I just went back to the place where I used to live which I haven’t been able to visit since the day we packed our belongings to live a new life at a new place and that was approximately, six years ago—when I happened to pass by at my childhood friend’s house. My feet automatically stopped from walking and couldn’t help but scan the surroundings.

A lot of things have changed since the last time I’ve been here, which didn’t surprise me since that last time would probably be more than a decade ago. Gone were the kalachuchi trees planted beside the wall, at the left side of their gate. We used to pick its flowers and put it behind our ears, in a poor attempt to copy that protagonist from that Mexican soap opera which was a hit during that time.

Old days sure bring smile on my lips. Even the old gate was gone now I wonder when they changed it; even this new one doesn’t look so new anymore. Speaking of gate, it was slightly ajar; someone must have forgotten to close it.

Or they didn’t bother because in this area, people usually know each other that they don’t bother to close it when they’re home. This is a small neighborhood, everyone knows each other.

I peeked inside and found her younger brother sitting in a hammock nearby. He was so fixated on his phone, probably playing an online game; maybe everyone is addicted to it? Well, maybe not everyone as I don’t even know how to play it. Not that I’m interested anyway.

I decided to come in, I must have made a sound, or I intentionally made a sound, he looked up and saw me and said “Hello, Ate.”
I waved and told him I visited our old home when happen to pass by in this area, I got curious and invited myself in and trespassed. He just laughed and said nothing.

He’s gone taller than what I remember. He may be sitting right now but I’m pretty sure if he stand up I’d probably reach his shoulder. The kid from my memory was smaller than most kids of his age, now he’s even taller than me. Where’s the justice in that? I used to tutor him when he was seven, a request from his mother who I still call “Tita” whenever I see her. My, my time really fly, I heard he now teaches in High School. Social Studies. Hmm he’s pretty good in Mathematics and kind of terrible in English then so why he didn’t major in Mathematics?

I would probably teach Social Studies, if I heed my parents and became a Teacher.

“Where’s your Ate? Still in Manila?” He said yes and she hasn’t been home for a long time now. Probably a year or so.

I made an “Oh, I see” sound and asked if I could look around while waiting for my sister to arrive, she was still at the old house, I texted here to fetch me here. He nodded and get back to playing with his phone which is good. We have nothing to talk about other than his sister and I’m not good at making conversation.

His sister was my best friend when we were five years old. I smiled remembering his sister. The first time I met her, she was shy and timid. Barely talks, probably because Tagalog was not her mother tongue. They were from Bacolod. We met when I went biking in the neighborhood and we hit it off instantly. I wonder why, because like her I’m a quiet person and she doesn’t speak my dialect so how the hell did we become friends. Funny, but I don’t remember. Or maybe that’s just how kids are, you like a person, no questions asked.

My fondest memory of her was when I accompanied her to buy a school supply (we became classmates a year after they settled here) which I don’t particularly remember what, probably a pencil. The store was just across the school’s gate so we made it there in a jiffy.
We rang the bell and the store owner came out. My friend said “pabakal” which then left me confuse. Back then I didn’t know it meant “pabili” so I initially thought she was buying a metal or something. I remember laughing when she explained what it meant in Tagalog. At that time she knows how to speak a little bit of Tagalog but slips from Hiligaynon, every now and then.

Now, she was far from shy and quiet person that I used to know. I heard she’s a sales agent, offering condominiums and house and lot and was successful in her chosen field.

I used to come here a lot, almost every day, after school and even during weekends, sometimes with my sister and little brother to play with her little sister and brother and played House, hide and seek, dodge ball , climbed trees—speaking of trees I wonder if that Aratilis tree was still here, I look around and didn’t see it. It was gone. A lot of things were gone I almost didn’t recognize the place which made me think that really, nothing really last forever but then I was glad I had made a memory in this place which I will always remember, forever.

I used to come here a lot…until one day I stopped.

Then, from best friends we became just friends.

But it wasn’t a bitter ending. We didn’t fight over something, got mad at each other or steal one’s crush –I don’t remember having a crush during elementary days well, other than some fictional characters that made an impact on me from tons of paperbacks I’ve read during that time. By the time I’ve graduated Primary School I may have read hundreds or maybe, even a thousand (?) of books, mostly were romantic novels from Mills and Boon, Silhouette and other local paperbacks you name it all that, made me a hopeless romantic( in a sense that no, I was not like those damsels in distress waiting for my prince charming in a white horse to arrive and save me, I wanted to be like those strong-willed, stubborn heroines who chases things that they want and just don’t sit around and wait for things to happen, where’s the hopeless romantic in here? Well, maybe that I believe in spark and will know exactly if I met the one-kind of thing and made me set my standard a bit higher (okay, really, really high even though there was nothing exceptional about my looks) that I would rather mess around with these fiction characters than waste my time on these boys who picked on girls coz they secretly like them. Too immature and not to mention cliché. But then believing in sparks and soul mates are cliché either.

