To Catch a Gust of Wind [COMPLETE]

Chapter 5 - S.I. is in the Heart [#20]

Rafael and Thea Marie separated and went in search of the room or area assigned to their own alumni batches. They looked at the area assignments on the locator map posted on the wall but still Rafael had gotten nearly lost in the campus. Every building he saw was new to him. There are no structures here before. Of course, how many years had it been since I graduated? There's one thing that he couldn't miss though. The stage in the quadrangle.

Rafael stood at the center of the quadrangle under a large metal-framed canopy sporting white. Chairs and white-covered tables were arranged for the grand celebrants, those alumni celebrating their diamond, golden, ruby, and pearl anniversaries. At the far end of the quadrangle another set of white-covered tents were erected to accommodate more alumni celebrants. He was oblivious to the people talking around the quadrangle, passing him by, looking for friends and former batchmates, or stopping for a while trying to recall the names of long-forgotten classmates. You can have it either way. You may remember that particular face in spite of the years that have passed since you saw each other but still forget his/her name; or you may recall the name but can't recognize the face any longer. And then you hesitate to ask his/her name feeling ashamed of yourself for having forgotten the one thing that matters most during alumni homecoming.

The emcee on the stage began to call out the presence of the alumni batches who participated in the event. People began to flock to the quadrangle that also served as the basketball court. Young and old alumni, some of them brought their children, eagerly waited for the activities to play out. They clapped their hands, shouted the year they graduated, waved their arms in the air, standing or sitting in front of the stage.

A man wearing knee-length, black, denim shorts, walked to the center of the stage with a microphone in his hand. And then he sang... "Sa 'yong inaakala, nalimot na kita...Ang iniingat-ingatan ko..." Rafael squinted his eyes to look clearly at the singer on the stage. His face was familiar, and his name was on the tip of his tongue...Marlo Antonio, a former classmate of his. 

The stage. Where he got his first taste of stage fright during the spelling bee when he was in the first year. Where dances and music combined to give entertainment during the intramurals. Where declamation contests were held and announcements made. During Rafael's time here, it was a raised platform of old concrete, cracked and broken on the sides but for him, the stage embodied the spirit of Silay Institute. It was a perpetual, mute witness to the history of the institution where he started to make a grip on his dream, where he realized that it was yet a long, long way ahead and indeed dreams are something to be endeavored, the satisfaction of which is not served on a silver platter.

There was not much left of the old buildings, at least of the buildings that had stood during Rafael's days in the Institute. Where once had stood the library, located on the second floor of a rectangular wood structure, a modern concrete building now took its place. A nondescript, two-story, concrete building with walls painted in dirty white and posts in blue. Guess that's the new colors of the school now, Rafael thought. The site seemed strange to Rafael's eyes, as if he was transported to a place and time in a future when the Institute is something else, was not what it was before during the four years. Only the memories remained. When things lose their familiarity, you can always go back to try recalling those memories about them, that is, if your memory has not escaped you yet.

Those were the days when boys wore bell-bottomed jeans. The wider the bottom part, the elegant you looked, especially if your pants were starched and ironed out thoroughly. The downside was when wearing it, you looked like a human broom sweeping dusts and dirt. Those were the days when boys played basketball because they were boys and drugs were unheard of, as far as Rafael knew. And girls liked to wear pussycat headbands and ribbons in their hair and had haircuts with bangs. And parties were held to the music of the Bee Gees, Elton John, and Barry Manilow. Or, if OPM was your take on the genre, there were the APO Hiking Society, VST and Company, Rey Valera, The Boyfriends, Hagibis, Rico J., Sampaguita, and Sharon Cuneta. Those were the days when your classmates had had their first crushes, falling in love with someone from a distance, had had secrets that you promised not to reveal to anyone until greeting cards of all occasions be it Christmas or Valentine were given in secret but betrayed the name of the fortunate boy or girl.

Rafael turned around. He knew he was facing the Custodio Building, or what was left of it, if there was still anything that was left of it. The two-story Custodio building was on the west side of the court. The upper classrooms were the last ones he and his batchmates had used as senior students. He could still hear the thumping of feet during recess on that stairs located at both ends of the structure, which by then during his time, was already quaint and ancient, the wooden panels of which had started to deteriorate and needed repairs very badly. Now the building was no more.

To the left of what once was the Custodio Building was the Faculty Room. Mentors of every persuasion Rafael had had during his time here. He could still recall their names, at least those that mattered most in his life as a student and helped him discover his interests, the subjects he liked most that would stay with him for life - literature and the love of books, followed by history and science. One time they were asked what one thing they would like to do in life besides raising a family. He said he would love to have a library with thousands of books. What a weird wish, his classmates might have thought about him. What a nerd, this boy not of the city but of the farm, from an hacienda unheard of, from a remote village of sugar canes and carabaos and laborers smelling of sweat and sweet, sticky juices.

Rafael was about to proceed to the parade ground at the back of the school when he heard somebody call his name. A woman's voice. He turned around. This one he remembered well. She could not be mistaken. It was Lucy Ann, their class valedictorian and with her were several alumni of their batch...