sorbetes na siling labuyo

It used to be the music that my parents couldn’t understand, the music that I played until the woofers on our stereo broke. It was the music that was supposed to have expressed the angst of the so-called "generation next ". (Opo, feel na feel ko na noon ang pagrerebelde sa simpleng pagpapalakas ng volume ng radyo. You can roll your eyes if you want.) So it felt strange when i heard that music being described as “retro” by the cricket-voiced DJ on the weekend rewind. And it felt even stranger when I opened a magazine and saw that baston pants, ultra-wide belts, and big hair –- the very things that were so uso when we were kids but so baduy when we were teens — were making a comeback as retro chic.

Retro. It was not a word that had applied to me before. Retro was bell bottoms and Beatles, beehive hairdos and disco. Retro used to be a term for the artifacts of my parents’ lost youth. But now, it seems that I have been officially reclassified from the ranks of the “young ones” and grouped together with the “young once” as well.

But that’s okay. Growing up does have its perks. For one thing, it’s great to be finally past all that peer pressure and conformity. For another, my mom is actually treating me like a human being now. I’ve met so many wise, funny, beautiful people and learned so much from them. Somewhere along the line, I’ve finally gained a semblance of control over my hair, which used to look like chewed-up steel wool when I was in high school. And I’m finally taking my MS and enjoying it.

To be sure, I’ve said and done a lot of stupid things through the years. The stupidity probably won’t end there. But I’m hoping to gain a little bit of wisdom to balance out the idiocy. And anyway, it’s no big deal. After all that brouhaha, I can finally live with myself. At the ripe old age of 25, I’m happy where I am.J