For the girls

Last Saturday, I saw five of my long-time friends: Ces, Lizzie, My, Niña, and Den. I haven’t seen these girls for a year, but there are just some friendships that never change.

I’ve become closer to these folks (including Abi, Arlene, Ciels, Lea, and Mirza) back in 1989, when our worlds were rocked by Milli Vanilli’s I’m Gonna Miss You and Madonna’s Like a Prayer, albums which served as our official barkada anthems. We were 13 or 14 then, outrageously conscious if our hair curled in the right direction, horribly concerned if our bags, cuff links and socks are to other people’s liking. I really can’t remember which one of them I became close with first—was it My or Niña?, I can’t quite recall. All I know is that by the time mid school year came around, the ten of us are already wildly supportive of each other.

During recess, when one would buy a packet of Skyflakes or Chippy, there’s bound to be nine other hands taking a share of the snack. We took extended lunch hours, hopping around each other’s homes for never-ending meals of sardines and soda. Afternoons are spent walking Niña to Mang Ben’s yellow jeepney just so we can kiss her goodbye because she always had to be the one going home the earliest then hanging around some more at Michael’s for saging con hielo. There, we’d get shushed by Aling Lumen, because we’d cause such a ruckus playing Pictionary, which was a scheme, really, created so we can spy on our biggest crush sitting on the next table.

Our friendship was officially stamped on a white shirt we had custom-made for the high school fair of school year ’89-‘90. I so loved that shirt which bore our names, with its stick doll figures representing us, and the fair’s theme at the back—hyfairtension, it said in its cursive font—wearing it until well I was in college that its pathetic neckline had been pulled so wide it seemed like a boat collar rather than a round neck.

We remained friends past second year, despite being classrooms apart. And while I became closer with My and Niña during our junior year, and with Lizzie during fourth year, because these three became my classmates then, there’d be sure as hell nine palanca letters whenever I went to a retreat, an extra longganisa on my lunch plate care of Niña, and someone who’s willing to lend a Tickles purse or a Sari-Sari Store skirt when I feel like borrowing one. We’d make up the lousiest excuses so that we can watch an 18-rated movie in Galleria, putting on an air of false maturity in front of unbelieving ticket ladies, and passing by this radio station a building away so that we can say hello to the DJ we had a wild crush on.

By the time we were seniors, we knew which ardent pursuer tops one’s heart, teasing her until she retaliated with a swift smack on the behind. We saw Abi fall for a boy first and not to be outdone, two other immediately followed suit (gad, yes, it included me). We mourned when one was left with a broken heart, and then cheered her up by recalling how a whole bottle of patis can end up stinking our second year classroom. Days never being enough, we talked with each other on the phone at night stopping only when we’d hear a Tita screaming on the other line.

These days we laugh when we think about those days of innocence, when our deepest joys were having enough money for merienda, where the farthest we’ve gone together was Greenhills, and when the saddest times of our short lives were when we were grounded for going home at 6pm. These are the guys whom my mom would then allow to go up my room and shake me awake so that we can go on a swimming trip in Rizal. Yes, my mom loved them, but I love them more. Love them all still.

Sitting in Den’s condo terrace last Saturday night, we laugh at the same funny stories, never tiring of them, still as fresh as if it just happened yesterday. But then again we talked about investing smartly, of gall stones and kidney diseases, all the while smoking smokes we have learned to do apart while in college but now share as a not-so-secret bad habit. We sat there, looking up the stars and just savoring the moment.

In reality, we were 33-year olds worried about the our kids, our careers, husbands, bills, our parents and ever growing waistlines. But together, inside our hearts, on a brief Saturday night, I felt like we were 14 again, not a care in the world, just friends having a fine time.

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Pictured: Love is a verb, a pen lettering