’t freeze the parts of my face that smirk at nonsense, raise a brow at bad decisions, or laugh — unapologetically — at the absurdity of it all. My laugh lines? They’re punchlines I’ve earned.
And Kako — seriously, collect that talent fee. With interest.
Still brewing thoughts — no sugarcoating, just stories steeped in truth.
