Even as I had led a woollier than most teen-aged life I have (contrary to popular belief) never been in any drug rehabs. I confess to sneaking an Ativan 2 pill from my mom’s stash and drinking it one morning after one of my (maybe) imagined depressions, and I also pilfered the contents of a nip bottle of Remy Martin from my mom’s collection on display. I took a few whiffs of baguio gold from a friend (YES I inhaled, I mean isn’t that the point?) and went on a food trip afterwards, but I’ve never used a needle. That was just something too scary for me.
I confess to sneaking out a couple of times (yes only a couple of times) from my parents house when I was a teen-ager so I could go with a friend to watch Noli Pineda sing at the Marlboro folk house on Jones Avenue in Cebu. That was a different kind of high altogether. I also sneaked my Lilangs guitar out of the house so I could audition as a folksinger at Shakey’s on Mango Avenue, but when the manager learned I was under eighteen years of age, he shooed me out of the place.
There’s a few other things I could admit to doing, only if I can remember what they are. I’m sure I did a few more things that would have turned my father’s hair white if he didn’t have the power of Bigen at his fingertips. I’ll see if I can jog up a few more memories next time before I lose them all.