Whenever we’d gather for Sheena’s birthday, her 2010 celebration comes to mind. Those were more carefree times, obviously, when any wholesome beverage mixed with booze already constituted a cocktail and our lungs still had the threshold for cigarette smoke mixed with inihaw. 

The Malugay branch of Central was our venue then. It was a logical choice, given that majority of the crew still lived in Makati, or at least a stone-throw away. And since it was a joint bash with our other friend, Adrian, it was a rather huge blended gathering.

Much as that evening was a blur, two highlights always stood out. One was Marion borrowing my whistle necklace (I had a penchant for turning random objects into neck accessories then). The other was Carla, posing as a balikbayan with a put-on accent, as she coaxed the cutest guy from every table to have a photo with Sheena. And every time Carla returned, there went Marion with the whistle, like from a festival somewhere in the Visayas. All that, while the sound system blasted hits from Timbaland and Ke$ha. So, if there was one night which perfectly encapsulated our early 20s mischief, that was it. Bar none. 

As one would guess, brunch at a mano yesterday was lightyears more subdued and now narrowed down to whoever had a window of time to spare. That meant Sheena with her fiance, Andrei; Carla, with her brother, Brian. As I inevitably brought up Central, I mentioned how the lot it used to occupy is now reduced to rubble and I can only assume it will soon reincarnate into another high-rise residence. 

“Isn’t it refreshing to be doing this in broad daylight?”, I shifted. To which, the group concurred with conviction. “My eyes now start drooping past nine”, Carla added. 

As we jumped from topic to topic over Italian fare (and do note, non alcolico), an attractive guy walked past our table, stopping me and the Avanceña siblings mid-sentence. At first, I tried to figure out if he’s a talent I once met through auditions I once conducted. Well, he wasn’t. That’s when I saw Sheena staring at us, perplexed, as if mentally saying: “Bakit nag-hang ‘tong tatlo?” (Loosely, “why are these three suddenly quiet?”).

As the guy found himself a table, alone, at the cafe next door, I turned to Carla, saying “Cabs, now may be a good time to put on that accent again.” To which, we all erupted into laughter, proving that no matter how much we age, wisen up, or heal as years pass, we will always be the noisiest table.