High School All Over Again

I’ve been running away from my high school days for as long as… well… for as long as I’ve been out of high school.

If you had known me back then, you wouldn’t really be surprised.

* * * * *

I’d always been on the pudgy side. My mom gave birth to me when I had been in her tummy for only seven months, so I was sickly and gangly until I was three. As a result, my parents embarked on a mission to get me, uh, healthy, and by the time I was 10, I already weighed close to my current weight. I reached the peak of my “chubbiness” (oh, please don’t use the “F-word) at 13, when I weighed 135 lbs, and my waistline ballooned to 33 inches.

I refer to those years as “my fat episode”. I hated every minute of it.

The times I detested most were high school dances and fairs, because dressing up for them would always be a problem. I never fit into the nice dresses that I’d see in stores, and I’d always have to be fitted for something or another, leaving me to the inevitable date with the seamstress—and my current waistline. Worse, all my friends had absolutely trim figures, so I pretty much stuck out like a big, fat, sore thumb. It didn’t matter that I still managed to get boyfriends and dates; what was foremost on my mind was, “How could anyone like little, fat me?”

It was the ultimate esteem dropper and confidence plunger. And now that I’ve managed to get rid of a third of that weight (hopefully permanently), I still get nightmares over being f-f-f… chubby. And, this, my friends, explains my paranoia and obsession over weight and health food.

* * * * *

The funny thing is, a lot of recent experiences seem to be leading me back to high school. I’m not sure if it’s God’s way of getting me to come to terms with my past, but—whatever it is—it’s freaking me out.

One early, early morning several weeks ago, Paul and I went to visit a really good friend of his, at his home at Alabang 400—near my high school. Throughout the entire conversation with his friend, Chico [now the late Chico Molina, may his soul rest in peace], I’d been getting the strange feeling that I knew the guy from somewhere. He looked, sounded, and acted too familiar; but I just shrugged it off as another of those psychic feelings.

Before we left, I casually asked Paul for Chico’s whole name. It turns out that I did know him because we were classmates in high school. I pulled down the car window, screamed out Chico’s whole name, and explained that we were classmates in high school. When I told him who I was, his eyes practically jumped from their sockets, and all he could mutter was, “No way…! You look so… different!” At least he was being polite. Other high school friends would literally curse their heads off when they’d see me without all that weight.

* * * * *

Then there’s Friendster.

I had been avoiding getting in touch with high school friends for the longest time, because I didn’t want to be reminded of who I was back then. I didn’t want to have to explain what happened to me, what I’ve been doing since then… yada, yada, yada. But, one by one, little by little, these blasts from my past came knocking on my Friendster door, and I had no choice but to let them in.

And it actually felt good. For one, people actually remembered insignificant little me (of course, I’m exaggerating!)… and, for another, aside from the weight issue, they actually had nice things to say about me. Since then, I’ve enjoyed searching for long-lost friends with whom I have a lot of catching up to do.

My newest “Friendster” is a classmate from 10 years ago, with whom I barely exchanged words back then, but who remembers me for being “one of the pretty girls in class”. (Hehehe… don’t worry, I won’t divulge names here!) That surely was an ego booster! Hmmm… so maybe a little fat can be beautiful. (But, on the record: I’ll never wanna go back to being that again.)

* * * * *

Probably the only thing I loved about high school was the warm, fuzzy, kilig feeling that I used to get when I’d see my crush—who became my first boyfriend. Back then, everything was new, unpredictable, and exciting; and the butterflies had made a permanent residence of my stomach.

We tend to lose that feeling as we get older and settle into more “mature” relationships, but a part of us still craves for it. We’d joke about the mushy stuff with our friends and say, “Oh, that’s SO high school!”… But, deep down, we know we want some of it back—yes, including the roses, chocolates, teddy bears, and little love notes that would get us in trouble with our teachers. (These days, of course, the kids would exchange cold and boring text messages.) Everything was uncluttered and uncomplicated, and there weren’t any exceedingly high expectations or premature talk of “The Future”.

I feel extremely lucky to now be with someone who makes me feel like I’m still in high school, in spite of his being out of high school for 10 years already. I love how I still get butterflies in my stomach every time I see or talk to him, and I love how being with him has made me appreciate the little things that mean so much—like a piece of Ferrero Rocher that he managed to swipe from his dad’s stash, the beads and scarves that he’d pick out from the neighborhood tiangge, or a really funky movie that I hadn’t seen in ages. Although our conversations are far from being trivial and immature, everything else feels new, unpredictable, and uncomplicated. (Ah… smells like teen spirit? Definitely!)

* * * * *

I may have been running away from high school for the longest time now, but I’m realizing that there are some things worth coming home to. And at least I’m going back a little bit wiser and definitely a lot thinner.

(Written:  A Spoonful of Sugar, 15 November 2003)