What is it about memory and Marcus? Decades pass you by, you forget birthdays, anniversaries, lose track of friends and acquaintance. But some memories stick like glue on your best dress. And no amount of baking soda or WD-40 can get it off.

It was the year 1994. The year after Aileen and Allan Killing Incident at UPLB. I enrolled in BA Sociology because I was waitlisted for other courses. I barely passed my UPCAT had not Charlie (our High School Class Salutatorian) sat in front of me and I copied his answers on the Math part without him knowing it. He still doesn't know. I know, I know. That's bad. Still, I wanted UPLB and I was a shameless hussy. In fact, I haven't even bothered to test for other schools. So confident I am that I would make it.

I wanted UP for its' glorious history. I wanted no uniforms and vibrant, intelligent people. I want dormitories and being independent. I wanted UP for its activism and all those who fought tyranny.

Not a week passed before I found my first rally, joined my first organization and attended my first Educational Discussion (ED). I sought the movement out of youthful idea about the "Revolution" and the "Masa". That's how I met Marcus. And Blanca. And Lestat, and Mich, and Chengga, and Jensen and countless other people who deserve their own page on my book. But this, is a story about Marcus.

When I met Marcus I felt revulsion. He has a rather large head, a small body and a pockmarked face. He looked like an adult fetus. He talked incessantly and he had this unbelievable self awareness and confidence. I often say later that this was his success as well as his downfall. When you get over his physical looks, you gravitate to him. His passion for life shines from him. And I know you'll think that my description of him is a bit adolescent, naïve at best but that was what I remember when I first met him.

My first summer at LB, true to the tradition of Tibaks before us, Marcus and me went to our first community immersion. It was a picket against factory owners of a Nata de Coco factory in Industrial Laguna.  This was the praxis. The marriage of theory and practice. Before this, we thought the labourers were being abused. After this, we know the labourers were being abused. We were there for two days.  We emerged as two different people.

When two people are thrown into a single experience with a hint of danger, it results in an inescapable bond. It was a bond that tied me to him (or the idea of him) for almost two decades. Irene said it was a motherly instinct to protect. I still say it's love.

Due to an accident, I was unable to come back to school that  Semester. I never said goodbye nor was able to let people know that I can't come back. SMS, Internet, none of these were accessible then. And out of thoughtlessness, I never really thought it matters.

But when I came back, it was like we never skipped a day. At that instant I saw him, a sudden longing crashed into me. Nobody has ever made me feel that way before. We talked for hours. We talked about his Girlfriend. We talked about all the things that happened in between. We talked thru the night. By morning we decided to become lovers. Which was weird because I don't remember any romantic gestures like hugging or kissing. He must have thought it was weird too, because the next day we decided, like two rational people, that we're just actually friends.

It was an act of self rationalization. On hindsight, I must have realized by then that he was not for me. Nor would he be able to make me truly happy. But once in your life, you'll find your one great love before you move on to more ordinary things. For me, it was Marcus.

Marcus introduced me to music. It was because of him that I still had U2, Pearl Jam, Gin Blossoms and Mr Jones on my playlist. It was Marcus who introduced me to the Marvel Universe, and the reason why I'm excited to see Gambit on the next Xmen Movie installment. I still close my eyes to One of U2, imagining Jean Grey and Cyclops on their wedding. There was even a time when I thought he sounded like Bono. For me, poetry and writing was an acquired taste. All due to Marcus. All this, from the time we were friends.

For Marcus, as charismatic as he is, a parade of girls came and went. On my side of the fence, there were 3 day affairs that came and went. None really hurt me. On Marcus side though, most were passionate affairs that had him reeling, begging, crying. This, for him was sucking the marrow out of life.

Marcus was an expert on emotional maneuvers and machinations. He would deliberately create lies, sub dramas, orchestrated jealousies just to create a reaction from people and himself. Maybe more from himself. He was always testing his strength and the length he would go thru protect his sanity.

Watching him at play was like watching a child build blocks only to destroy it. See how it falls. He was addicted to drama. He did this, I believed then, with no malice and ill will. While he was testing his emotions, somewhere at the back of his mind, there was the Godlike Marcus watching his drama unfold. From the outside, me watching, I was exhilarated by the delicious implications of the game. Me, all knowing. The power of knowing made me a God too.

On good days, he would orchestrate a happy movie. Those who had known him would remember him fondly because of his talent to organize instant parties. It was invented exhilaration that really drove people to a certain group mania. On the spot Tagaytay trips, movie marathons, singing at the Freedom Park, lunch under the Kayomito Tree.

On his darkest day, he turned everyone against him. On his darkest days, I got pissed by his machinations. During those past six years I was at LB, we got preoccupied with things but we'd still talk. A while, a bit. Stories about his misbehaviour would reach me but I still gave him the benefit of the doubt. I felt like I understood him. So I just shrugged them off. I believed him because I thought he placed me above others. I was a fool. One day, I saw it in his eyes. No one is above his play. The play is the thing.

They say familiarity breeds contempt. It took me 6 years. The few months we were together before we last saw each other, I turned all political on him. We parted on harsh words.

I remember all of this. On my days of drama, I'd say I really loved him. Or maybe I don't. Maybe I loved the idea of him. He was free.

___

10 Years later.

I saw Marcus today. He looks the same, feels the same.

I have been looking for him for the last couple of years. Because I realized that I've been wrong. He was just a puny human who felt betrayed when all of his dearest friends left him for a theory. I thought he was free. And all of his decisions were consciously calculated. He still feels bitter.

He says he has become a comedian.