She couldn’t have possibly stolen my crush because he’s out of this world and I surely did not steal hers except that time that was not intentional, it wasn’t even my fault not that could do anything about it. It wasn’t what you think. Her crush just became my partner (picked by our teacher) in this dance that we presented during intramurals. I just stole her dream to hold hands with him when I had to hold his hand during practices and on the day of the performance. If we could trade partners, then I would have in a heartbeat. He may have good looks, that I admit but he’s a snob, too snob, or maybe doesn’t want me to be his partner( feeling’s mutual) and I don’t remember us having a conversation in the duration of my shortcomings (dancing is my least favorite, I have two left foot, it was an ordeal) it was awkward and I hate to break it to her but his hands perspires a lot, I have to hold his sticky hands for hours, that sometimes when the teacher is not looking, one of us had an idea of placing our pinkies on both ends of a rubber band so we don’t have to hold hands but from the distance still may look we were, holding hands. Maybe it was his idea, I couldn’t possibly tell him about his wet hands, I don’t have the courage to do so, I was pretty polite when I was young, wow at least I had a good quality back then.

So it was clear I did not steal her crush, she just had to endure watching us dancing with our hands linked with one another. No rubber band to our pinkies that time, so imagine my discomfort. If there was someone who stole something, it was him. He was the first guy I held hands with. And it wasn’t even romantic. He stole my fantasy.

I never really knew what her reaction to that mishap or how she felt that time, during that fourth grade we’re not that close, she got closer to that guy’s younger sister (same guy) at some point she (the younger sister) also became my friend but it was clear they both share the same interests (cough, boys) and I got hooked on reading even more (that time we had a new neighbor, she was a nurse, one time she invited me to her house only to find plenty of books in their living room. She may have noticed I was looking longingly at it, like a child staring at a candy bar, salivating (exaggeration) because she told me she could lend some, pick anything, other than the ones with Jackie Collin’s name on it. Back then I didn’t know why nor did I ask why, if she only knew I’ve read worse. So choose, I did. I remember there was a certain book that caught my attention, the title resemble those biblical characters I came across to while reading bible. I thought it was about that so I picked it along with a novel with a name of Leo Tolstoy in its cover. Those books, apparently belongs to her husband, a retired engineer, who I didn’t see that day. I remembered reading Jeffrey Archer’s book as soon as I got home I’ve read it for two days and the scene about one of the main character’s sister’s tragedy haunted me for days, even now, I still remember it vividly.
She got closer to her (the guy’s sister) more and I grew attached on reading so we kind of drifted apart. It just sort of faded, the bond we had.

We stopped playing because we grew up, met different people, had different interests and moved on with our life.

I could honestly say that there was no bitterness in that parting, not on her part (I’m pretty sure) and definitely not on my part. We sometimes outgrow some people in our lives, enough to leave them behind. That doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten about them, no. But they don’t need to stay in your life for you to go on. Because life still goes on, even when you’re alone.

Time does not stop for anyone.

How I wish someone could tell me these things.

I badly need to hear this.

A voice stopped me from wandering down the memory lane. A woman called me by the nickname nobody calls me now; it was cringy and too childish.

My nickname.

But it came from her, maybe that’s how she remembers me, so for me, it was sweet.

But my nickname’s still suck.

I turned around and saw her Mother. We exchanged pleasantries, work and the weather. I asked how she was doing and told her I have no news about her, although honestly I have, from nosy mouths I accidentally heard (maybe because they never thought we used to be friends) who have nothing else to do but talk about people’s lives. That she has a boyfriend, they’re living in together, he’s younger and she’s financing his studies.

I don’t know about her being “sugar mommy” but I met this guy some two years ago, she came home with him and I saw them attending mass on Christmas Day. She hugged me when she saw me and introduced me to her boyfriend. I was with my sister that time so we didn’t really talk that much. Maybe that was the guy they’re talking about? He doesn’t look so young or maybe because she looked younger than her age. She’s petite, even smaller than me; she could still pass as a high school girl.

Like I said, this is a small neighborhood. But then what do we expect to these people who keeps on minding other people’s business? One year ago my mother told me, a neighbor was asking if I have boyfriend I’m living with as this nosy human being saw me getting out of a white SUV in the middle of the night, with luggage on my right hand.

I was in an out of town trip, I attended a seminar for a week and our driver offered to bring me home so I wouldn’t have to bother my brother to fetch me. I agreed plus, my boss was with me during the ride home.

Well, at least they had something to talk about other than wondering why a woman like me, nearing thirty was still single.

People.

Two things. Either by choice or no choice. They could have asked me I would have answered them.

We talked some other things until my sister arrived and I had my excuse to leave. She asked me to add her daughter on facebook so we could talk like old time’s sake. I just nodded, not really sincere about patching up things with her. Maybe she thought we fought over something, but we didn’t.

We’ve got nothing to patch up. We just get on with our lives on separate ways. It was as simple as that. Well, I would love to have a small talk with her when I see her.

I hope all friendships were like that. No bitter endings, just fond memories.

© euphemia
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