Sorting thoughts and memories whenever paraesthesiae strikes — that prickling rumpus on your skin that you just have to scratch, scrape and scuff — and cannot leave well enough alone, scrubbing at that tingling sensation that refuses to recede. Nope, not a medical condition, just the itch to write. Photo taken aboard a Staten Island Ferry with Manhattan's skyline in the background.
When the campaign period began in 2016, we decided to support different candidates but vowed to remain friends. When Digong won, you invited me to eat out. I love that you were magnanimous in victory (but stingy because you did not allow me to have steak). That night, we avoided politics and talked about anything and everything else until we both had to report for work -- no showers, no change of clothes.
Since then we have had numerous impassioned discussions and fiery debates over our body politics. Even if we felt like killing each other several times over, we have remained friends.
Lately, we have not had a chance to sit down for coffee or break bread because of the pandemic. I miss arguing with you.
For almost 2 months now, we have not had a chance to even talk because you are always bushed now that your Mom and Dad’s Alzheimer’s are in Stages 5 and 7, respectively. Good thing you can work from home and your faithful kasambahay is still, well, loyal.
Boy was I shocked when, from out of the blue, you texted to taunt me about the non-renewal of ABS-CBN’s franchise. I did not respond. But we both know I will not remain quiet.
So here goes. Is your life any better now that Congress has slammed the lid on ABS-CBN?
There are a lot of new items I wish to discuss with you, but I know better than rile you at a time when you barely have time to call your very patient and understanding fiancée.
Let me pause and give you time to catch your breath.
I must admit I really am itching to debate with you, but I love you too much to be either a rock or a hard place (or both) when you have been so sleep-deprived. I know that for the first time in your privileged life, you wish you were not an only child.
Do not worry, you will not be alone much longer. And yes, I will still be the program host for your wedding reception next year. I have not done that in over a decade but even if the butterflies in my stomach morph into a stampede of elephants, there is no backing out.
I so look forward to your having children. Your first child, as promised, will call me Ninong. Carla wants 5 kids. Five kids who will have to pay the debts incurred by your Idol Digong.
#TumorYears dear friend. And 7 months as a bachelor.
Love from your friend who is twice your age plus 4.
Herminio
Lopez Roque, Jr., more popularly known as Harry Roque, Presidential Spokesperson (with a Cabinet position) as well
as the head of the Strategic Communications Task Group of the National Task
Force COVID-19, once again figured in another controversy, this time by going
on a “side-trip” to Ocean Adventure, thereby violating health protocols to
prevent the spread of the China (Wuhan) Coronavirus aka COVID-19.
People
found out about this ‘misadventure’ when Ocean Adventure posted pictures of Roque’s
visit on their social media account, which were subsequently deleted immediately
when social media went buzzing with negative reactions. But people were quick
to take and save screenshots, aptly called “resibo” (an expression popularized
by Joven Laurio of Pinoy Ako Blog [PAB]) as proof of what has transpired.
Ocean
Adventure, where dolphins, sea lions and various other animals are trained to ‘work
for a living’ is a park with a marine theme. Located inside the Subic Bay
Freeport Zone (the former US Naval Base), it is operated by Subic Bay Marine
Exploratorium, Inc (“SBMEI”).
In
his defense, Roque emphasized the point that he posed with dolphins, hence no
violations were committed. According to him, the side trip was done while en
route to his Bataan farm. He avers that he has APOR status (authorized person
outside residence) and granted permission to travel to enable him to attend to
his agri–business.
#CTTO, grabbed from a post on Twitter
However, at the time this happened, unnecessary
travel and leisure trips are still banned despite the easing of quarantine measures in Metro
Manila.
Crafted in
response to the pandemic, the current rules have penalized the marginalized,
some of whom, including a 72 year old jeepney driver, were immediately jailed, but prominent personalities/government officials such as Senator Koko Pimentel, OWWA Deputy Executive
Director Mocha Uson, and General Debold Sinas have violated the same health and
quarantine protocols but have not been punished for their infringements.
Harry
Roque just added his name to this list of The Untouchables.
Pangungulila
is one of those words that is difficult to translate to English. Using google
search, dictionary.com gave the word bereavement. But bereavement is too
generic, referring to being deprived of a close relation or friend through
their death. The definition does not do justice to pangungulila that comes
after death. I tried if melancholy
applies but it does not need an obvious cause, so there. Desolation on the
other hand is complete emptiness or destruction which does not really cut it
even if there is indeed emptiness and destruction combined. Longing does not
quite fit even if it refers to that strong, persistent desire or craving,
especially for something unattainable or distant, i.e. a longing for home. I
would not even settle for yearning which is an intense longing for
something—see, pangungulila cannot be placated with an ice cream cone.
And
then I remembered a Portuguese word, SAUDADE. It too does not readily translate
to English but is defined as a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound
melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for
and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object
of longing might never be had again.
This
feeling has repeatedly overwhelmed me during the lockdown (brought about by the
pandemic that the Sino leaders forbade to be referred to as the Chinese [Wuhan]
Coronavirus) as the grim reaper took the lives of a teacher/Lola; a
cousin; a dear friend; the 15-year-old daughter of a cousin; an erstwhile
lover; a fellow correspondent; and the most overwhelming, an Aunt/favorite Godmother.
The
specter that is mortality was busy, and I was stuck in my crib, unable to pay
my last respects. The nearest was Pasig, but I could not possibly walk that
far. Three were in LA, my hometown (Libacao, Aklan) and of course I could not
fly or alternately swim freestyle and backstroke that great distance nor walk
on Manila Bay to Verde Island Passage to Tablas Strait and finally to Sibuyan
Sea. Besides, I would have to go on voluntary 14-day home quarantine/isolation
the moment I get there, so what’s the bloody ruse, err use.
Even
among those who had closure with physical presence during the wake and the
interment/cremation, the pangungulila still hits them in the gut and messes
with their emotions. Compelled to deal with grief from a distance, the
pangungulila zaps one’s energy, leaving a depressed Eveready Bunny.
When
God calls on His faithful, we should celebrate. Although grief and anxiety may
be overwhelming, we surrender to God’s wisdom and embrace our faith even more
closely, snugly. Our dear departed is with God.
However,
as it is written: What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no
human mind has conceived — the things God has prepared for those who love him. — 1 Corinthians 2:9
Lilian
Aguila Besana Inosanto has entered into the joy of God and
death shall be no more.
Dilectis in Paradisum, our beloved is in paradise.
The look of love... (no favoritism [char], jut that in this particular photograph, she exudes that look of love, appreciation and bliss beyond measure)
When
I learned of Maninay Lily’s passing, two things immediately came to mind: firstly,
she has finally been liberated from her sickbed, thanks be to God; secondly,
I was worried about her children who will, will greater probability, not be
able to come home because of the lockdown due to the pandemic.
The
first thought was absolute joy; the second, unadulterated misery.
Maninay
Lily is survived by her nine progeny: Scarlett (Lipa); Suzette (Sue); Roselle
(Bebop); Carolita (Bibim); Florence (Flogs); Florencio Paterno (Toto); Lilynette
(Lynette, I didn’t know her first name until today); Florante (Nono) and Christine
(Ninky).
Maninay Lily conducts an attendance check, but keep your hands off her bag!
Anang
Lipa, Nono and Ninky are in Toronto; Nang Suzette is in New Jersey; Nang Flogs
is in Cebu; Nang Bebop & Nang Lynette are in Quezon City; but fortunately,
Nang Bibim and Manong Toto are in Libacao.
Being
the nearest in proximity, Nang Bibim, who lives in Roxas City, is able to come
home to Libacao with ease and regularity. Manong Toto, who comes home as often
as he can, got stranded in Libacao during the pandemic. He was supposed to go
back to New York by the end of April.
As of
this writing, there is no interment schedule just yet with travel still
restricted.
There
are no regular international flights and the Kalibo International Airport is
closed. All other airports on Panay Island are closed, except for the Category
2 Evelio Javier Airport in San Jose, Antique which only accommodates propeller
aircraft.
Another
consideration that makes going home difficult is the mandatory 14-day quarantine,
which makes no sense in this situation, no offense to the authorities as we
submit to the health protocols.
This
unusual situation confounds and multiplies the already complicated grief that
they feel. The siblings are hoping for the best yet are prepared for the
possibility that they will not be able to come home for the funeral.
I
enjoin Maninay Lily’s family, relatives, and friends to please pray, if it be
God’s will, that her immediate family be able to come home for her funeral.
Let us, altogether, storm heaven with our plea.
The
immediate family, those who are not in Libacao, organized a prayer vigil, reciting the Novena for the
Dead, organized by Nang Sue’s son Cookie. They also appreciate, and join whenever
they can, the 9-Day Novena Masses offered by Amy Villorente Lim in Toronto.
She was really beautiful inside and out...
Maninay
Lily was 98. She was bedridden for a decade and a half. Nobody might want to openly
admit it, but it was definitely difficult for everyone.
My
sister, who never failed to visit whenever she was home in Aklan, always
expressed her appreciation and awe at the excellent and very competent care
Maninay Lily had all those years she was bedridden. Louella believed that had
it been otherwise, she would have died a long time ago.
People
who are unfamiliar with such a situation do not understand the physical and
emotional demands on those who provide care and comfort at the end of life. May
St. John the Evangelist, patron saint of caregivers, intercede for them and
grant them special blessings.
And
may our Almighty Father, source of forgiveness and salvation, grant Lillian Aguila
Besana Inosanto, through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all
the saints, that she may share your Eternal happiness through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Come,
let us celebrate the life of our beloved Lily. It was a well-lived, inspired,
and inspiring life, one that left us indelible memories to remember her by. Let
us cherish her love and share it with the world. We should never allow her
smile to fade.
The Lucban Municipal Police Station, by posting a
message on social media asking girls not to wear short shorts, fanned the
flames of an already simmering frustration over a predominantly misogynistic
sentiment regarding rape and subsequent victim-blaming and shaming. Their Chief,
perhaps unwittingly, stoked the controversy by trying to justify their deed, which singed their
credibility even more.
In Metro Manila, Ben Tulfo’s allegedly minuscule
but proud member stood up and spew a conflagration by saying that the manner by
which women dress gives men an opportunity to commit rape, In the process, he
belittled the opinion (on the Lucban Police controversy) of Frankie Pangilinan,
outspoken daughter of Senator Kiko Pangilinan and Megastar Sharon Cuneta, by
calling her hija, a pejorative term in this instance, thereby sparking an
online tumult on social media.
In the safety of her lair, Senator Pia Cayetano, a
self-proclaimed women’s advocate, was quiet. Not even a gasp came as a
statement from her office. Meanwhile, the rest of the country was in the
firestorm. In the melee, Claro Ganac, a part-time professor at De la Salle
University got fired for insinuating that Senator Risa Hontiveros, the feisty and
staunch feminist, should be raped by Bilibid inmates.
The nub of the controversy is the mistaken notion that
people get raped because of the clothes they wear. This is what the Lucban
Police openly emphasized. This is what Ben Tulfo accentuates. This insolence is
the weapon of choice of misogynists who, in their impertinence, invariably
shame the victims of rape.
Hontiveros asserts: "There is no dress code for rape. Or for sexual harassment. Instead of teaching women how to dress, we should teach men not to rape".
Note that women do not have exclusive sway as rape victims. Men also get raped, the latest in the news is a newbie OFW in the Middle East. In the current scheme of things, as propounded by Lucban Police, Ben Tulfo, and their ilk, one wonders what he must have worn. The apogee here is the extremely revolting fact that even infants get raped.
It should be emphasized that our Revised Penal Code
does not recognize the clothing of the victim as an element of rape. In an
exhibit aptly called “Don’t Tell Me How to Dress” organized by CNN Philippines,
clothes worn by 11 Filipina survivors of sexual harassment or abuse were
featured. None of the 11 clothes that we displayed could be described as provocative.
Suddenly, there is a spate of bestiality occurring with
alarming frequency, including a man who had sex with two cows. In an online
discussion, people were asking Ben Tulfo and the Lucban Police: “What were the
cows wearing?”
We seriously need to change our perception of rape
and help educate people, raise awareness of the dangers of misogyny and the
reality of men as rape victims. We should, as individuals and members of
groups, not only fight for justice but proactively promote sensitivity to the
plight of victims of sexual harassment or abuse.
Struggling
with how to begin this article, I only had the title staring back at me, cursor
blinking, egging me on. But my mind was shooting blanks, so I had to resort to
an old technique, putting in random, disconnected thoughts and ideas that I
would then sew together.
Frustrated,
I gave it a rest, went to Facebook and boom – saw my niece Tweepy’s post that
her Lola Mommy, my Auntie/Ninang Lily (Lillian Aguila Besana Inosanto) passed away today, 13 June 2020 at 2:10 pm, in our hometown, LA (Libacao, Aklan). She was 98.
Maninay Lily was the Guidance Counselor of Libacao Elementary School, and much to her chagrin, this imp was a regular in her office.
