We were called the "pandemic jubilarians." Three classes (i.e., 95, 96, and 97) celebrating our high school graduations' 25th anniversary jointly and belatedly. I did not know what to expect from this event. My older sister did not participate in her homecoming in 2019 and my other older sister was supposed to be part of this consolidated reunion. I planned to just do the bare minimum, like show up at the event, and wait for the next communication from our alumni foundation.
Nothing was expected of me. I mean, we have in our ranks the vice president of the Philippines and a couple other politicians. What have I got to show for myself? Although I graduated at the top of my class, I was not famous or influential back then. I was a nerd and recluse (hiding behind my comical facade), who just happened to be friends with famous and influential people in our batch. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the fame and influence did not rub off on me. I was (and still am) a nobody.
But my past is not my future. I thought that maybe if I participate and extend my help, I can change how I see myself. I decided to be involved. I attended Zoom meetings. I made donations (anonymously) when needed. I showed up not just during the reunion itself, but even in related events like outreach project and art exhibit. I wanted to belong, but my efforts were not getting me there. Somehow, I still felt awkward.
I realized that while most of them grew up together and spent time with each other for most of their lives after high school, I, on the other hand, had been threshed from our little pond and fed to the piranhas swimming in the vast ocean. I made unconventional choices in my education, career, and personal life, that to them do not make sense. Although I am a member of this tribe, I have, over the years, associated myself with different tribes. And for that, a part of me will always remain an outsider to them. I will always be weird and strange, and I think that is beautiful. I can now accept that.
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