Got invited to the Eraserheads reunion concert the other night. For the most part, it was not just a reunion for the band, but for the whole generation who grew up with their hits. Sad that it was cut short due to Ely Buendia’s condition (possibly aggravated by the clamor for a “grouphug” by the audience; clearly as the band breezed through the songs, the members were not all entirely in speaking terms with each other, even more so with their legions of fans), but everyone prayed that the night would not end. (But hey, what can you really say? The guys is sick judging from his appearance since the get-go.) I, too have had my own share of reunions that night and the next, with old friends whom I’ve wished would have been closer to me during my own emotional tailspins, and with new friends who were close enough to breathe in my debris but I would have consciously shut out of it. Tonight, I’m alone now, the nights have been spent, words (painful and caring) have been said, and I am still no less colorblind then before, but even more dazed by the blur of it all. Yet gain, tomorrow night, I would have to reunite with reality.

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