All work and no play make Jack demented… so to speak.
I wake up weekdays and I hear Korn playing “Freak on a Leash” in my head. You can imagine my mood.
And so I go to the office, Monday to Friday, like a malfunctioning robot with a scowl.
But come Saturday, I wake up, and like in a music video, the curtains slide open and the sun’s rays light up my bedroom and I hear a remix of “Shiny Happy People” by REM and “Groove is in the Heart” by Dee Lite.
Now, that must be a really bad video. I know, I know.
But you get the point.
Saturday. I look forward to it like a kid does to recess… with hand-rubbing anticipation and pent-up exhilaration.
I absolutely loathe going to noisy, dirty disco and resto bars that are full of pretentious, dumb kids who sponge on their parents’ money for a weekend night-out with their equally shallow friends.
Been there, done that.
Weekend romantic escapades were a rarity even when I was still attached. Poor me, I’ve only had losers for boyfriends.
For the longest time, I have practically searched everywhere, befriended everyone, done everything and gone everywhere just to fill my Saturday nights.
And I would always wake up Sunday mornings feeling tired, irritable… unhappy.
Until Quezon. As in Quezon Province.
Just when things were starting to go wayward in my life, one of my friends arranged for a weekend getaway for us, a group of old college friends.
We’ve always been really close, these friends of mine. We were inseparable as teenagers. Then came college graduation… then first jobs… then relationships… then marriage… then kids… then self-absorption and disorientation.
Despite all these though, we would always try to call each other. Or see each other maybe 2 or 3 times a year. Or whenever one of their kids would celebrate a birthday or something.
And that’s how it was for many years… that is, until Quezon.
It was neither Boracay nor Palawan, but for us cheapskates, Quezon was paradise. With big waves and warm water, it was perfect for us, small-minded guffaw-loving geeks.
It felt like college again: careless, reckless fun and major chatting, while downing SMBs like drinking water. Silly stuff, really.
But beyond beer-drinking and merry making, we found what we’ve lost through the years – the warmth of friendship… the sense of belonging… the strength of togetherness…
Like a kid finally stumbling on her Hide and Seek playmates, I finally found something to shriek happily about.
My friends!
And so, we made a pact after Quezon – to see each other again regularly at least twice a month. And like kids who never really kept promises, we broke the pact and saw each other every Saturday since then!
I’ve known these people for 11 years, but I’ve never really valued the role they play in my life until now. I’ve never really told my friends about this, but they save a part of the dying me every time I see them Saturday night.
Having said that, I may have just risked a lifetime of Saturday nights of torment and mockery for being a sappy shithead.
Oh, well.
“shiny happy people holding hands (groove is in the heart)…”