The
worst timing for it to happen, during this lockdown caused by the Chinese
(Wuhan) Coronavirus. The lockdown already caused grief beyond the common
experience. I have had relatives and friends who have died without me being
able to physically pay my last respects.
“Dying
is like the ocean, sometimes the tide comes in gently with soft, delicate waves
quietly working in the background. Other days, the waves violently crash into
explosions, demanding to be noticed but regardless of how it chooses to do its
job, the tide will always come in.” – Sarah
Riad, The Sharp Knife of a Short Life
My late
mother, Dolores Bolivar Inosanto Jereza, always made it a point to condole with
the bereaved and would make time to do so. It is a duty she etched, no, seared,
in my character. And I have always tried to oblige.
But these
are trying times made even more so by the lockdown to control the spread of the
pandemic. Travel is restricted, and so, the death of people we love (and there
is quite a long list during this pandemic) leave us compelled to deal with our
grief literally from a distance.
Complete family, save of course for Maninoy Pater who has since passed on. From left: Ninky, Nono, Lynette, Toto, Flogs, Bibim, Bebop, Suzette and Lipa. #CTTO: Manong Toto's Facebook.
There
is an altogether different level of frustration and disappointment in this
particular instance because Maninay Lily’s children: Anang Lipa, Nang Sue, Nang
Bebop, Mare Bibim, Nang Flogs, Manong Toto, Nang Lynette, Nono, and Ninky, and
their respective families, have been with us in the best and worst times. The
fact that I cannot be with you to somehow, in some way, assuage your pain, is frustrating
and heartrending beyond words.
I visited her in January when I came home for the Ati-atihan. She was, as usual, very sweet (and funny).
Maninay,
may you rest in the arms of the Lord who formed you from the dust of the earth,
May Holy Mary, the angels and all the saints welcome you now that you have gone
forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you, bring you freedom
and peace. May Christ who died for you admit you into his garden of paradise. Amen.
Could not log in to this blog for a long time because of an email address associated with this that I no longer had access to. It took a while to regain control... the anguish of a frustrating wait. But now that I have sway over this once again, yes, I really am taking control and will readily, eagerly scratch that itch to write. My fingers are ready to dance on the keyboard.
I
have just been labeled a non-conformist. No, I did not take offense. No umbrage
at all, in fact, I just laughed.
The
person who called me that must have been at a loss for words, literally. That
did not surprise me at all. He has, in the past, described me as: “mabulaklak
magsalita, ayaw gumamit nang ordinaryong kataga para mas maintindihan” (flowery
speaker who will not use simple words to be better understood).
The
words I use convey my thoughts with as much precision as I can muster. I will
not call you dense when you are a dimwit. I will not admit to being lonely when
I am just bored. I know the difference between hard and difficult. Why should I
abuse the word beautiful to refer to a woman, a flower, or a sunset when I have
an idiolect for an arsenal?
Oh
but I digress.
Now,
why was I called a non-conformist? I was quiet amidst the brouhaha over a dog
meat festival. To me, the controversy had to do with one plain and simple fact:
dogs are the most popular pets worldwide, bar none, unless of course you happen
to be Chavit Singson who can afford to literally house more exotic animals.
I
love dogs, too, but I do not have a problem with people who eat dog meat. It is
a cultural thing; hence I do not find it repugnant.
Unfortunately,
the controversy was heightened by gruesome, perturbing pictures that agitated a
lot of people once they were posted online. Dogs in cages that are not really
different from our overcrowded city jails, just like other animals in
industrial farms, living in cramped spaces, suffering until they reach
maturity, and then killed with swift, merciless precision.
Come
to think of it, what are 10,000 dogs butchered for a dog meat festival in one
hemisphere compared to 1.2 million dogs euthanised on an annual basis in
another hemisphere?
In
retrospect, it probably was not the dog meat itself, but the manner by which
the dogs were killed (the dogs are hit on the head and torched) that became
controversial.
Those
who raised a howl must not have heard of the Pinikpikan.
The Supreme Court of the United States has affirmed the
legality of same sex marriage.
The LGBT communities around the world rejoiced and
celebrated the groundbreaking, if not earth-shattering decision by the world’s
most powerful country … while a Pastor who promised to set himself on fire as
the day came to pass promptly said his statement was not supposed to be taken
literally or was misquoted — or was just lame.
As the rainbow appeared everywhere, especially in social
media, the ultra-conservatives mourned, going through a breast-beating
catharsis.
Will same sex marriage ever be allowed in the Philippines? If
it does, it will be a long time coming.
But there is always hope.
