Birthday breakfast

On the eve of my 36th birthday, my best friend Manny Marinay, 35, coaxed me to welcome another year of my life in his cozy apartment in the heart of Tondo, Manila. The night proved to be a celebration also of our more than a decade-long friendship. In between servings of ube-flavored ice cream, we scooped many memorable tapestries of our friendship and savored them.

Being a true-blue promdi (from the province), I never knew I would one day work in Manila. After finishing college in Los Baños, I was content working as a writer for a government agency in Laguna until my former boss fought me for the mistake he himself did. He never apologized. I left the company with a heavy heart. On Feb. 15, 1995, I found myself starting a new job as a writer in a now defunct magazine on Aduana Street in Intramuros, Manila. I was wearing a pair of starched slacks, a happy-colored long sleeved shirt and leather shoes that were so shiny they could hurt the eye.

A few minutes later, a guy with glasses taller than me entered the room. He was in a pair of navy blue short pants, baby pink UP shirt and, well, grubby rubber shoes. I really thought he made the mistake of entering our little press room.

I think I showed some signs of bewilderment when we sat by side on our respective tables. He was a little belligerent. When just the two of us were left in the room, the foreboding silence was deepening and deafening. I don’t remember anymore who broke the ice between us but the next thing we knew, we were eating banana cue in a stand inside a squatters colony beside the magazine’s building. He was the first friend I made in Manila. (Add to the scene Patricia Esteves, now the night editor of The Star, who, from time to time formed our triumvirate.)

Those were the first few memorable moments when Manny and I first met. Ever since then, we have consciously and unconsciously colored our friendship with all the hues of life. Our common denominator: we both love our loved ones. And for them, so to speak, we would “beg, steal and borrow.”

Just like other bosom buddies, both of us have become extensions of our respective families. In fact, on the first day that we became familiar with each other, the first thing he did was to tour me around Manila so I could meet his Mama, his brothers and sisters, his nieces and nephews.

Manny was a welcome addition to my family in Laguna. Truth is, he was the first gay person who penetrated the inner sanctum of my slightly homophobic family. Thanks to him, he changed the mindset of my conservative folks by simply being himself. He was so loved in my place in Laguna that even the neighbors looked for him every time I would come home without him.

To this day, especially now that we just see each other very seldom, Manny and I still write each other long letters. Mine is always handwritten. His is in computer-printed form (perhaps for fear that I would not understand his penmanship). 

Sometimes we would just send each other text messages that would make us laugh until the laughter becomes laugh-tear. Oh, we love to laugh. He taught me not to take all the things in the world very seriously. Otherwise “maloloka ka.”

A day after he turned 30 in 2002, he wrote me: “Seven years is like 30 years with you. How I wish I had a photographic memory so I could remember every single detail of our moments together as friends. Our moments as ‘enemies.’ Thanks for the gift of laughter. I was 23 when we met. We were young, carefree, experimental, irreverent and we fought for what we believed in. Those beliefs stay the same to this day.”

He taught me to eliminate the concept of ownership, especially when it comes to my amorous dalliances. Manny, to this day, always tells me that there is no such thing as exclusivity. In a relationship, he says, seek to enjoy each other, not to possess each other. The magic of the affair is lost once you control or dominate your partner. Yes, Manny has a steady partner but he gives the person he loves the ultimate freedom to fly, to soar, to dream.

On the morning of my birthday, Manny, now a desk editor for Manila Bulletin, prepared our breakfast. “Just sit down and relax. This simple breakfast is my gift to you,” he said while sautéing garlic in the kitchen — he was about to cook chicken afritada. He set the table. Played the album of Nora Aunor — our guilty pleasures in life include listening to the golden voice of La Aunor, watching DVDs of her classic movies, analyzing which of her movies she shone best. But that’s another story.

While partaking on my sumptuous birthday breakfast, he asked me about the little games we played when we were younger. If there’s one thing we learned from each other, it is how to keep the kid in us all the time. Our favorite pastime then was the “synonyms game.” Even when we were asleep, in those days, we could rattle off the many synonyms of “big.”

“Huge.”

“Gigantic.”

“Vast.”

“Humongous.”

“Colossal.”

“Enormous.”

“Gargantuan.”

“Whopping.”

“Large.”

“Giant.”

“Immense.” 

The word “big” will always be memorable to us because it is the first word we played in our childish game — in those days when we would share a sandwich for lunch so we would be able to save more for our dinner. Those were the times when we dreamt “big” time. We knew then that there would be “big” respect between us as friends. And no matter what our differences are, we will remain best of friends.

And that’s “big” matter for us.

(Thank you for all your letters. For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com or my.new.beginnings@gmail.com. You may also snail me at The Philippine Star c/o Allure Section, R. Oca corner Railroad Streets, Port Area, Manila. Have a blessed Sunday.)