He Used to Be Mine
or How 2021 Was a Song of Grieving
I drove out to Poblacion again one recent December evening (way before The Omicron). There was a strange sensation to it — the ritual of getting dressed up, cruising through EDSA with the stars out, being greeted by Rockwell’s Christmas skyline. It felt like nothing had changed. The moment I turned into Kalayaan Avenue, it was as if I had entered an alternate timeline.
Two years ago, this wasn’t an event. Poblacion was my unofficial address — I worked there, I studied there, I partied there, and on a few rare nights, I even slept there. I knew every back street and establishment like they were the hallways and rooms of my own mansion. When it lit up at night, so did I.
That was two years ago. Fuck.
Now, there I was again, and all of it felt so out of reach. It wasn’t like stepping into a cinema again to watch my first pandemic movie (oh, Eternals, I will always remember you). Or slogging through Manila traffic as if we’re all back to normal. No. There was this sense of dread that gnawed at me… until it hit:
2019 Luis wouldn’t recognize 2021 Luis.
The thought had been running through my head as I was pondering on what to write about for this year’s essay. I couldn’t quite place whether I sat well with that realization.
Last 2021, I finally finished my thesis and graduated from masters. And yes, I started culinary school somewhere in between that eight-month gap. But somehow, it still feels quite uneventful. Not to diminish how excited I am about these milestones — because I truly am — but it just feels like I’m still waiting… I dunno, waiting for something to hit me in the head and tell me, yeah, Luis, you’re on the path to success, fo sho. ‘Cause damn, I’m turning 3̶0̶ 25 this year, and there still aren’t any answers.
When I started my MBA back in 2018, I jumped in with the thought that I’d have the three years of concurrent studying to see where my theater career would take me. Then, I’d reassess what goes next — whether my masters would be put to use or not. So the three years went by… and quite fruitfully, I’d say. I had steady work, and I felt like I was gaining momentum. By the beginning of 2020, I had just finished a show, was starting rehearsals on a new one, and was waiting assuredly on news for my next. But we all know what happened in 2020.
So I feel unfinished. Whatever momentum I felt I had in my career seems to have dissipated. I’d wonder, is there still a place for me? I see some of my peers still booking work here and there, and I couldn’t help but feel envious. And that’s not even to think about the hope/hopelessness of Broadway reopening. Remember all those promises that we’d be back to normal in a year? Ha!
Still, I waited.
Here’s the thing… I’m the kind of guy that wants to see all my cards on the table in order to make a decision. I didn’t want to reassess what goes next without knowing where I was standing. But waiting was getting me nowhere. It was painful realizing I had to set that card aside.
I know… you shouldn’t let your career define who you are. But for the longest time, theater was the biggest part of my life. How was I to just set that aside? How was I to tell 2019 Luis that, hey, it’s decision time. He of all that idealism. He with that career plan semi-mapped out. Him.
How can I bear breaking his heart?
I broke down last December. Taking a look at the road I was on, what I was carrying, and what scary sights laid ahead, I finally gave in to grief. The whole year, I had been avoiding coming to terms with it. As if I could magically transition into the next chapter of my life without addressing the pain. Who knew it’d take a literal trip to my past to trigger all that?
I ended the year by taking a vacation.
I just love saying that. I took a vacation. Where I would used to say, “I went out of town,” it feels more meaningful to explicitly have that purpose, seeing how so deprived of freedom I’ve felt. It’s been a tiring year.
We stayed in this converted truck parked by a Laguna lake. The chilly December air brushed through the shore, as I spent the day just laying about. No buildings, no concrete, no pollution… just this serene sight.
About a half an hour’s drive away was Hulugan Falls. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t seen a good one in a long while, but this might possibly be the grandest waterfall I’ve ever seen. She let me wash in her grandiosity, and along with the current, she took my anxieties.
To be cliché, I needed this.
I began writing this in my car, parked in front of some government building, playing “She Used to Be Mine” over the radio. Waitress has been on my playlist quite often this year, and it’s been more than apt for a lot of moments. From the sheer fact that I’ve been spending my days in the kitchen this year (Picture me baking while Sara Bareilles sings “What Baking Can Do.” Haha!) to the parallelism of my journey with this soul who’s been captive to her situation.
Shameful to admit, but even as I got caught in all the feels watching it from the wings back then, I didn’t quite understand what “She Used to Be Mine” meant… but I do now. It’s a song of grieving oneself — of how one has changed in ways one wouldn’t have thought of prior. And I guess that was me this year. That grief was painful, but necessary. I needed closure, somehow, before everything changes.
Honestly, I still don’t know how to proceed from here. And that’s not to say I’m closed to opportunities that may arise again. But at least for now, I’m steeling myself a little more for the risks I’ll have to take moving forward.
I didn’t blog at all this 2021 — a departure from my 2020 exercise. Funny that I even considered starting a newsletter. That said, if you’d like to get my musings in your email, you may sign up here. Who knows, I might write a little more often — and at the very least, you’d get 2022’s, haha! Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you gave me an applause down there. ;)
