“It was one of those summers lasting forever, making the winter wait.
A summer of music and passion.
It was sudden, yet perfect, never a day too late.
It was the season that brought me heaven.
And in winters alone, I’ll always remember…the summer of ‘97”
If there’s one hue to describe that summer…it’s GOLD. Why, it was something so precious that I didn’t want to fade with time.
I took a brief summer class in a humble jazz joint somewhere in Makati. With Marcia, Tess, Paul, Oji and Cris—five of my closest friends—I practically learned my life’s lessons in a place called “Jazz in Time”. What do you know, the name itself says everything. Sort of like suggesting something that has to happen to all of us "at the right place and at the right time".
The time was not only right, ‘though, it was...perfect! That summer taught us everything—about life, love, triumphs and secrecy. All about which we went beyond more than mere discussing. We experienced them, experimented, tasted (the sweet and the bitter) and savored them all. We ‘grew up’ and ‘grew old’ together within that dark, cramped jazz bar; the name of which I couldn’t even say right (to this day, I can still hear their protests: “It’s Jazz in Time, not All that Jazz...cupid!). whatever. Names aren’t important. The lessons and memories are.
That’s why it’s safe to admit that some of us failed at “Chemistry” and “Psychology” judging from the way things are in our lives now. Truth to tell, I even flunked “Human Relations” but after many second chances, I realized that there is so much of myself to love. But hey…we all survived “Life 101”!
If summers for other people meant basking in the sun, ours meant bathing in the moon, music and midnight miseries. It also signified our frolic, flirtations and fun. That summer, however, was brief and fleeting. This explains why it seemed like we compressed every emotion then; feeling sure that the summer’s end was going to catch up with us sooner that we could ever think and imagine.
So we didn’t care if we really loved jazz music or not. For us, the songs the jock played were ours. We didn’t give a hoot even when Barbie and the HYPs were playing downstairs. We made our own music. And that’s worth more than what we—the hungry, the young and the poets—have been once in our lives.
We didn’t care if the seats were being overturned and the busboys were already mopping the floor to signal the night’s end. Everything in our lives then was just beginning. Yes, we were simply there: laughing, dancing, holding each other’s hand, hugging, kissing (yes, that too!), slow dancing, lifting each other’s dampened spirits and mending each other’s brokenness as if there was no other place in the world we’d like to be.
On sober nights, our summer was witness to our self-claimed obsessions for world domination. We’d talk about near-dying careers and directions we would take if ever we separated. We also decided to create change in our world-gone-mad only to wake up the next morning helplessly settling for the status quo.
After one Budweiser bottle (the wrappers of which I always take home as ‘wallpaper’ to cover my closet), they got intoxicated with questions such as: “Why is happiness so elusive to me?” I’d rather find the answer to more complex queries like: “Have you ever missed someone you haven’t even met?” There were no satisfying answers. Little did we know then that the elusive ones were endlessly searching for us. We continually seek them out too. Sometimes, we still do. Until then, we are not about to give up.
Were there not only for fun and games. We were at the jazz joint went things weren’t right. Or because of life’s harsh realities. When we’re stuck in traffic, deadlines, sticky situations, poignant questionings and for every imaginable reason. Truth is, “getting stuck” there and with each other never felt so right.
That bar—for us and for a while—became more than a school of life. It was an escapists’ haven. Some place we would run to when we wanted to shut ourselves from everything we wanted to run away from. Then Bud after Bud, we would bare our souls, strip our lives of hypocrisy and for once, savor freedom and liberation in all its honesty. Then they would let me bring home all the Bud wrappers as a much coveted prize I so long deserved for my truthfulness. I was so lucky!
I recall the game we used to play there; I call it ‘consequence and consequence’. There wasn’t much bearable truth to tell, anyway. Besides truth, being so ruthless and unforgiving, we knew each and every hair of each other that another slice of truth would be much too painful. So we settled with the consequences served us. I, with my complex relationship then; theirs with their marriages. And played we did through it all.
We would put a tissue above the glass rim, wet it a bit, place a 25-centavo coin and make cigarette holes with it. The rule was to hold the coin steady even with the holes. The person who would allow the coin to fall was sanctioned with a corresponding consequence. Who would know that this would be the ideal strategy to use in our daily lives when we are compelled to play real games with real people. That no matter how numerous the holes and how intolerable the burns, we pledged to keep our worth steady. When we fall down—which we often do—we promised to welcome consequences with a grin and each other’s hand to hold.
From beginning to end, that summer was one ritual that changed me forever. It taught me almost everything I wanted to know. Mostly, to live life and dance to any tune, jazz music or otherwise. The precious messages of love, (homo)sexuality, parenthood, passions, little mischief, stolen moments of madness and memories that still haunt me to no end. But I have their lessons to comfort me and I have learned deeply.
Maybe that magic will happen again, if not for us as a whole, perhaps maybe for us in our own individual search for the elusive ones.
Clinging to that summer gone, I know most of us have already reached our autumns. Paul is in the US now, happily married to the girl of her dreams and enjoying life with their kids. Oji has been happily married but failed at it; I know now he’s happy, making his own music, despite flashes of loneliness. Tess, after bouts of boredom, has been resigned to being a full-time celibate mom. Cris, after our relationship, hasn’t had anyone (that we know of) yet and has been a full-fledged digital artist and has been acting on his own stage since. And as I’m re-writing this, Marcia has given up hope on bliss, turned away from her 23-year old marriage and is getting ready for a new life in the US. Her son, by the way, is a budding musician. Maybe then, he will continue to make our music for us and sing about our golden summer.
I, on the other hand, had moved to the corridors of power and after healing from three successive blows (including my darling daddy’s death), have finally embraced my aloneness. I cannot safely say that all of us have found contentment. Maybe we want more. Maybe our lives can still be better. But the magic of that summer has continued to inspire us. And whether or not we’d touch it again—together-or separately—we will surely have it once more as we have it all these years inside our hearts.
Yes, those moments combined were joy and pain, triumph and gain. Loves found and loves lost. Empty moments…and all that jazz.
It was ephemeral, unpredictable, so long remembered and really, really hard to forget. It was only a summer of ’97 yet it was, for us, the full four seasons of our lives.
We all play different games now. Dance to different tunes. Some of us meet in unfamiliar places and hang out for harder “bar exams” in more unusual “classrooms”. But the lessons I’ve learned from those magical nights taught me that life—despite its madness and complexities—is beautiful and promising. Yes, one brief summer in a cramped, dark jazz bar taught me that.
Oh, and happiness is not really elusive to me.
I should know. I still have the Bud wrappers somewhere in my cramped, dark closet.
“an ode to my bc buddies” 07999-jeanscequina.mcmlxix
("In my planet, one can see the sunset 44 times!" the Little Prince said. "But one loves the sunset when one is sad..."
