I’m basking in the afternoon sun on a private beachfront property in Batangas, sipping copious amounts of beer well before 5pm, sharing laughs with friends from high school, some of whom I haven’t seen in years. It’s a reunion of sorts, and a much-needed break from what has been an eventful year. As I pour myself another glass of Pale Pilsen, I think to myself if all of this is just some made-up, heavenly illusion.
History tells us that it took Michaelangelo four years and a whole lot of elbow grease to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Well, if he got around to painting one-and-a-half more of those things, then he’d have spent as much time with his paintbrush as I have out of high school.
Ten years. That’s 120 months, or 3,652 days, or enough time for Miss Philippines to win the Miss Universe pageant twice. It’s no small thing to look back at the last decade of your life since you made that final walk out of campus. Things were certainly simpler in those days, no matter how complicated my friends and I thought they were. Back then, weekends were filled with World of Warcraft sessions, house parties spent dancing to Black Eyed Peas while rocking shutter shades, thinking we’d all grow up to be the badass rock stars we said we would be in our immortalized yearbook promises.