When I was in grade school, my mother used to volunteer me to preside as godfather/ninong to her friends’ children. I had no idea why she would raise such torture (Note: I wasn’t very sociable like what I am now; I was the boy-in-the-corner type of kid then). I would resist instantaneously since first of all I was not intimate with her friends (please), and second, in that age I wasn’t really fit for godfathering responsibilities. I would get mad, and totally forget the names of the poor babies who had taken religious tracks under me; it’s like they should repeat the christening all over again. And right now I don’t see the point believing in the “original sin” spiel anymore. Come on, they’re just infants ignorant to the constructs around them which have totally ruled over the next decades of their lives.
But since I’m now mature (or so I think), I’ve been choosing babies to whom I would want to call me ninong as they grow up. Not to mention, some of my high school friends have been recently sperminated such that I’m taking baptism invitations just for friendship’s sake. Just two weeks ago, I was in a church holding a candle once again for inaanak Jan Stacy. And just last Sunday, to overwhelm myself completely by taking two Holy Eucharist’s after years, I was dressed in floral-artsy white to be a godfather to Stephen.
It was in St. Andrew’s chapel somewhere in Makati; I reunited with my high school buddies to attend our friend Nina become a complete— excuse me for the word— momma. It was fun and all as I became too radical just by mocking the “I do” reply of godparents by whispering loud to Jep, “Absolutely.” What, it meant the same thing right? He couldn’t contain his laughter.
After the whole thing, we then directed to Max’s where the reception was done. I incidentally was sandwhich-ed between the pairs of Leica-Jam and Jep-Frances. Joana joked that I should start acting in a talk show and interview both tandems about their kissing scenes in the movies. It reminded me of one saturated fixation: I’M FRIGGIN SINGLE.
When we were about to leave, each of us had pictures with the adorable Stephen nicknamed Pen-Pen (Jessica tried calling him with the letter N silenced, it was hilarious). And so we became our normal high school selves again crammed in a mini van troubled what to do and where to go next. So we finally settled for a donut and a movie (which I missed) in Rockwell.
We then talked about basically everything under the sun except the mind-numbing high school memories of us (whew!). From Jessica’s bum graduate days, to Leica having a boyfriend fi-na -ly, to Jokko’s “tumaba ka” greetings, to who’s getting impregnated next, it was worth the while coming back to the friends I have missed most. Yep, you can skip this drama but it felt like for the first time, I wasn’t talking and wasn’t relating anything to them. It was as if I’ve never really been with them for the last decade. And so I think there’s something wrong: Was it me, being too obsessed about The Great World of Barry Viloria?
I hope not, but between the things that happened to me in the recent years, I’m just glad that I became a ninong to a beautiful child and that I’ve at least seen face-to-face the people I just have been seeing for the past months and years in Facebook.