THIRTY three years since we graduated from high school, my batch mates in both the Ateneo and the then CSI refuse to grow up, the naughtiness and carefree spirit still bustling in wild abandon every time we get the chance to reminisce the gold old days when everything was young. But it was also the time that we lost our innocence and learned to curse and swear at then dictator Ferdinand E. Marcos for robbing away our youthful dreams and freedom.

In those dark years, some of our classmates went to the streets, immersed in teach-in cells, or ran into the hills with comrades in arms. One of them died in action. Another was incarcerated and tortured, his body and soul shattered until he died in the arms of his nursing parents. Time swiftly flipped like pages in the calendar until we lost track of each other, but realized later that we haven’t deserted each other after all, nor — which is more important — have we breached our pledge to be men and women for others.

Pete and Harve, despite their exposure to anti-American activism, had enlisted in and finally retired from the US Navy. Jerry, who was adept at judo at early age, joined the US Marines and is now posted in Iraq in his senior year. Vincent, the guy who was never caught stealing his ex-colonel grandpa’s live bullets to buy Blue Seal cigarettes, became a Seattle detective and is now assigned in Washington State as a brown-skinned sergeant who is in charge of a mixed squad of Negro and White cops. Jess as World Bank technocrat in Washington, DC. Noel as Manila-based country manager and Filemon as a wandering anthropologist and book writer. In the homefront, James became a congressman and now the PNR chairman. Totoy, the Casureco II GM, while Cesar takes care of the city’s water system. Louie the lawyer sues lawbreakers and jeers at bum judges, especially when he loses a case, which rarely happens.

Among the colegialas, June Pilar sits as executive officer at SMC, Mendotte and Bess as Manila-based interior designers, Sweet simply as a millionaire housewife, while Sonia loves to driving her Mercedes Benz along Naga’s narrow streets.Thanks to the computer, these days we got to talk, or more precisely, write to each other everyday, never mind if he or she is in New York, Seattle, Dubai, Tokyo, Manila, or at sea.

Engineered by our Saudi-based classmate, an e-group was formed out of Ateneans and Colegialas of high school ’72 where only registered batch members can access each other’s messages, no matter how irreverent and profane.

As part of the generation that started to invent the personal computer, we think that this idiot board is the next best thing that ever happened since our graduation. With this Intel thing, the 70s – otherwise known as the Age of Aquarius wherein peace and harmony ironically failed to prevail — are back in our memories, in the hippie village of classmates and friends, spinning like windmills in our minds, while feeling happy at the thought that we are still around, joking, laughing, giggling, in spite of the lousy signs of the current times.

When I first logged in to congratulate Cyn, my high school date, for happily living it off in Australia, Tess Carpio-Bacungan quickly fingered her key pad with this message: “Hey Joey (that’s my high school name)! Heard about your ailment (I was confined at ICU) from your brod Dick, who is my husband’s good friend and classmate at UP law… Glad to know you are well enough to indulge yourself, do take care though.”

When I sounded the alarm to please look for Pete Marquez who just retired from the US Navy, he quickly wired back to say that he’s still alive. This one he wrote for classmate James Jacob: “Ano ‘noy are you still hydrophobic? Remember how Bruce Lee (Jojo Guballa) worked on saving your drowning butt when we were on one of our many adventures? Do you remember promising to go to church every Sunday while being tossed about by a furious squall? While our pursuit of Indiana Jones’ trail ended towards our own individual adventures, I still feel the bond of brotherhood that we had since our days at NPS. Although I’m far away from home, I am at ease by the thought that my beloved grazing land is in the capable hands of men like you, Joe, Dante, Bololo and others of the sort. I hope someday, if it’s not too late, to go home and help you in the stewardship of Fr. O’Brien’s beloved land … I know about your term as a congressman and as u-sec on education. I read about your conflict with the then secretary of education. And now, PNR. Is there anything in between?”

But Pete committed a booboo when he failed to recognize Mendotte, our class muse, who sent a “Hi” message to him for coming out into the open. To which Pete, after some classmates helped him to recall, quickly apologized in a classic Atenean to a colegiala correspondence: “Thanks to Jess and his very vivid rendering of your description, I finally remember who you are; and he is exactly right – you and I share the same bronze-like tone … I do recall the subtle smile and the forever moist lips. You know what? We did share a dance or two … and that was probably the only time that we exchanged words … Whew! I can finally sleep tonight now that the spectre of the faceless name is gone … those were good and exciting times; I’m just sorry I didn’t spend more time of it getting to know you – I should have come out from the shadows. I hope to meet you again someday.”