Quarantine
The world continues to rage on, and for many of us, we fear what else this year has to offer.
During my quarantine routine— a cycle of waking up, attending online classes, eating meals, working out (yes, I do work out now), doing homework, and sleeping— I often stumble upon different things that trigger nostalgia. So instead of wasting my time reveling in a world I wish to be in, I have taken to re-exploring my house to uncover what reality was like all this time.
Although I’ve encountered these things in my past, discovering them in the present gives them a new meaning. I’m quite surprised by how vivid my memory appears to be as I find these old items (probably because I’m a sucker for sentimental things). Nostalgia is a feeling that we grow into and I believe that it gives us the opportunity to reflect on a time that feels like it existed so long ago. Especially for me, a senior of the graduating batch of 2021 who spent what will be fifteen years in Southville, these hidden treasures surely brought me back to the times I long to be in once again.
The Jar of Notes
Some time in April, I finally decided to thoroughly clean out my room instead of just sweeping the floor. It was already the afternoon and the summer heat had reached its peak as I cleared out every single item found inside my drawers. Amidst the dusty heap of old school books and broken school kits, I found a small jar filled with a variety of colored papers.
Out of curiosity, I sat on my squeaky, blue chair, and opened the jar. Inside, I found papers of all sorts: ripped notebook pages passed during the middle of class or those “give this paper to someone you want to get close with” strips handed out during the first days of school.
But there was one specific piece of paper that caught my attention. The words were written with black ink on a very tiny fragile sheet of bond paper with torn edges. “I’m sorry for stepping on your foot.”
It’s funny how I couldn’t place a specific memory or even name the particular feeling associated with the time I had received that apology note. But what I do remember is the person who gave it to me.
The handwriting was my biggest clue. Up until now, within the six years that have already passed, this person still had the exact same penmanship.
For some reason, this sheet reminded me of my friends. The early morning conversations in the cafeteria, the overdramatic comments made during debugging sessions, the ringing laughter shared because of random moments.
The days when we would spend classes inside a classroom with the teacher standing in front and writing on the whiteboard while we took down notes or had whispered conversations. The open court where we feared getting hit by a basketball, suffering under the scorching heat as we ate the shared Tera-sized french fries. The library used as a hidden getaway after classes to chat about our day, sometimes getting a bit too loud for the librarian’s liking.
Barbie Girl
Sadly, my mom told me it was time to get rid of all the Barbie dolls we had. She told me to rearrange the clothes, accessories, and even the house materials. For some reason, the song “Barbie Girl” was playing in my head and I got sent back to the second grade.
In a yellow Sunday dress, with big hoop earrings and my hair tied into pigtails, my whole batch was dancing to this song in Gym 1. We were all paired up and I remember not liking who my partner was. I don’t recall why, I just know that I wasn’t too fond of him.
Firework, Magic, Barbie Girl - the three songs I’ll always associate with my favorite school year. A year filled with less worry and more lightheartedness. We never cared about appearances or social status. We barely ranted about the workload or became night owls during exam season. We went off with doodling our creative thoughts and imaginations and giggled all the stress away. We babbled about the future as if we already had our whole lives planned out.
Yearbook A.Y. 1998-1999
The Torreses have been with Southville for 25 years. Every yearbook we get is stored on the shelves outside of my room, arranged by year. A.Y. 1998-1999 was the oldest yearbook I found, where my brother, the eldest, was in 2nd grade and my eldest sister was in Junior Prep. My brother started in 1995, though I don’t know where that yearbook went.
Yes, I wasn’t even born during that time, but it made me realize how Southville has become a part of my family. Housing five students from 1995 up until today, five different generations to reach out to, to talk about the experience.
I can still hear the roaring cheers of my batchmates, a symbol of support as I played football during Intramurals, even though I had no idea what I was doing or why I was even playing. I can still feel the friction of my leather shoes on the metal ramp that you’re not supposed to surf down on and the annoyed glares of students with roller bags who needed to use it. I can still smell the sweaty swarm of students blocking the exit gates, the reason why my parents always complained whenever they would have to take a second round around the campus.
These are just some of the experiences we had in common. Of course, as time goes by, the school will change along with it. I heard there used to be bouncy inflatable houses every International Week or performers like Bamboo, Kamikazee, and Side A who used to play on stage. We don’t have those now, but we do have fancy Cultural Shows and energetic After School Parties.
The yearbook is one to cherish. I’m not the only one reminded of the old school days. My siblings, and even my parents, are blasted back to times filled with purple, pink, and green colors.
The Present
Yes, quarantine has taken away my senior year. A year that was meant to be memorable, and not in the sense that I’d be stuck inside my humble abode every single hour of the day. But staying stuck inside has made me uncover pasts that linger within me as a student.
Of all the things I’ve discovered, I’ve come to realize that this time is precious. The more time that I can spend revisiting myself and my life, the more time to say goodbye to the things that pull at my heart. Soon enough, all these sentimental moments will just become a part of my memory, tucked beneath every single experience that’s bound to happen. But one thing’s for sure: these sentimental figures will always carry me back to the past with the magic of nostalgia.
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