Ten years ago, I woke up to a phone call. Berna was in tears, moaning about a recent loss. "Patay na si Diana," she sobbed. I remember wracking my brains for which Diana: a colleague, perhaps? A relative? Or one of Berna's many cats? "Sinong Diana?" I finally asked. "Hello, e di si Lady Di."
And this was how I learned of the news that shocked the world: in my pajamas, the tequila of the night before still clouding my head.
My tequila days are over, and it seems that the world has recovered from the death of a princess. I remember a classmate in college, she who would go to class armed not with notebooks but with scrapbooks chronicling Diana's paparazzi days. I wonder if she still goes about collecting memorabilia. Most likely she has moved on. Like the rest of us and like Berna, whose search for greener pastures has put a period on her life as an activist.
But we remember, of course. We have precious memories of our lives and the events of ten years ago. We remember royal weddings and princesses and losses. And in remembering, we connect.