I will never forget an old tennis buddy who, when finding something interesting, would always exclaim “well, well, well” and then instantly follow it up and translate it in the vernacular, “balon, balon, balon”. Oftentimes, whenever he started to do that, we would try to beat him to it, shouting out the translation as gruffly as we could and then roll into fits of laughter. Well, (that’s one balon right there) I just recently found out that he had already died and at first, that saddened me. Then, remembering how much he had always made us feel light with his presence and his jokes, I guess remembering him fondly with always a smile on our lips would forever be the best tribute.
Last night, fellow folk-singers from the 70s held a reunion concert at a popular uptown venue. Needless to say, as all reunions go, the common denominator in the countless conversations that could be heard was how far one had transitioned into, many from the lanky and long-haired teens of the 70s to the suddenly-chubby and balding or white-haired seniors of today. I realize that word ‘transition’ in the supposedly-woke air of today means another thing, but that’s not it. In spite of all, the music produced that evening was however still true-blue minted 70s, almost like an old rack of precious vinyl records taken out for the packed audience (mostly composed of seniors themselves) to savor once again. I intimated to a younger friend the ambience of the evening almost felt like exactly that of the lost era when things were much simpler then. So cool.
On the way home while in a cab, as I looked back at the evening, poring over my pics of the event in my A-phone (for android), I suddenly realized, in all that revelry and celebration, we had totally forgotten to pause and pay respects to those many of us who had passed on. This I-see-dead-people moment lingered on until I reached home and even hung over me till five in the morning, so much like the spirit of the beers I consumed that night.
As an afterthought, it’s sometimes just too bad, it’s not easy to relay both happy and gross thoughts like these to younger sets in one’s family or friends, as they would surely interpret it according to the different type of lenses each use. Euphoria and feelings of loss, even in general, relate differently with each gen and that’s just the way it is. On that reunion night, I have witnessed first-hand both of those emotions, sprinkled with a bit of regret on the voices of some old friends and just for a moment, I somehow felt drawn and lost for a while. In a minute, I just dismissed it with a stoic “you just got old” and that was that.
To end this light and funny, I’d just like to share I learned two new words last night. The first one, cruciverbalist, means someone who loved crossword puzzles, as one old friend said he loved to do now. The second word is stationary. Remember those buses that ply the provinces and were neither non-stop or one-stop? They are called stationary. Because they stopped at ever bus station along the way. Transitions and Stationary, worlds apart.
