Remembering the Old Me

The nice thing about going back home is that it is also revisiting my past self. I get to open my old journals, rummage through my old stuff, use my old brands of shampoo and soap and smoke at the desk where I used to hide my cigarettes from Mama Becky. I get to watch my favorite decade-old romantic comedies, such as The Sweetest Thing, Along Came Polly and 50 First Dates. And I get to use our landline phone that emits more static sound than the voice of the person on the other line.
The old me likes a hot cup of taho with extra sago when everybody else is having tapsilog at Edong's. She sneaks out of a brainstorming meeting to meet her boyfriend at the border of the Metro. She likes to have a San Mig Strong Ice before going home from work. She keeps an apple in her bag just in case she gets hungry. The old me buys cigarettes per piece and smokes them throughout the day. She likes smoking under the watershed when it rains, while saying hello to acquaintances holding their umbrellas and hailing cabs in front of the ELJ building. The old me likes to crack a joke or two with a good friend while listening to crap music on the office computer. She likes eating other people's leftover food.
The old me likes road trips. With high school friends, it's got to be Cookie's house in Tagaytay. With college friends, Puerto Galera. She likes boys. Smiling at them, talking to them, holding their hands and pinching them hard. She likes girls too. Well, as friends. She likes it when things happen spontaneously, especially on pay day after work.
The old me is moody at times and would hide under the office table to avoid pleasantries with people. When in the mood, she is playful and likes talking to superiors with chocolate in her teeth. She likes taking pictures with people's butts.
The old me is not complicated at all. She doesn't always get what she wants but doesn't fuss over it. She lets go of things not meant for her gracefully and with the hope that something better will come along.
I am not sure if I will come to terms with the old me when I'm back home again. Maybe the tangible reminders of my old self have been thrown away by our new house help, or eaten by termites, or simply too deeply buried under dust to be retrieved. But it would be nice just to say hi and ask how she's been. She might be wondering how the new me is.
Well, the new me is not exactly different.
A little stronger, a little wiser.
A little more serious, a little more refined.
A little more cautious, a little more inquisitive.
A little more responsible, a little more fair.
Just a little.
I don't want to lose touch with my old self.
I love the old me!
When I look at my old picture, I think, "I was pretty badass."