I caught a dragonfly in my brother’s room this morning. He must’ve left his windows open. Funny thing is, it reminds me of “shaider” (if I’m spelling it correctly) and “mask rider black”, with that odd enormity of his bulging green eyes. I remember those days when I, together with my cousins, used to roam around the “bukid” in our province carrying our “garapon”, (mayonnaise or cheezwiz bottles are best, harhar!), hunting tiny dragonflies and finding joy on freeing all of them after losing all our energies on catching them. “Tutubing karayom at tutubing kalabaw?”, doesn’t matter at all, we found little playmates and we’ve been each other’s playmates until we can’t roam around the fields any longer. My old childhood meets the realities of my new one and it’s all because of… a tiny dragonfly.
Childhoods are never complete without friends, and whenever I think of them I see the gradual changes that molded who I am today. No matter how we set things aside friends will always be there to cross your path or more often than that create a lovely cross that marks an unforgettable moment in your trail.
Back when I was in preschool, I had my first bestftriend… her name is Franceska. I won’t ever forget that name, though I’m not really sure if she still remembers me. When she started to be my friend…my “bed-peeing” days went away and so did my “bottle-feeding” moments. It’s because of my dad’s nifty blackmails. “sasabihin ko kay franceska nagwee-wee ka kagabi” or “sasabihin ko kay franceska umiinom ka pa ng milk sa tsupon”. I had no choice, with my eyes shut, I started to wake up every
midnight
to pee on the toilet and from then on, drink milk from my “snowhite” mug. What a clever way to trick a daughter. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.
I was in grade two when I met Fatima. She’s the brightest girl in our class. I used to think that it’s all because of her usual breaktime food,that is, “orange” (what’s the difference between a Sunkist and an orange?), which she gently peals on the towel resting on her lap…everyday!That’s her breaktime ritual and mine is forcefully eating my “chokies” biscuits, “orange flavor”. Yuck! We had something in common… orange! We’re the orange ladies. And the greatest lessons I’ve learned: Orange cream doesn’t taste good on chocolate cookies, Orange is not the only food for the brain and complaints are acceptable when you’re tired of eating “chokies orange”. I asked my mom to give me tuna sandwiches instead and it paid off. The next day… I had peanut butter sandwich for recess. nyak!
Then came Mich, Joan, Lia, Gertrude during my late elementary days. From orange babies to “spice girls”, I am definitely growing up! Mich:Posh, Joan:Baby, Lia:Sporty, Gertrude:Ginger and ME:Scary ( Even when All Saints became a hit, I chose to be Shaznay, makes sense… my friends used to call me “butiking sunog”, with my physique as their basis, but those days are over.). I still remember how sad I was because my parents didn’t allow me to buy those “spice girl shoes”, the one with high heels and funky colors. All four of them had their own spice girl footwear, while scary spice was left with nothing but her out fashioned sneakers. But then again, the shallowness of my young mind invaded by impulses soon passed. I’ve learned that friendships are more than high-heeled, funky-colored shoes and that parents, most of the time, really knows what’s best for their trying-hard-to-be-an-adult kids.
Soon after, Angel came. He’s such a cry baby. Lean body that’s undoubtedly a man’s, angelic voice that can be mistaken as a girl’s and without reservations… a female heart, He’s been my first homosexual friend and we’re both proud of it. I still remember his “post-alcoholic-habit” that often aggravates the hell out of me… after enough dose of alcohol; you would see him in one corner, doing his usual formal procedure, which is, crying. I used to be so hypercritical about these things only to find out that I am the one who should be condemned. I failed to understand. Through him I realized that there are lots of things left for me to see, if only I would be keen enough, if only I would be willing to comprehend. Through his silent tears, he taught me about the other side of life, the one that resides outside my long embraced conventions. Through his weakness…I saw mine. He taught me to draw a fine line between companionship as clemency and companionship as trust. I could be a good friend and I could learn. He was such a cry baby and he was braver than I am.
And so Macpol came next, my so-called “bez”, the guy that was there when I had my very first, and my only, heartbreak. I am no longer a child. A friend. A bestfriend. A girlfriend. The lot has its boundaries. Indeed, everything has its own space in time and friends are definitely not there to be mine. Suddenly I found a replacement for the midnight phone calls that I just lost. I had my very first serious pretensions yet I still had my hopes coming. In deep sighs, I said to my self…things will soon be okay. I am glad that I hoped. Because of him, I finally had the guts to look at the window that opened after a door was put down the lid. There is no such thing as “I DID IT ON MY OWN”. He knew that. Thanks to him. I now know it by heart.
Ivonne and Myrna, these names are the crosses in my interlocking strings of recognizable present friendships. I have listened to a lot of words that bloomed from the pains and the joys of my self and my others. I have bluffed and uttered phrases about my life and my faith. But what I did not notice is the rarity of the things I found in these 2 young ladies, the value of privacy and the cost of silence. It is easy to find friends that will listen everytime you’re in pain, friends who’ll be there on times that you’re weak. It is not startling to hear comforting words from friends that are certainly reliable when you’re in deep need of relief yet these girls, these friends, knew me well and did best. They stopped listening when I didn’t want to be heard and helped me grasp the fact that I was wrong when I was wrong and didn’t want to be corrected. They did it through silence, the hardest stratagem of a caring friend I must say. Diversity accepted and Life above Friendship, those were the foundations of what we have and it never failed us.
FRIENDS ARE TIMELESS GIFTS.
Changes come and go. Names would replace past lists. I have been in this field that I call Life for about 18 years now and dragonlflies, my little playmates never seized flying across this field. Bottle feeding. Chokies orange. Spice Girl shoes. Post-Alcoholic-habits. Hopes. Silence. All sorts of colored dragonflies roaming around my meadow; Tutubing karayom at tutubing kalabaw? I’m all grown up now and it hasn’t change, friends kept on coming, my tiny dragonflies. The only difference is the absence of a bottle (mayonnaise and cheezwiz bottles are of no use.). My playmates, my friends, all sorts of them and all sorts of merry thousand others that are yet to come, we are made to cross paths. But above all that, in one way or another, we have to let each other go because being a dragonfly is not about living in bottles and dying after that. We are bound to touch each other’s lives, see the world and understand great things with our bulging green eyes. We are but tiny dragonflies in this field we call life. We are made definite by miscellany.
There’s no such thing as “DOING THINGS ON YOUR OWN”.
Isn’t it nice to know that we could all make each other see…
How great it feels to really fly?
We are not made for bottles. We are each other’s playmates.
We are made for other places and are bound to soar high.
