The Magic of Getting Together

I played host to old friends last night. We had animated recollections of those bygone years over a few bottles of Matador, Mucho, and GSM Gin. The priest among us had specifically requested that somebody produce a guitar—for the guitar was then an inseparable instrument of the troubadours of San Rafael.

From a pocket, I produced a recently printed copy of Ms. Karina David’s Patalastas. I had seen to it that the printout was in larger font, for all of us are gaining age and reading has become tricky given the ambiance I had set up for the reunion. Someone asked if I had the full text of Ang Karabaw ni Mang Islaw.

Ah, yes! How can I forget Ang Karabaw?

But I did.

The guitar was produced, and Nonoy plucked its strings as if it were a magic wand from which songs sprang. The whole lot joined in, and the house was filled with hearty revelry. Bottles were emptied. Stories were told. Sumsuman were eaten. Laughter rang out loud.

And wonder of wonders, recollections dominated the carousing.

Perhaps it was that simple occasion of getting together. Perhaps the alcohol. Perhaps the guitar and the songs. But what was certain was the magic of memory that had united us for that one particular moment.