Ang huling El Bimbo

8 March 2009
10.51 p.m.



I distinctly remember one afternoon when I was only 12 dreamily walking down the street from our school after class in my white blouse and gray plaid skirt singing, “Lahat ng pangarap ko’y bigla lang natunaw/ Sa panaginip na lang pala kita maisasayaw…”

I was barely in my teens when the Eraserheads cursed over rejection in Pare ko, moaned about unrequited love in Ang Huling El Bimbo, urged escape in Alapaap. I was too young and inexperienced to claim to share their angst, but I felt something stir in me. One day, I’d truly understand their words, I thought. I have dreamed since of the day I’d hear and see them in the flesh and feel every beat genuinely resonate inside me. But by the time I was old enough to watch gigs, they were already disbanding. It was a foolish childhood wish I never thought would come true until August last year, when they agreed to a reunion concert. I would not attempt to describe how it felt to be there because words cannot replicate the state of being I was in. If something happened to me afterward, I would not have minded because I would have died happy.

But I thought, let me hear El Bimbo live for one glorious time then you would have granted my death wish. I did, on Saturday, and how I wish it were the end of the road already. Let it end on this grand, happy moment because I prefer that life end not in the throes of pain or tears but in the highs of joy and dreams come true.

For a moment, consumed by the music, surrounded by countless sweaty bodies, hands raised to the dusky sky, my eyes on the waxing moon, I was reminded that I was once young enough to have had dreams. In that brave moment I thought to myself, I want to fight for them, I still want my happily-ever-after. But I don’t know how to be young and hopeful again, how to want dreams and live to get them.

J, I borrow your words because you have spoken for me now that I’m a mush of fear and uncertainty. I feel empty. We meet certain people who make us feel energized, invincible for a few days – temporary adventures, worth writing about in journals and blogs. Then they need to dash off because they’re not eligible to stay. They can’t stay because other people may get hurt. They can’t stay because I came in too late and their hearts beat more for others, owned by others even. I’m too late. I’m too out of order.