I REMEMBER long ago, during one conversation over beers, an old friend had flatly branded me as a sentimentalist. At that time, I recall being slightly offended because I felt his statement seemed a bit derogatory and he was totally wrong in reading me.
You see, back then, I always liked to think I was level-headed, in the sense that, poor as I was in math, I was quite calculating and technical when thinking things over.
During that awkward moment I had simply rebutted, “But aren’t we all?”
All the while, my mind had churned endlessly then, thinking to myself, no matter how they deny it, all people are hopeless romantics inside. I further believe the only difference is, they are just so good at pretending to be otherwise.
Now in the present, I’m suddenly feeling how I wish I could get back to that old friend again. To finally settle what we had been arguing about during that old time.
Incidentally, the argument had all started when I said I could still remember how old buildings looked, even as I stood before the modern ones that replaced them.
This gravitated into my remembering people who’ve passed and eventually led to the sentimental tag.
I have come to realize that the observation must have been too senti for him at that time, and sharing it with someone who was way too lively back then, was nerdy.
Now, I see it his way. Truly in youth, people tend to rush in all things, never really mindful of whatever’s in the way.
Young and restless, I think that was how parents described us. Why not? The world was a great unknown and it had opened up before us. And as the old saying went, we held it in the palms of our hands.
Then as we grew older, a little pause here and there, a hesitation perhaps or a realization or two, and one finally notices, hey, you’re slowing down kiddo.
You then awaken to the fact that during your wild rush and romping about, there had been people, relationships, plus a whole lot of other things that mattered. This, plus the numbing reality, during the whole time, the world has never really been about you.
So, you’re like a boat dead in the water, and you’re slowly trying to retrace your steps, desperate to recover and relive all you had missed.
There’s also the segment where one wishes to apologize to all you’ve wronged. All of the feelings and realizations above, how I wish I could share them with this old friend (who has gone ahead) to finally ask him, is that what you meant by being sentimental?
