We were having a chat, my college dormmates and I, when one of them shared a photograph from long ago, reminding me of those days when I wrote for a radical university paper, joined the student council, and helped topple a dictator, all while keeping my virginity safely intact.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, I mean, really!

I was born in 1967, and knew of only one president until my teens, Ferdinand Marcos. After being elected in 1965, he would install himself as dictator, bleeding the country dry in the process. By the time I went to college, he was a frail 68-year-old hounded by health issues.

College opened up a whole new world for me. I was raised and educated as a proper Catholic girl, hearing Mass, praying the rosary, and generally staying out of trouble. I had more of the same in Ateneo, but with many more exciting elements thrown in.

One of the first things I did was apply for the university’s Filipino publication, Matanglawin. I went to the Pub Room, at the end of Colayco Hall, to submit my application. Mercifully, nobody was there. I would have flaked out had anybody asked me a question.

I wasn’t expecting to be admitted quite honestly. I was a freshman and didn’t know shit. Mwahahaha

Writing for Matanglawin was an eye-opener. I didn’t realize it at the time but the stuff we were churning out could easily be termed subversive. When you’re writing the truth under a repressive regime, you could be written off as seditious.

I also wasn’t sure what attracted me to the student movement. My parents ran a business, and were not at all political. But they were very supportive of me; they kept tabs with what I was involved in. My father and I had many interesting conversations in the car on Mondays when he drove me from Las Piñas to Katipunan.

I suppose I was in search of the truth. I wanted to find out the truth about our country in the same way that I wanted to find out the truth about myself.

The search would turn out to be exhilarating.

I would go to countless rallies, and marched from Katipunan to Mendiola. I would go to labor strikes, and commiserated with workers.

I went on an immersion program, and spent a week in a rural community. I cried out of guilt. At the end of the week, I would go home to my own bed in my own room, and my newfound friends would still be where they were, living from one day to the next. That’s how I learned what isang kahig, isang tuka meant.

There were many of us seeking the truth, in our own way. Some of us worked with political detainees, visiting them in prison offering solace and hope. Some of us tutored students in poor communities, giving them a better chance at life.

These are the only photographs I have of that time. Unlike today’s generation, we didn’t need photographs to know that what happened happened. Mwahahaha

One terrifying memory I have of that time was, oddly enough, not related in any way to the 1986 EDSA People Power Revolution. I felt completely safe there, even when they asked us women to stand in the frontlines. I was with my brothers, and we stood for the truth. I knew somehow that things will come out right, no matter the outcome.

No, my most terrifying memory was getting separated from my group at a rally in Mendiola. It’s very easy to get lost in a sea of people, and that’s exactly what happened to me. To make matters worse, a commotion broke out, and the crowd took a life of its own. I could have easily been crushed by the crowd were it not for a fellow student who protected me. He whisked me off to a corner, and literally shielded me with his body. Parang si Captain Ri lang! Sadly, to my utter regret, I never got his name and have no memory of his face.

Okay, just so you know that it’s not all makibaka, huwag matakot in the barricades, I’d like to add that one cheesy memory I have of that era was walking hand in hand with my boyfriend in Mendiola or Luneta or some such thoroughfare. It was then that our friends formed a ring around us, in the shape of a heart, and started saying we should have a kid named Kalayaan, or some such appellation. I had to laugh because seriously, I would not give any child of mine the weight of such a word — although yes, I ended up naming my eldest after something, the heroine of a Japanese anime series, which is a completely different thing. It’s Erika from Daimos, if you must know! Mwahahaha

This particular search would only take a few years, but I was able to gather memories worth a lifetime. I didn’t know then that walking into that room would change my life, and of that I have no regrets.

Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash