Here’s to Life!

• By ebotpandayan
• Posted in Uncategorized
• On June 22, 2018
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Here’s to Walter’s Roses

Walter’s neighbor in the garden lets his hedge grow unchecked. It pushes over Walter’s fence and spreads into the side of the garden where he has his roses, affecting their growth. This year, I noticed that the new rose Walter got from Brenda—a very dear friend of Walter’s and mine—has not been faring well where I chose to replant it, close to the hedge, of course, where the roses were in the shade much of the day. The hedge, with its unchecked growth, was not only a nuisance but also a threat to the beauty and health of Walter’s beloved roses. Walter sees the problem but wouldn’t lift a finger to solve the issue, so one sunny day this week, I took out the chainsaw and trimmed the hedge – rather radically. It took me about an hour to finish the job, but it was worth the hard work – suddenly, there was light. Let the roses live! A reason to celebrate. Here’s to Life! I felt a deep sense of accomplishment and fulfillment after seeing the roses bask in the sunlight.

That should make me sleep like a log that night. No way. Muscle pains, you know. I was no longer used to hard work. Blame my long stint at home, where I have my gardener, Nognog. Here in Vienna, I am Nognog. It was close to midnight when I drifted off. I had a bad dream: the neighbor chasing me with a chainsaw, and Walter was watching, just as he did in waking moments, not lifting a finger to stop his neighbor. In the dream, I felt the weight of Walter’s disappointment and the neighbor’s anger, which served as a stark reminder of my failure to act sooner. Panic woke me up.

I did not fall back asleep until almost 4 a.m., but it felt like I wasn’t sleeping.  I was anxious. I didn’t know why, so I stood up and checked out what FB had got for me at 5 in the morning. “Goodbye, Tatay. Will miss you” was the first post I saw. Goose pimples in my arms. It was the daughter of a good friend posting. I didn’t know her father, but her mom is a dear friend. My poor friend is in constant sorrow! He died at 1:30 a.m. on the 19th of June.

Here’s to the 18th of June

The 19th of June? Shit! I just realized that I did not greet Heinz on his birthday. That was yesterday, the 18th. Heinz is one of the two German friends I have who are so dear to me. So precious that I often forget to greet them on special occasions like birthdays. It was not the first time I had failed to do so. Still, the thing is, I had promised myself that starting this year, I would be better at remembering birthdays, especially those of Heinz and Hans.  Our friendship hits 40th this year. So how could I break that promise? It was not deliberate; it was just that it slipped my mind. I know I am old, and that should be a good excuse, and yet there I was, at 5 in the morning, suffering from guilt-fueled pain.

Could that be the reason for my disturbed sleep? How about that hard work cutting hedges in the garden, and a good friend-classmate-barkada back home, losing her husband, who had not been a good one to her in the first place, and yet she grieved about? All of the above could be the correct answer.

Here’s to the New Girl in Class

We met in Grade School. She was a Manila girl with that famous Manila twang, as opposed to ours, which was so Bulakenyo you can quickly tell, di ba we? (Isn’t it?) A widower, her father remarried and settled with his new wife in my hometown. She was a new girl in the classroom, fair-skinned and intelligent, a bit of a snob who felt superior to us, knowing that she stood out as the city girl who could talk about taxi cabs, movie theaters, Popeye, and well-lit parks. Taxi cabs? Popeye? We could only speak about karitelas, Kenkoy, and Lola Belay. We were impressed by her ability to speak English quickly.

In contrast, we could only manage Carabao English, which was Bow-wow-wow. Soon, it was graduation time, and we lost touch with each other. She was a grandma the next time we met at a class reunion. It was not easy to recognize the other classmates. Still, I could figure out who this woman standing at the kitchen stove was, cooking up a storm for those who could make it to the class reunion party. She looked very frail, a bit stooped now, but when she looked at me and smiled, I suddenly knew it was this city girl with that famous Manila twang. We rekindled friendship, and soon we, together with a few other classmates, would meet up now and then—my place most of the time.

She didn’t talk much about her failed marriage, her falling in love with another man after her legal husband left her, and then with the last one with whom she had two or three children, one of whom calls me Ninong (Godfather) because I was a sponsor at her wedding, albeit in absentia. I was unsure if my friend and her new lover had gotten married, but what I knew was that the union had not been as blessed as my friend had expected and hoped it would be. She had been a good wife, a battered wife who did not say anything nasty about him—even when he left her to settle in his hometown, where it was not easy to reach him. When friends would ask how her husband was doing, she would shrug her shoulders. My friends understood.

I do miss her, my classmate, kumare, and my friend. I liked her then, and I feel the same till now. I wish I were home when she celebrated her 70th last May to say to her Here’s to Life.  And now I hope I can be back to be by her side, together with our other friends, classmates, barkadas, to comfort her, to tell her that she will be alright.

I feel very sorry for her, a feeling I cannot share for this neighbor who lets his hedge grow wild. But how would I describe what I felt when I failed to greet Heinz on his birthday this year? Angry at myself because I made a promise I broke so quickly. Although I’m not always good at keeping promises, I’ve made a commitment to change for the better, and this time seems like the best opportunity to start.

Here’s to 40 Years of Friendship

Too early to call him on the phone, I sent him a message instead, apologizing for failing to greet him on his birthday and promising to make up for it by inviting him and his wife to dinner. I will also bake a cheesecake for him. That was at 5 in the morning, just shortly after I wrote a note of condolence to my friend back home, albeit through her daughter. My friend has a Facebook account, but does not have a computer or a phone to access social media. Her daughter, who calls me Ninong, has one as well.

I met Heinz in the Philippines in 1978. He was with Hans and some of their German colleagues. I learned the language then, and speaking to them in my staccato German helped me with my Der, Die, Das. When their vacation was over and they returned home, I kept in touch with them, especially with Hans and Heinz, whose friendship I treasure to this day, since that one summer day we met in Manila. Their respective families have all been kind to me, welcoming me into their homes with open arms and treating me with the same beautiful hospitality they extend to their other guests. Soon, their parents became Papa and Mama to me. I grew pensive each time I thought of Hans’s parents, who have gone ahead of us for a long while now. The same goes for Heinz’s father. He, too, is gone. Heinz’s mom is currently staying in a nursing home, and there are many times when she does not recognize Heinz when he comes to visit. I get misty-eyed when I think of them, but I always manage a smile when I recall the many happy times I spent with them. They made my stay in Europe beautiful. And my friendship with Heinz and Hans is a treasure.

Prost to you, Heinz, on your birthday. Here’s to you and Hans. Here’s to 40 years of friendship! FRIENDS FOREVER!