Letters to John and Savannah

Dear John,

Thanks for showing off at the pier by making that jump from 20 feet up, I would have never noticed you otherwise. Since I am near-perfect and chaste, your broad shoulders and near-zero body-fat index would have done nothing to attract me to you. By the way, thank you again for getting my bag from the water, it's my life, you know. How it is that way remains a mystery, but just trust me that I'd die if that bag got lost. Write me letters everyday, I want to know everything.

Savannah.


Dear Savannah,

It rains here everyday. There are big rains, small rains, rain that goes sideways, rain that goes up instead of down. I'm missing you everyday.

John.


Dear John,

The next time you feel the urge to quote Forrest Gump, don't. I've seen the movie. Four times. You don't fool me.

Savannah.


Dear Savannah,

What do you expect I'd write? I hope you're aware that everything we write would first be inspected by the US Army before it reaches the intended party. So don't be surpried if those panties you sent through your last letter have made the rounds of some army base before it ever got to me. And don't be fooled too much about the moon metaphor, for we probably aren't in the same time zones to be able to see the same full moon at night. It's more likely that you'd be hiding from the sun while I'm gazing at the moon.

John.


Dear John,

Let's not write letters anymore. I'm getting tired of the socio-political relevance our love story is trying to force through other people's throats (hi there, US Army letter inspectors). Anyway, you've made me wait one year already, and you'd be gone for two more. That's 24 more months of chastity you're forcing me to endure. That's why I've decided to trap myself into a life of misery and regret. Remember our neighbor from next door? Well he's a divorcee with cancer and an autistic child and I've decided to marry him. I wont even bother telling you any reason or show you any redeeming quality of his, just know that I'd be spending years and years wallowing in depression and burning my family's fortune to extend my husband's life. I hope you will be happy for me.

Savannah.

P.S. When your father dies, can you please sell his coin collection and give me the proceeds so I can spend it all on my husband's cancer? That would be a godsend.

Savannah.


Dear Savannah,

I'm burning all your letters and will try to forget you. But after your husband dies, call me.

John.

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Went out Friday night with my buds to watch a movie; I don't think I need to tell you which. I enjoyed the company and the film. Talking about the film was fun as well. I enjoy being a popcorn critic, maybe too much at times.

Reunions

On my way home, I happened to pass by my old high school.

I was surprised by the number of cars parked along the street that made the street narrower. It took some time before it registered to me that it is that time of the year when the school celebrates its foundation day celebrations. Part of the celebration has always been the alumni homecoming. Where other schools celebrate homecoming by batch, it has been a held tradition that all alumni, from 16 to 96, are invited to attend. Tables are reserved for each batch while the host batch have their pride of place front and center, with the biggest number of tables and the biggest number of beer crates at their disposal.

I have not attended the Alumni Homecoming for the past five years.

Coming from an exclusive school, it's inevitable that everyone puts their best foot forward whenever we gather. Such is one of the reasons why the streets outside have become the cesspool of traffic considering it was a Saturday: some people just can't show up without bringing their cars. And like male peacocks at the sight of a peahen in heat, everyone strives to be in their best form and colors: the best cars, the best jobs, the best positions, the best trophy wives, the best signature shirts money can afford. Everyone is out for the kill, striving to become the best version of themselves to show to the others.

But then, again, almost all reunions are like that; even family reunions. No one wants to be labelled as the least improved.

What turned me off from going to the reunions is the caste system still in place. If you think that after 12 long years, the divisions made during highschool have disappeared, then you are tragically mistaken. The popular ones are still the popular ones; the bullies are still bullies; the outcasts, still outcasts. It's as if nothing has changed, and you're back to your gangly 16 year-old self. And the taunts used on you then are still being employed now, regardless of whether they still hold weight or not.

I seem now to be painting my highschool life in a bad light, and that is not my intention. I didn't have it bad in highschool, I actually have fond memories of that time. But then, again, some memories are better left at that - memories. I don't need to be reminded of it every year when I see the same faces attending the reunion who are mostly there for the free beer.

I don't mind reconnecting with old schoolmates. It's just that I'd rather establish new connections with old names.