How a Waveboard Taught Me It’s Never Too Late to Reclaim Your Past

Finding My “Rosebud” at the Thrift Shop

Let’s go back to 14 years ago.

I was a waveboard wunderkind, my heart pounding in rhythm with the wheels spinning beneath my feet, carving my way through Manila’s most popular spots.

From the cobblestone streets of the historic Intramuros, where the echoes of the past whispered in my ears, to the smooth, modern roads of Bonifacio Global City, where the future seemed to unfold before me, I was a solitary figure, wiggling my way to joy.

But then, as it often does, life happened.

I was thrust into the whirlwind of adulthood — college, career, and all the chaos that comes with it. I left the caster board behind one fateful night after suddenly getting kicked out from my guardian’s house.

Yes, you read that right. I was kicked out, not for throwing wild parties or harboring a secret pet, but for my uncanny ability to turn even the simplest of situations into a sitcom-worthy disaster.

I promised my waveboard, and myself, that our reunion was just around the corner.

But soon turned into months, months into years. I dabbled in fine arts, dropped out, dipped my toes into web design, and dove headfirst into project after project.

I became a parent, navigated relationships, and took on different roles.

Who used to be 18 is now 33.

Waveboarding started to feel like a distant memory, a relic of my past. It was like an old love letter, tucked away in a drawer, gathering dust.

It was a relationship that ended not because of a fight or a fallout, but simply because of the passage of time.

It reminded me of the movie Citizen Kane, where “Rosebud” was the last word Charles uttered on his deathbed.

Everyone thought it was a woman, a lost love. But in the end, it was revealed to be the name of his cherished childhood sled.

It was a symbol of a simpler time, a time before life got complicated.

I felt exactly the same way about my board.

Then, just last month, at a thrift shop tucked away in a corner of the city, I stumbled upon a waveboard.

The sight of it, worn but still full of potential, was a jolt of nostalgia, a silent whisper from my past echoing in the cluttered aisles of the shop.

For two weeks, I wrestled with my inner adult, who scoffed at the idea of buying it, and my inner child, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

Looking at the waveboard, I could already envision the spectacle I’d make of myself.

A grown woman, wobbling on a board meant for spry teenagers, probably looking like a flamingo trying to ice skate.

But then, in a stroke of genius or perhaps desperation, I found an excuse to buy it — my son “might” get interested in it.

Yes, that’s right. I was using my innocent child as a shield for my “mid-life” crisis-induced impulse buy. If that’s not Parent of the Year material, I don’t know what is.

I went back to the shop one fine Tuesday, spent almost an hour testing it out just behind the old closets so no one can see me as I try to recall how to get on it.

I forgot how to use it. I was failing every attempt.

I bought it anyway and took it to the park, sat with it in front of the fountain. I was contemplating on what I did all these years to lose touch of something that I loved and suddenly had to leave.

“Age is just a number,” I murmured, trying to convince myself that it’s not too late to follow my youth.

“Better now than later,” I thought.

I bought it under the guise of it being for my son. But as I stood in the park, my feet on the caster board, I realized that it wasn’t just for him.

It was for me.

It was for the 18-year-old who used to weave through the streets of Manila with a grin on her face. It was for the woman who had forgotten the thrill of the ride, the wind in her hair, the freedom of the open road.

I was not just buying a waveboard; I was reclaiming a piece of my past, a piece of myself that I had left behind. I was acknowledging the passage of time, the changes in my life, and the constant evolution of my identity.

As I struggled to re-learn an old passion, I started to embrace the kid I’ve been tucking inside for years. I’m sorry it took too long, I’m sorry I had to grow up.

In that moment, I realized that it’s never too late to reconnect with your past, to rekindle old passions, to ride a waveboard through the park without a care in the world.

Because at the end of the day, we’re all just kids trying to navigate this adult world. And sometimes, we need our old joys to remind us of that.