I attended Carmela Sogono's debut last night. (She's a high school classmate of mine.) I was expecting more of my high school classmates to attend since it was semestral break time for Ateneo and UP people.

Honestly, I had high hopes for the occasion. Aside from being happy for Mela, I thought it would be as if my classmates and I would be thirsting for each other's company. (Okay, that was greatly exaggerated.) At the very least, though, I thought we'd update ourselves with lively chat and whatnot.

I don't know how I managed to delude myself into thinking that a reunion like this would be the sort of thing I'd be looking for two terms into college. When I met most of my old classmates, I realized that I didn't care for them anymore. I couldn't care less how they were purportedly losing sleep and getting low grades in Ateneo or getting confused in UP. I don't fucking care. They can burn in hell.

I realized that I SHOULDN'T have cared for them too damned much way back in high school. All the efforts I put into being cordial with these people actually amounted only to them using me. I felt so used: they don't even remember me or have a sincere chat. A simple "Hello" seals the dour welcome for most of those insensitive cads.

Ever since I met my wonderful college blockmates, I've been in a fix concerning my past. Half of me wanted to visit every one of them and ask about how life was in Ateneo or UP. My other half wanted to burn past bridges and forget all but my dearest high school friends. It's rather obvious which side won out in the end.

I wonder if Mom was right about the same thing happening to relationships...