of homecomings and reunions

The prospect of attending a homecoming dance/dinner or class reunions always leaves me in a quandary. There’s a certain part of me that vaguely yearns to go and reconnect with old friends, and a part that pulls back and dreads it.

Last month, an ex-classmate called to invite me for another class reunion. As usual, I said "sure" and even made some suggestions, which she interpreted as a positive sign. 

Barely a week before the big day I was still vacillating between going and staying away. Two days before the event, I hedged and warned her that I would be likely tied up on the same day ("of course I’ll try my best to show up, but I’m not promising anything, mind"). For the life of me, though, I couldn't quite make up my mind whether I really wanted to go or not. Just like the last few times. (Procrastination — ain't it great?)

At the risk of sounding like a cantankerous worrywart, my point is that I’d prefer to preserve the past as it is — uncolored, unedited and untouched by anything that has happened since then. 

And far from wanting to forget that period of my life, I’d like to state for the record that I treasure those days, along with the angst, pain, triumphs, humiliations, laughter, and anxieties. If I could, I’d like to keep those days intact — the way we looked, the way things were, the way we acted (foolish, earnest, carefree, impulsive), dressed, hankered over our respective crushes, raved about our pop favorites, and agonized over our looks.

Basically, I have this horrid fear that if I go back and hear people rehashing those events (as they almost always do, during reunions), I might realize that things were not as good as I thought they were. Or that they may not measure up to what I’ve kept in my memories throughout the years. Not even the prospect of seeing my old crush — whose frivolous approach to life used to tickle me no end — could surmount my reluctance.

Sounds illogical and ridiculously selfish? Perhaps. But if memories are all that's left to me (of those days), indulge me in my childish folly. I’d like to believe that some things remain perfect (with all their imperfections), unblemished by time and space, no matter how old I get.