LOVE SONGS AND BADUY MOMENTS

"Pao-pao, saan ka na? Ang tagal na nating 'di nagkita, ah."

A familiar text, a familiar number, stirred something within me as Aegis crooned a "baduy" love song. Twelve months. Twelve months since I'd last seen that number flash across my screen. A ghost from my past, returning to haunt me, but instead of fear, a strange flutter of excitement bloomed in my chest. I dialed, and his voice, the one I'd consciously avoided, filled my ear. The initial awkwardness melted away like mist, replaced by an easy familiarity. We talked, laughed nervously, a comfortable rhythm returning almost instantly. It felt like no time had passed at all, a cruel trick of memory.

"Coffee later?" I blurted out.

"Sounds good to me. See you after work?" he replied, with the same easygoing charm I remembered.

A year. A year had changed everything and nothing. I remembered the me then – lost, naive. And then there was him, "Poster Boy," a breath of fresh air. He saw me, made me laugh, challenged me. Hours we’d spend talking, disagreeing respectfully, laughter echoing. We enjoyed each other. That was the core, the ember glowing in my present.

"Later then," I said, hanging up, the Aegis lyrics echoing in my head: "Nananaginip ng gising… nakatulala sa hangin…" Last song syndrome, indeed.

Work flew by. Wednesday evening, usually quiet, buzzed with unexpected energy. Everyone was heading to the mall. A text from "Poster Boy" arrived: "I'm in Tower 1, first floor."

"Will be there. 5 min," I replied, knowing full well that five minutes in that crowd meant ten, then fifteen. Finally, I reached the record bar. He was there, at the listening station, humming along to something I couldn't quite place. Nina's poster obscured half of him, and he was humming to the tune of "Love Moves in Mysterious Ways." I hummed along in my head, a wave of nostalgia, sharp and sweet, washing over me. Mysterious ways, I thought. How tragically true.

"Hey there… sorry I'm late," I said, my voice a little breathless.

He turned, that familiar grin lighting up his face, a grin that could still make my heart skip a beat. "Hmmm… never change, huh?"

I just smiled back, a thousand unspoken words – regrets, hopes – hanging in the air between us.

"So where do we go for coffee?" he asked.

"Don't ask me, I'm Mr. Passive…" I replied, the old joke resurfacing effortlessly.

"Haha… what's new?"

"Yeah." The smile wouldn't leave my face.

We ended up at Gloria Jean's, indulging in cinnamon swirls and the tentative dance of reconnection. A year was a long time. So much to say, so much left unsaid. He said I'd lost weight. I told him he looked good. We talked about new jobs, new experiences, and then, inevitably, about the old times, the shared laughter, the memories that clung to us like a warm embrace, a bittersweet reminder of what we'd lost.

"How in the world did we meet again?" I asked, the details blurring in the haze of nostalgia.

He pointed towards 6750 Ayala Ave. "There… you don't remember?"

"What did we do?"

"You want me to enumerate it for you?" he teased.

"Okay… do you remember?" I challenged.

He launched into a detailed account: the entrance of 6750, Starbucks, the bar beside Price Smart, Bora Bar, Malate…

"Did we go to BED Bar?" I interrupted.

"Nope… just Fidel."

"That was it?"

"Nope… that was just the first day. We went back to your place, slept, watched movies. I even took you to work, remember? Your office was near CCP." His memory was impeccable, every detail crystal clear. "We walked around the bay, talked… and…"

"And?" I prompted, my voice barely a whisper.

"We had inihaw na pusit, walked some more, and then I hailed a cab for you." He finished, his voice filled with a warm enthusiasm that mirrored my own rekindled excitement. It felt like yesterday. We were kids again, exploring uncharted territory.

"Grabe, so much happened after that… nag-away pa nga tayo, right?" he said, a shadow briefly crossing his face.

"Don't go there. Happy thoughts only," I said firmly.

An awkward pause, then a shared smile, a burst of laughter. So much had changed, yet the ease, the familiarity, remained.

We strolled through the mall, our arms brushing occasionally, a spark of something familiar igniting with each accidental touch.

"Hey, join me, gotta buy something for him before I go home," he said.

"You never change. Still so sweet," I replied, my voice a little too bright.

"Four years… some things never change, dude."

And there it was. Reality. Some things did change. Feelings evolved, time moved on, but some constants, some connections, remained, a painful reminder of what could never be again.

After buying the gift, he walked me towards my station.

"Hey, dude. I missed you. Thanks for making time. Text me, okay? I'm free next week. Let's hang out again," he said, his eyes searching mine, a silent question hanging between us.

"Will do," I said, smiling, nodding goodbye, the lie burning in my throat.

I caught his last look, his nervous laugh echoing in the air, a sound that would haunt me, a sound I knew I'd never hear again.

As I turned and entered my station, another "baduy" love song filled the centralized radio: "Some Good Things Never Last" by Barbra Streisand played.

"I thought we were lovers… I thought we were friends… I guess when reality steps in, the dreaming ends." The lyrics of the song went.

And as the song ended, I hummed along softly, a hopeless romantic at heart.

It was fun to be baduy sometimes.