For the purpose of garnering interest in this long-winded post, let’s begin with the girl I saw at mass today.
My family usually attends service at a school church about five minutes from our house. Toward the end of the mass, as we lined up for communion, there she was—accompanied by a faint, sudden memory. She was thin, sporting noticeably big hair. I had met her once before, introduced by my cousin during a visit a few months back. Standing there in line, I let myself slide into a quick flashback.
The Manila Interlude
I had met up with my cousin because fate had dragged me to Manila, where she was attending medical school. I rarely frequent that area, but thesis work has a funny way of pulling you to places you’d never imagine. Case in point: thesis research once dragged me to Marikina at 1:00 AM for a brief interview that ended up being entirely useless—and moderately dangerous, as I was unsuccessfully mobbed by someone who mistook my tape recorder for a smartphone.
Anyway.
My cousin treated me out after years of us not seeing each other. We dabbled in reminiscing, slapping the table whenever a story got too funny. After an hour, she introduced me to her friend, whom she had previously hinted at setting me up with.
And boy, when she walked in, she was a looker. Incredibly intelligent in the brief conversation we shared, and, more importantly, single. I don’t remember the exact details of what we discussed, which more than likely means we just engaged in standard small talk.
It was too short a meeting to exchange numbers, especially since it was already getting late. Eager as I was to keep the conversation going, duty and my next thesis interviewee were calling. I left the dinner, walked a few meters down the street, and prepared to interview Ralph.
Two Sides of a Coin
Ralph was the subject of my thesis: a father who had abandoned his child immediately after birth. We met up in a convenience store a block away, sitting at a table decorated with leftover hotdog wrappers. Ralph had only agreed to talk because I was paying him for his time. He even successfully pushed his luck to ask for a free bottle of water. He was thin, brash, and not particularly good-looking, but he carried the kind of unearned confidence that made you think he was. When talking about his kid, he would often look away, convincing himself that he did what was right for everyone—that his actions, albeit wrong, were brave.
Driving home after the interview, I realized Ralph’s perspective wasn't uncommon. Unwanted pregnancies are incredibly difficult for women, but they trap men too, albeit in a much less sympathetic way. Ralph kept blaming the woman for not being prepared, wishing he had never slept with anyone within his social circles. You could feel how trapped he felt, in a cowardly sort of way. I had read European literature researching this exact phenomenon, but I’d never seen it explored in a local setting. It got me thinking about the many ways I could attack the study.
Yet, despite all those academic possibilities, my mind kept drifting back to the earlier dinner with my cousin and her fellow med student who joined us. The thought of her kept me excited on the drive home, making me say "Damn" to my rearview mirror. Damn. What if we actually ended up together?
I was about to text my cousin to set up a proper date—the "two-day rule" be damned—but right then, my buddies called me for a night ride on our fixies.
Bikes and Books
Fixed-gear bicycles had become our absolute obsession. Macaframa videos were our gospel, and we loved the niche culture surrounding it. What started as two of my high school friends quickly grew into a community of thirty people, geeking out over Brooks saddles and bullhorn handlebars, and talking about prospective business opportunities for bike-heads. We would hang out at bars until 2:00 AM after a long night ride, usually converging at that hipster spot in Makati called The Collective. Like all hipster things, it was incredibly cool until it went mainstream. The spots changed, but the group stayed consistent. I was young, and it was a wild, great circle to be a part of.
But thesis work kept rearing its ugly head. Finding participants was a nightmare. Even during those night rides, my target demographics—who mostly worked in call centers—had an impeccable ability to ruin my evening with their timing. So, that night, I canceled the ride for the sake of my degree. I went home and started transcribing the verbatim audio of my recent interview. Try typing out two hours of tape recordings; there are few worse fates in life.
A day or two later, I finally texted my cousin to express my eagerness to set up a date with her friend—though looking back, it lacked real commitment, if that combination makes any sense. The initial excitement had waned. Don't get me wrong: she was prettier than anyone I had ever dated up to that point, but my life was simply elsewhere. I had dated a med student before; their timing can be entirely off for someone already drenched in the chaos of life. To be honest, I wasn't keen unless fate explicitly worked in our favor.
It felt like a grown-up moment, one I was proud of: not chasing a pretty face at the expense of my actual life.
Not long after, I immersed myself deeper into my counseling practice. Clinical sessions, developmental cases, and personality disorders began consuming every day of the week. But I loved making a difference. Being an ear, a heart, and a helping hand to victims of drug abuse, sexual assault, and abandonment gave me a renewed sense of purpose. I would dedicate entire days to sleeping over at rehab centers just to learn, striving to be the tabula rasa—the blank slate—for the outpouring of these victims' emotions.
Fixed-gear biking became my Fridays. Masters classes took over Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Thesis work ate up every remaining gap. Bikes and books. That was the life, then.
Full Circle
My cousin never texted back, and it was probably for the best. Maybe I wasn't her friend's type. I completely forgot about the whole ordeal until mass today.
Lately, my interest in psychology has started to wane, gradually replaced by more practical, money-making ventures. One of my original fixie friends is leaving for the States, and I’m currently contemplating selling my fixed-gear bike for a more triathlete-friendly version. I’ve gotten into running with a new group under much less "hipster" conditions. Tonight, I'm even playing my first game in an amateur football league.
It just happens. Life takes you from one adventure to the next, and I have no regrets.
I’ve also started dating someone new. It’s nothing too serious yet, but our common interest in therapy gives us plenty to talk about. Still, seeing that big-haired med student at mass today reminded me of just how fast a year flies by. There's a funny irony in the realization that we are likely neighbors attending the same local church. Given how much time has passed, she probably wouldn't even recognize me. But I'm not desperate, and I'm genuinely happy with where I am.
So, there we were—months after our initial encounter. And despite life never bringing us together in the way I had briefly imagined on that drive home, it brought us side-by-side today. Right there in the communion aisle. Two very different people from the ones introduced back in Manila.
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