j a n s e n. i. s. m.

The Nostalgia
(a.k.a. The Snob)

On the day when most students went back to school after a long summer vacation, I found myself going back to office just after an extended weekend. I miss school and the reality kills me that neither a school friend nor a regular classmate is waiting for me by the time I reach the office. I just miss going to a class, listening to a teacher and even taking an exam. And even if every now and then I am sent to work-related trainings, it’s still different when you’re learning something from a teacher in an actual school and copying either notes or exam answers from an actual classmate.

On Friday morning of the same week, I was riding in a tricycle on my way home, when it stopped in front of my high school Alma Mater and fetched a woman in uniform and make-up who I recognized to be my high school typing
class teacher, Mrs. ‘R’. This wasn’t the first time I saw her since graduation but counting the number of years it has been, I understood why she didn’t recognize me. To save her from humiliation, I didn’t bother to say ‘hi’ or to pay for her fare. We were never close anyways. I was rarely part of the top 10 in her class, which she posts on a board near her table after every exam period.  So either that or the fact that my fingers got stuck between  typewriter keys several times on our typing speed drills that didn’t appeal her to me, generally.

The next morning following another night shift of work, I decided to drop by the  mall to withdraw some cash, and it was a high school classmate, let’s call ‘A’ that I bumped into this time. We were walking on opposite direction, I was approaching the mall entrance, while he and companion approaching a store outside the mall
vicinity. I knew he looked at me for a moment, and before I could lift my brow
or smile slyly to acknowledge him, he turned his gaze away and instantly, I relearned the valuable lesson of karma.

The Diversion
(a.k.a. The Smaller Reunion)

A year ago, I had my official reunion with elementary classmates in Postema Resort in Tanza, Cavite. We’re back in Postema, although this time, we’re definitely fewer (Me, Arem, Chen, Geril, Mike, May and Lady) but with some extra cast members (Ian –Mike’s cousin who happens to be our preschool classmate, Andrei’ — Mike’s sidekick, May’s cute son Kevin and a guy she introduced to us as their ‘driver’). All work and no play the past two weeks make me dull, and so going to an overnight swimming is just the break I needed.

The Retirement
(a.k.a. The New Phone)

After two years of service, thousands of text messages and several calls, I am finally replacing my Nokia 3230 phone which was my first big purchase from my very first payslip. Not that it was broke, although it has some serious rust colored scratches on its casing, and this was the very reason why mom had a hard time understanding why I need to buy a new phone. My younger brother, on the other hand seems more supportive of this plan only because of the benefit of inheritance. So on second thought, this isn’t retirement per se but retirement of ownership.

It wasn’t until a week later after I bought a Nokia 6300 when I handed my brother the old phone. It took me that long to transfer all information first (old treasured texts, contact info, photos, and important notes) to the new phone and generally the letting go part was never really easy. Especially on things we consider really personal.

In a recent visit to his Friendster page, I found out
that a close, relatively new but physically distant friend has a second account.
At first, this struck me as normal. One can have too many friends that a single
account couldn’t accommodate all, and so they needed another one which instantly
earned them the status– Internet‘s friendliest people. It’s their prerogative
and the maintenance team behind this site never really had silly rules like one-is-to-one.
But when I found out that my friend’s second account was under a different name
(his real first name that I never knew of or asked curiously and not the
pseudonym he’s been known to me which was based on his profession), I had a rethought
and asked myself, hey, why do some people need two Friendster accounts?

Some probably live a double life. They don’t need superhero
costumes to make Tony Stark’s Friendster page different from Iron Man’s but
they needed an account for people that know the real them on a personal level like
family, friends they’ve known for a long time, their closest officemates, their
SS (special someone) who they keep in touch on a regular basis. This to them is
“the first class Friendster”.

Then “the other Friendster” could be for those people they’ve
just met casually but never intended to be known deeply on a personal level. It
has become a system of segregating or controlling the people that enter their lives.
Like when they meet someone new and ask if they are on Friendster, they would provide
the details to add them in ‘the other” account. This may appeal to most as a
friendly gesture but underneath it is an unintentional and subtle form of discrimination.

The true friends and self-confessed Friendster addicts whose
last login status seems permanently “within 24 hours” would add you on both on “the
first class” and “the other” account. While some of these multiple Friendster account
owners who never really do a weekly assessment of their friends will never
realize that some of those in “the other“ account deserved the promotion to the
“first class”.

On the other end, some of us just have that undeniable
pride that we don’t want to do the first move of applying for the “first class”
with the fear of being denied of the exclusivity or being questioned for our purpose.

We heal our hurt egos by reasoning that not all the
thumbnail faces we see every time we login to our Friendster accounts, are really
the friends we know. Or maybe, our expectations on some of them betray us
because they are not just simply friends to us,

If ‘keeping in touch with friends’ was a sport, I would
have excelled in it far better than some friends I have, but would never be
considered a professional athlete or an Olympics candidate.

A trainer or coach would perhaps notice my potential,
acknowledge the effort I put into every game l play and advice that if I
practice ten times harder and complain lesser, I might be the Lebron James of
this sport.

A game of ‘keeping in touch with friends’ is not as easy
as it seems. You play against one or more teams and as a general rule: you and
your teammates could be playing for more than one team on a same game.

The goal is to keep your teammates in the game by
knowing what they have been up to lately, sharing them your own updates, making
sure they pay attention, and setting up hangouts. Obstacles could be in the
form of ‘the other sets of friends’ your teammates have, and the work or other
activities that preoccupy them.

Teamwork, initiative, good communication skills are keys
to winning a game. The use of force and
display of pride are highly discouraged. Accidental injuries could happen but
is directed only to hurt someone’s feelings or ego. There is an indefinite time
limit for each game. Players can have as many timeouts as they want when they
want it.

Winners are those who remained playing in the court you
own, better known as LIFE.

{This essay was inspired by the events that happen in
the author’s life between 05.24 -05.31.08)