To whom it may concern:

You've secured your plane seat, started shopping for winter clothes, began bidding painful goodbyes, I suppose.

But why aren't we trying to spend the remaining days together? Why aren't we trying to burn our butts over endless cups of mocha? Why aren't we making promises of meeting up at Starbucks Fifth Avenue next Christmas or wherever our spirits would take us in the future? Why aren't we trying at all?

I didn't realize I've really been dreading your leaving. I didn't realize I'd even feel the intense need to write about it. I didn't even want to write about you, damn it, because a number of them have already done so, and I don't want to be one of them! And I'm not!

Why aren't we doing what best friends-about-to-part-ways usually do?

Why did I let these questions pile up into a mountain of sad why's and when's and what if's?

Come now. Best friends are even better than hot cocoa by the fireplace on winter nights.

Don't go before you've actually left. She and I will be waiting.

Manang Patring, our cleaning lady, has the uncanny propensity of smoking just when I am desperately craving for it and could kill due to nicotine deprivation. But I won’t, not when Kulas and I had just come from the Barangay Hall for a “conflict resolution” hearing. Last Thursday night, Kulas and I had an encounter with a neighbor and his friends (whom we just found out were his brother-in-laws) because of the van they parked in our driveway. To make it sound less like a story out of Abante Tonite, these men, all burly, rough and drunk, mobbed and threatened Kulas, while, I, guerrera that I am, was pushed aside by a sweaty, sticky arm. Picture this: a man wanting so much to fight back the impossibility of which is due to being outnumbered, and a tiny woman in cut-offs and a ponytail shaking her fists in the air.

There was no bloodshed, thank God. There were threats, though, and the sleepless nights that ensued were even worse. Kulas dealt with it gallantly. I, however, was being my praning self and was already considering calling my goons.

(*An aside* Honey, aren’t you Eliot and I’m Capone???)

Well, we met these people again this morning. I was dressed for the occasion, of course (in tights, hot pink nylon suit, my red cape, sword and ruby tiara, he he).

So is it over? I sincerely hope so. Ayaw ko na ng away. But hey, come to think of it, that’s the second time in a month that I got involved in a dispute.

About three weeks ago, the car’s engine died right in the front lane of EDSA-Kamuning. Our part-time driver (Kulas was out of town then) panicked and failed to start the car again. A traffic enforcer wanted to give the driver a ticket for obstruction or something but I told him the car just needed to be pushed blah blah blah. I respectfully asked for his and his colleagues’ assistance in pushing the car. But this enforcer apparently had something else in his black book—while they were pushing the car, this enforcer motioned to my driver to steer under the flyover, to my bewilderment of course. Then he began saying, “pano ba yan, ti-ticketan na kita.” My hapless driver just went “aah, eh” and there came Super Tintin.

Seriously, this world is in dire need of 'em heroes.


*******

Couldn't resist this one. I was her in college and a few years after. I was driven to insanity and back. Thank heavens, it's over.


You are Sylvia Plath. People think you are sweet
and pretty, but inside you are raging pit of
ambition and despair. Darkness is your friend,
and you would do well to avoid being alone.

Which Famous Modern American Poet Are You?
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