Summerset

This will prove to be the shortest summer ever. March 15 ’til April 19. Something like that. Tomorrow, in the wee, unholy hours of the morning, I will be boarding a giant metal bird with the rest of my family, and half-sleeping all the way to A-Me-Ree-Kuh, where we will spend 3 weeks or so seeing just what we can see.

Don’t take me for too much of a thoughtless ingrate. America’s fun, I know. Travelling is fun, I know. It’s expensive, and takes a hell of a lot of effort to coordinate, I know. My parents have taken the time, the effort and the money to set up this trip, so we can enjoy it, I know. I know. I know. I know.

I still sound like a thoughtless ingrate, I know.

When I was a kid, I always looked forward to these rare trips to the U.S. It was always fun to leave the daily blah-de-blah of most boring summers, and just go somewhere I wasn’t used to. It was always interesting to go around, and soak in the hustle and bustle, the quiet and cold of it all. It was always fun to marvel at the sheer amount of stuff i managed to see and bring back from America.

Things won’t have changed that much. There will still be stuff to see, and stuff to buy, and stuff to bring home. But will I enjoy it that much?

The thoughtless ingrate says nah. And nay, and no, and such.

See, while I’m off seeing and buying and readying to bring home, I’m also going to be missing stuff. A lot of stuff. A lot of important stuff.

The stuff that was summer to me.

Case in point?

Mr. Santos, and all the lessons and stories, and lessons-that-are-stories, and stories-that-are-lessons about everything, and everything else… and the undeniable fact that he’s one of the few adults I know who can actually give so great a damn about people, without perennially making them think that he doesn’t.

Dinn, and his gaming talk, and his endless pure insanity, and all the rest, the sheer sabaw of it all… and somewhere behind, between and beyond all that, the strength of his concern about each of his friends, and the sheer will that can drive him.

Bean, and his bottled, measured insanity, and the vodka-blood that runs through his veins and his brain, and the fact that he is the goddamned BATMAN, just like me… and the simple, quiet sense of responsibility he has towards each one of the people he cares about.

Levi, and the endless idea-spring that he’s somehow capable of generating, and his exasperating knack for making exactly worst possible comment at the best possible time… and the fact that he somehow manages to cram genius, inspiration, humility, guitar-slinging skill, searing pride, utter stupidity, and sheer idiocy, all into one twisted, twistedly brilliant mind.

Lence, and each one of his unfairly overpowered plethora of skills (everything except the violin, haha! *laugh with me here, I’m a kidder*), and his ability to turn sometimes-grating practice sessions into nothing short of a waking drug-trip… and his efforts to keep Felt, as a band, coherent, despite ourselves.

Addi, and his invincible, unbreakable helmet of a hairdo, and his musical skill (despite the often bad sense of taste)… and the patience that you sometimes see behind it all… and that unrelenting drive to be better, and better and better, in whatever it is he wants to do.

Wil, and how he’s sometimes understood the very least, but understands the very most, and how he can take each and every single thing apart, sometimes to fix it, and sometimes just to infuriate people… and how he is fuelled not by the numbers and the technicalities he sometimes get stuck in, but by the somehow grand, somehow simple dream that some day we are all going to make something worth seeing, worth playing, worth living.

Fee, and each and every moment that he is severely inspired, or inspiringly severe, or emo, or sabaw, or stupidly low, or stupidly high, or highly stupid… and the way he can understand without having to understand, and make the plainly impossible happen (blame the Mac, kiddo… blame the Mac.)

Cara, and the way she is the only person I know who is somehow capable of matching Fee’s moments of emo and sabaw, but also his moments of deep understanding… and how she can be sometimes turn into the innocent, uncomplicated brightness behind each situation, despite what she’s been through.

Andy, and the songs, and the music, and the way she’s the cool one, always the most likely to help take the difficult things and put them back under control, even though the heaviest burdens are sometimes her own… and her ability to act as the de facto psych-counselor for every member of this unlikely little barkada.

Crammerz Inc., those mentioned above, and those who will be mentioned in later entries, and the way that we are somehow able to function as a unit, despite the fact that everything always seems to be against us, and the way that you all make me feel like such a freaking dad sometimes, though I’m often the most immature among you all, and how, to hell with the Justice League, we still pwn all.

And more,

‘Bastian, and how despite all the inane wrestling references, strange expressions and misplaced comments, he’s somehow coming into his own, as a person who can be trusted as much as any member of this strange, strange group.

Shanti (or is it Shawn T… Sean Ty… or something.), and the insane, mind-numbing, eye-scraping, brain-scouring PINK of her desktop, and each manic WEEBEE, and the rest… and, through all that, the way she wants the best for friends, despite their… quirks (I say it lightly)

Camille, and each and every single one of her weird comments (for the last time, I’m NOT gay, and I do NOT play with dolls *they’re action figures, demmet!*)… and how she can be so confoundingly mature (and immature) for her age, sometimes even more so than her brother. (Please, Camille, for the love of God, take care of Feeeeeee…)

TinChan, and how each and every single conversation with her can turn into a trip into the deepest regions of the gibbering mental waste called BANGAG… and how, somehow, she’s still capable of genuine concern for people, despite the fact that she’s already been pulled into the most inane, insane parts of their personalities…

And that was my summer… You were my summer. All of you.

And now I’m going to be off soon, off into the guts of some giant metal bird. If anyone wants anything from America, drop me an email, or leave a comment here… Hell, leave a comment even if you don’t want anything.

And don’t be too surprised if you suddenly find a large, heavy box with unspecified contents suddenly shipped to your house from America… just, please make sure you bring the box to a warm place, and open it up fast… I hear those airline cargo holds are hellishly cold, especially for weirdo black-wearing bloggers who come from the Philippines and are loath to leave it.

…Damn it, I am going to miss my summer.