A former UP journalism professor passed away earlier tonight after a bus rammed into the cab she was riding on her way to the Ayala Technohub in Commonwealth. The bus driver, still unidentified as of the time of writing, sped off. She was dead upon arrival at the hospital.

I still remember my early days at the College of Mass Communication, when I wondered why other profs referred to her as ‘Chit Estella’ when the class cards indicated her name as Prof. Lourdes Simbulan. I had heard of and read articles by Chit Estella, the famous journalist and editor whose byline was associated with The Manila Times and the Pinoy Times during Joseph Estrada’s term. But it was hard to picture the quiet, unassuming professor in charge of the newsroom classes as a tough-as-nails investigative journalist. I later found out it was her maiden name, although she still used it for her byline.

The news reports on her death still refer to her as Chit Estella, investigative journalist and founding member of the board of the Vera Files, but I’ll always think of her as Prof. Simbulan, the humble teacher who was always happy to help out a student, and never bragged about her impressive accomplishments. Rest in peace.

Spotted at the UP College of Architecture

Seriously, where else can you find a karaoke machine listed as official university equipment for rent? Fine, maybe Japan.

The oddest thing happened to me yesterday, on Valentine’s Day. I bumped into an ex I had not seen in years; I probably wouldn’t have noticed him at all, had it not been for a friend who pointed out that just a meter or two away was the guy I used to date back when I was in college. He was sitting at a table, looking almost exactly the same, with a girl whom I remembered as his sister.

People often say that when dealing with exes, there’s only one way to handle things: be on your best–all the time. And it isn’t just with past romantic relationships. It’s why middle-aged hipsters sweat it out at the gym and get Botox injections in time for their high school reunions. After all, no one wants come off worse after having a brush with the past.

However, yesterday, I wasn’t exactly in tip-top condition. I stayed out late the night before, had half a pitcher of sangria, and woke up early to beat the crowds at the Legazpi and Lung Center markets (on a side note, they really need to change the name of the Lung Center market. It makes me think of wizened vendors peddling organs. “Hey, check out this set of fresh pink lungs, clean as a baby’s bottom!”; “Lungs for sale; good condition, non-smoker, occasional forays into EDSA smog.”). Running on four hours of sleep, devoid of any makeup and clad in a white linen button-down shirt, I wasn’t exactly ready to strut down any runways. So when my friend tapped my shoulder to tell me that The Ex was just there, I contemplated discreetly making an exit before anyone could see me in my disheveled state.

Then again, I realized that it had been years since we last saw each other, and in that time, we never bothered to catch up with each other’s lives. The last time I thought of contacting him was because I wanted my old school ID back (UP’s new restricted entry policies suck big time). But other times–Christmases, birthdays, New Years–nothing. It wasn’t because we were angry at each other; we simply didn’t care. Grateful that I had a giant pair of sunglasses on, I said a quick hello and went on my way.

But I didn’t feel the same way when I visited my old blog. I first started blogging in 2003, when I was 19 years old and LiveJournal was still cool. Back then, I wrote a lot in my blog: stuff about school, friends, publishing (I had just started writing for Inquirer and Summit), random things. I even posted the occasional quiz or two (yeah, gross). I was clearly more naive then, but boy, I could write. Some of the more personal stuff made me cringe, because there was way too much naked emotion out for strangers to see. But it attracted people, who opened up their own lives to me as well.

I stopped blogging regularly after a trip to Rome in 2009, where I met a British journalist who thought I was a local (no, really) and asked me for directions. We had tea at the rooftop of a museum, and spent a good couple of hours talking about travel and journalism in general. He asked for my email address, and I got his card. We didn’t stay in touch, but he sent an e-mail soon afterwards, telling me that he saw my blog online (gee thanks, Google) and went through it. “Why is it that you blog about such personal things?” he asked me. I shot back a quick, semi-snarky reply, explaining that my work as a journalist was separate from what I wrote about my life, but the damage had been done. A couple of months later, I deleted my LiveJournal blog and abandoned my Multiply one as well.

It’s not fun, running into the past: I went through my old blog and realized that I was no longer half the writer I had been at its peak. There are some exes that you can learn to let go of–when you don’t mind bumping into them in a disheveled old shirt and rumpled hair–but there are some exes that you simply cannot face looking like a mess, for the simple reason that they still matter in your life.

So here I am, trying to patch up things with my blog. It’s new and will probably be less personal than the old one, but it’s a start. Here’s hoping that there will be plenty of stories to tell.

Welcome to Twenteensomething.com.