Dreamin' Of A High School Reunion

Sunday, 01 February 2009 10:32 Eleazar Mirasol Famorcan

by Eleazar Mirasol Famorcan
E-mail: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it


In the summer, when the weather’s fine and the Visayan sea is glassy and calm, I dream of going home to a beautiful island called Simara. I imagine trekking up a hilly portion on its south side overlooking the Romblon channel, where stands a one-story building of four or five classrooms, a small library, and a little extension—all lacking the sophistication of a modern educational facility yet overflowing with memories. It’s there that I attended high school. It’s also there that I hope to meet with classmates one weekend come April.


Well, I said I hope. Just hope. I really don’t know what would happen or when it would happen, the next reunion of my high school Class of ’80.


Not that me and my classmates don’t care about reunions. We do. Let’s just say we love to have unplanned, spontaneous get-togethers.


First Reunion


Not very long ago, fresh from college, I went back home.


An hour or so after I set foot on my hometown’s shores and dusted Simara’s white sand off my shoes, somebody came knocking on our door. It was Jonathan, our charismatic high school class president.


“Look, who’s here,” he hollered.


Well, I was. Soon an animated conversation began.


After sometime, he said, “You know, funnyman Donald is also here. So are the gentle big guy, martial artist Jower, and the gorgeous Cathy who was once linked romantically with you.”


Oh my, these people I hadn’t seen for what seemed to be millenniums.


“Are you sure they are all holed up in this tiny island? Who else is here in Simara?” I asked.


Jonathan blurted out another list that included Lilibeth and Mike and Roselyn, three of a handful of classmates whose surnames surprisingly don’t begin with the ubiquitous letter F.


Great, I thought.


Then he said, “I have an idea. Let’s have a reunion!”


And so it was that for the next day or two, we scrambled to get the word out about the reunion. Before the weekend, we were ready. By weekend, many of us were together in one place trying to catch up on the goings-on in our lives, and to make up for five or so years of almost zero contact. There was not quite enough food to feed a whole town or enough beverage to flood the dead creek near our school, but talk about every high school topic under the sun flowed freely from everybody’s lips. Even the shy Lilibeth and the usually reserved Vicky shared a larger-than-usual piece of their minds.


That day, we didn’t receive any souvenir items. I got a sore throat that lasted almost a week, no thanks to my guzzling up bottles of cold soft drinks and my talking too much.


Putting It Together


Later, as I reflected on what happened that reunion weekend, I realized that life had been hard on our class. There were those who died of an accident, or had a close brush with the law. Some had married early and wished they didn’t. Many others had decided—for some reason—that their high school education was enough for them to get by in this life.


And yet I was proud of Corcuera Academy’s Class of 1980. At least three—Ruth, Melinda, Ranny—are now hardworking government servants, (wo)manning important posts. And Mike, who probably cut more classes than most of us did, opted to help keep the peace in the community and became a policeman.


Then there’s Erwin, who didn’t let go of one of the prettiest gals on campus at that time, who continues to be a responsible provider to his growing family. Likewise Kala and Liwayway are all happily married and have opted to make parenting a full-time job.


While Rolly and Amorsolo were still working towards their bachelor’s degrees, several classmates—Rose, Evelyn, Ever, Sailina—have become mentors to the young; they have actually gone back to lonely and low-paying teaching jobs in Simara and found they could make a difference in people’s lives there. Wow!


Now, I realize that a high school reunion is more than, well, high school. It’s also about Who am I? and What has become of me? You attend a reunion to say, albeit silently, “Here I am, now—what do you think?”


“The real reunion,” author Robert Fulghum said, “is not with other people so much as it is with yourself. Daily, we reunite with self in the bathroom mirror. The first high school reunion is an invitation to look into a larger mirror.”


I like to do that. That’s why, even as I write this, I’m dreaming of going to Simara this summer. I’ve been told that in the year 2000, there will be a grand reunion of our high school class (and all other classes since the founding of our school).


But that’s next summer yet. This April, God willing, I’ll be in Simara hoping that somebody goes around town and makes a roll call of those who have come for another impromptu reunion. One prior to the big one.


And who knows, this time, like we’ve always done toward the tailend of our every class get-together, somebody suggests that we rack our brains and find ways to help our alma mater—individually or as a class. Books? School equipment? Money? Professional service? Student scholarships? I just might be of some help.


Related Article:


Download SocComments v1.3
Last Updated on Wednesday, 25 March 2009 09:36