What am I happy about? Moving forward, it will not just be
tolerance or lip service. Rights have been upheld for the LGBTs in the United
States.
And then it occurred to me: I have a visa but don’t have a
boyfie. Bummer.
My
sister and I were in a beauty salon today for some pampering. I was already
there, mid-way into my hair coloring treatment, when she called and told me she also wanted to have some hair treatments done.
As I
sat there after the application of color, having my nails done while waiting to
have my hair washed off, in comes a couple with their almost-one-year-old son for
his first haircut.
Apparently,
the parents did not prepare their son for the session with the hair stylist. They
just wanted a quick haircut. The hair stylist, for his part, just wanted a fast
buck.
The
moment the child was forced to sit, his anguished cries drowned out the
television’s prattling. No tissue paper on his neck, no drape either. He was
furiously swiping away at them. He also wanted to swat at his parents and the
hairstylist.
As
the parents held the hands and head of their son, the hair stylist went about
his task. First there was a lock of hair that was kept for posterity.
The
child was fearful, tense, crying his heart out … his eyes were darting from his
parents (remonstrative) to the stranger doing his hair (fearful and pleading) … he was both
absolutely helpless and livid!
A
traumatized child … his parents did not take time to brief him, and the
hairstylist did not even attempt to befriend the child before he began.
I
so wanted to sock the father and the hairstylist, or at least bang their heads
together, and slap the mother, for good measure.
Tomorrow,
the 28th of December 2013 will be Nanay’s 11th Death
Anniversary.
I
still mourn her passing and miss her so, though I am no longer that sad,
especially because this year, I was finally able to make one of her most ardent
wishes come true.
I
went on a pilgrimage for her, one that served me well as a catharsis.
This
is my first ever pilgrimage story.
“When
the swallows come back to Capistrano” by Leon René is one of Nanay’s all-time favorite songs. She never
revealed to anyone why this is so, though I have an idea, or at least a
suspicion.
This
song has been recorded by several famous singers, including: Pat Boone, Xavier
Cugat, The Ink Spots, and Glenn Miller among a host of other artists. Note that if you check the
lyrics online, they all repeat the second stanza.
Nanay’s favorite cover of
this song is by The Lennon Sisters who may have added a unique third stanza:
When
the swallows come back to Capistrano
When
the swallows come back to Capistrano
That's the day you promised to come back to me
When you whispered, "Farewell," in Capistrano
That’s the day the swallows flew back to the sea
All the mission bells will ring
The chapel choir will sing
The happiness you bring
Will live in my memory
When the swallows come back to Capistrano
That's the day I pray that you'll come back to me
While the altar candles burn
My heart is burning, too
If you should not return
I will still be waiting for you
And the swallows come back to Capistrano
That's the day I pray that you'll come back to me Note: There is a link to this song at the end of this article.
Nanay
sang this often, and every now and again, would request our friend Jun, a
broadcast colleague in IBC-DYRG to play it for her on his defunct popular
afternoon broadcasts.
She
was able to visit my sister in California and went to several places there,
including parts of Orange County where Mission San Juan de Capistrano is
located. Although she wanted to and could have, she did not visit Mission San
Juan de Capistrano at that time, because she has promised me we would visit the
place together. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, she passed away and we never got to do it.
When
I attended the wedding of my niece Liezel in San Francisco, I just had to go. I did not even have to ask twice.
With my host and guide, Grace Magdaluyo
I
left San Francisco in the early morning, return tickets and pocket money
courtesy of my sister Louella and Manong Louis, on 12 June 2013. I was met by
my friend Grace Magdaluyo and her husband. We went straight from the San Diego
airport to Mission San Juan de Capistrano. In our collective excitement, we
passed by the ruins without noticing it, and, with a fluke from our online Google
map, ended up in the new Mission Basilica San Juan.
We
did not realize we were in the wrong place until I noticed the predominantly Hispanic
colonial-style modern structures that surrounded us. I walked straight into a
cul-de-sac which led to the Mission Basilica School and asked for directions
from a man who likewise seemed lost, and only spoke Spanish, the mile-a-minute
variety that got me discombobulated and invariably lost in translation. To my chagrin, I realized I was no match to a Mexican who spoke andale andale with such a frenzy. So I went back and pulled Grace along,
literally, dragging her inside the school administration building. The ladies
there were not at all surprised that we lost our way and readily gave
us instruction, with hands flying to indicate directions, in English.
