My other brother

There are people you meet in this world that you consider an extension of your life. You’re not related to them by blood or vow or amorous ties but the affinity you forge with them is sometimes more than the bond a family member can give. They lift you up when you suffer from slow, silent hemorrhage of the soul. And when they are the ones encountering dark and stormy days that render them feeling very small, very fragile, very frightened, you find yourself as their beacon of hope. These people are called many beautiful names. In my vocabulary, however, I simply tag them as best friends.

Up until college, I never had a best friend. Until I met Roderic Francis “Jay” Ubana Capiral in 1988. In those days when cell phone or Internet was not yet a man’s best friend, Jay and I found the traditional way to our friendship. As in any relationship, sincerity was the filial glue that brought us together.

Our economic standing in life did not divide us even during the times when we shared an apartment in UP Los Baños. In many times, as housemates, we combined part of our allowance so we could save up, with him contributing more to our kitty. But real friendship, he showed me by example, is not the type that counts. With our pooled resources, we would device ways and means how to stretch our funds for the week. As always, we would find ourselves walking to the nearby palengke replete with a woven basket that we both styled with a colorful wreath. Sometimes, we would attach a long ribbon of crepe paper to the basket that would never fail to catch the fancy of people in the market. We loved bringing joy to people’s lives as we bought our weekly supply of food. Many times Jay would get himself entangled with an ornery vendor or two because he over haggled. But before we left the market, by some virtue of PR, Jay would be BFF with the vendor he fought with earlier. In that sense, he taught me my first lessons in public relations at the public market of Los Baños before I took my PR 101 in the university. A trip to the market was never complete without us bringing home some gladioli. We wanted roses and carnations but they cost more. And we choose to live according to the “lifestyle” we could afford. We have carried on this virtue to this day.

Jay instilled in my 16-year-old mind — he was 17 then — the importance of division of labor. He would prepare our food. I would wash the dishes. He would clean the house. I would clean the bathroom. In the many apartments and dormitories where we lived together for years in UP Los Baños, we played the real bahay-bahayan. He would always call me as his “daughter.” I would always regard him as my “mother.” In fact, to this day, even if we only see each other two to three times a month, I still call him “Inay” — even in front of my own mother. The beauty of our friendship is that my own family feels very safe when they know I am with him. His parents and siblings regard me as their own, too.

Like a real mother, Jay really took care of me in college. He would go out in the middle of the night to buy Biogesic for me when I was running a fever. When, because of some foolish negligence, we would both run out of allowance in the middle of the week, he would be the one to find ways how we would survive. Once he came home very late showing me “plenty” of money — about P400. 

“Did you steal?” I asked.

“Gaga! Why will I do that?”

“Where did you get the money?”

“I beat Jonas and Bettina and Maribel in a friendly game of mahjong.”

That’s Jay — very resourceful without resorting to mendicancy. That night, we had a sumptuous late dinner of roast beef sandwich at a nearby 24-hour food stand called Little Folks. Each bite reminded us that we had not eaten the whole day. That experience taught us both to save each day no matter how small.

He taught me, too, what all-out support is all about. When I would have late night rehearsals for the many stage plays I joined in college — I had plenty of Theater Arts subjects as a Communication Arts major — he would be there waiting for me to finish. Sometimes, he would even come ahead of me to the practice venue. And when show time came, he would be the first to laugh, cry or clap for every scene I was in. Jay was indeed a true-to-life stage mother! One time, while watching me in a theater practice, he couldn’t contain himself and auditioned for a role. He got the part — and literally beat me up black and blue in one scene on stage.

On nights when Jay would have to spend over time studying a horse cadaver — he was first enrolled as a Veterinary Medicine student before shifting to Agricultural Economics — I would accompany him to the laboratory that was eerily reeking with the scent of formalin. We would get scared from time to time even with the faintest sound that would echo in the lab but we would kill our fright with our laughter. When I got tired being afraid, he would prepare a long dissecting table where I could sleep. And I would dose off and begin to dream about unicorns. Early on, as best friends, we learned how to anchor on each other as we sailed to the port of our dreams. Even now that I became a writer and he, a retail brand manager for children’s fashion — don’t ask me how an AgEcon major ended up in the world of kiddie fashion; even he does not know the answer — we have remained big dreamers. 

Since Jay was born and raised in Pasig City and I was reared and groomed in Laguna, I always found it labyrinthine to commute in Metro Manila. I was so promdi that I was afraid of going to Manila because I didn’t like the anxious feeling of getting lost. So Jay, one weekend, took time and effort to familiarize me with the very long stretch of EDSA.

“When you know EDSA by heart, you would know your way in and out of the city,” he told me. Since then, every time we got the chance in the late ’80s, he had introduced me to the many important roads of the metropolis so I would get over my fear of getting lost. 

More than the roads of Manila, Jay taught me the many roads to life. I just feel so blessed that despite the super highways of our lives now, we still find the moment to take a stroll in the simple road of life where we first met.

I know my way to him and he knows his way to me. That’s one important bearing that we always remember. Even with the passing of time, we’re glad we don’t get lost.

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