Stories of my classmates
By Bernard Inocentes Garcia
I HAD a classmate in law school, Ms. A, who always brought hopia (a bean-filled pastry) to class. We, who sat behind her, got curious: why would Ms. A eat hopia every day? One said, obviously, she liked hopia, another, maybe she had a Chinoy suitor, or maybe she was pregnant!
A rumor started. And like in all rumors, everyone in class knew of the pregnancy except for Ms. A. Thus, because of the seriousness of it, a friend volunteered to inform Ms. A. of her pregnancy. By the power vested upon me, my friend said to her one day, I would like to inform you that you are pregnant.
It shocked Ms. A, who said, “Ha? I am pregnant?! Why?!” “Yes, you are,” my friend replied. And so it happened, despite her protest. Four months later, her stomach grew bigger. She should know why.
Until now, we’re in doubt which happened first, the rumor or the pregnancy. Maybe at first she wasn’t, but after being informed of the rumor, she threw caution to the wind, thus the pregnancy.
The moral of the story: girls, too much hopia is dangerous, or a clear sign of danger. Aside from this, you will be the last to hear the rumors about you.
Ms. A is married now to, who else, but the man who gave her hopia. It’s sweet, their love story.
Another interesting personality among my classmates was a guy called CB. He was brilliant. One evening we opted to jog at the Cebu City Sports Complex. However, we had no place for our books. Quickly, we devised a brilliant plan. We ran not as a pair but in opposite directions so there’d always be someone closer to our things, which we had put on the ground.
I went north, he went south, and both of us fixed our eyes only on one spot. After a few rounds of acting like complete idiots, circling around the oval and guarding our books at the same time, the world started to spin. We felt dizzy and had pain in our necks.
Looking back at our stupidity, I laughed at the thought we became lawyers. CB is now working in one of the big accounting firms in New Jersey.
Down memory lane, there was a classmate in high school, DD, known for his boisterous laughter. I checked his Facebook recently, and he’s remained the same guy although he’s a seaman now. I saw pictures of him grinning between two scantily clad Brazilians in a Mardi Gras parade. But I will forever associate him with one incident.
One Saturday night, it was dark and gloomy, we tagged along with a priest to visit a dying, old man. The old man’s room was full of religious icons. A portrait of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and a statue of the Blessed Virgin stood on an altar beside his bed.
As the priest began to pray, the family gathered outside the small room. Slowly, however, a small sound came out of DD’s pants, and like a symphony orchestra, it increased its volume to a high pitch, stayed there a little longer, and stopped.
It stunned all of us. I bowed my head, disturbed by the silence that followed, while the family couldn’t believe what they had heard. The priest turned his head to the culprit to make sure he wouldn’t be suspected of the crime, and continued to pray.
DD struggled to control himself, but still a soundless burst of air escaped from his pants. This time it was vicious and full of treachery! It engulfed the whole room, and the odor was so bad that the priest bowed his head, defeated by the evil spirit.
The family looked at themselves and decided they had had enough. The dying, old man was shaking his head in disbelief at his bad luck. He had asked for angels to guide him. He was given a boy with a bad stomach instead. The old man knew that the vicious burst of bad air could very well be his last breath.