It
was a very short drive back, powered by peals of giggles. We entered the gates
and found ourselves in a very quiet, introspective and awe-inspiring place.
Established
in 1775 and re-founded a year later, Mission San Juan de Capistrano is a living
piece of history and culture with religious significance. Unfortunately, this
great stone church collapsed when an earthquake struck in December 1812. Today,
it is run by a non-profit organization that preserves these ruins of a bygone
era. Without a doubt, it has become famous for “The miracle of the Swallows”
which takes place March 19th, St. Joseph's Day.
While
we were merrily walking around and taking loads of pictures, I chanced upon one
of the lady volunteers, who was pruning a hedge of flowers. Spur of the moment,
I asked her what her favorite version/cover of the song “When the swallows come
back to Capistrano” and she flashed me a winsome smile, eagerly whipped her
mobile phone out of her pocket, and showed me her collection.
I
told her about Nanay, and why I just had to visit The Mission. As I was
talking, I did not notice that I was already in tears. She asked if she could
give me a hug, and we did. I was bawling and she held on to me for as long as I
did.
As
the flood of tears stopped, she asked to be excused, and much to my surprise,
she gave a stern warning asking me to stay put.
With Josh, whom we met again on his way back from lunch.
She
came back with Josh, the Director of the place, who, having heard my story from
the lady volunteer, expressed appreciation for our visit and then walked with
us to The Mission Store and gave me a candle, for free. Next thing I knew, I
was in the Chapel.
I
do not know what perception Grace had of me at that point, but she left
unobtrusively to give me my private moment. For a couple of minutes, I just
stood there … basking in my very private moment well spent in solitude, thanksgiving
and closure.
Inside the "Serra's Chapel" at The Mission. Candle to the lower left was the one I lit, courtesy of Josh.
It
was a time of reckoning, as a new realization came to me: I was named Josephus
because of this awesome place. Yes, that is my first name, Latin for Joseph.
And it was not the late Fr. Rago who added this, as if on a whim, on my
baptismal certificate. It was Nanay who really wanted it, hence my nickname,
Jojo.
I
did not notice the swallows that day of my visit, neither did I hear the bells.
But it was one of my happiest moments (to think I could have been named Juan,
or even worse, Swallow … kidding!).
It
was a peak experience flying with the swallows … and hearing bells … in my
heart. NB: You can listen to The Lennon Sisters' cover of "When the swallows come back to Capistrano" by clicking on this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYxrydmTXRI .
I
just got a call from a friend whom I haven’t seen in ages. I first met him in
1978 during the National Secondary Schools Press Conference in Tabaco, Albay.
We’ve correspondent by snail mail for several years. Then I moved to Manila
where I went NPA—no permanent address—having moved from one place to another. We’ve
gone through stages—pagers and cellphones—but before SMS came along, we eventually
lost touch. He found me last year, through an old blog that I no longer have
access to, and eventually, on Facebook. He’s been living in Europe for over two
decades now.
Through
all those years, we’ve grown to know each other’s quirks and whenever we talked,
we invariably finished each other’s sentences and gave voice to each other’s innermost
thoughts and feelings.
Let
me go back 35 years and 6,211 miles.
We
are both Martial Law Babies, the product of a generation of high school writers
who, while trained in the Development Communications approach, wore no
blinders. Our letters went beyond the usual diary-style correspondence. We
talked about anything and everything.
I
eventually fell in love with him, and while he could not reciprocate, he accepted
and appreciated that love. And in his special way, showed me he cared.
He
was heterosexual, and that was it. We’ve remained good friends.
Today,
he told me that he is divorcing his wife, and that he has a lover, another
married man.
I
was absolutely stunned! Where the hell did that come from?
He
was pouring his heart out … so I zipped my mouth and listened … an utterly
difficult feat for me.
What
was I to say? What did I have to say when in my mind, I wanted to blurt out: “It
should have been me, you jerk!” But I love my friend, and when he asked for my
advice, I was torn.
This
is insane. I am no psychologist. My friends know that I invariably give bad
advice. I was wary. I may have had a bad script at hand, following in the wake
of “My Husband’s Lover” which I never really watched.
I
was now crying with him. For someone who is quick at repartee, I really did not
know what to say. I was too stunned. I was thinking, wherever fate takes us …
there must be a reason.
And
then it came to me, a phrase from one of my literature classes (though I could
not, for the life of me, remember whoever it was who said it): “If chaos be the
price of love, let there be chaos.”
I
told him to follow his heart and wished him luck!
