Sunday, July 11, 2004 Gil: Four friends (a.k.a. F-4) By Sandy Gil Sunday Dunes
(First of Two Parts)
EVERY three months (sometimes more and sometimes less), I drag myself away from whatever I might be doing on a Saturday evening to take a shower, paint my face on, dress up and leave the warmth and coziness of my home to meet up with three wonderful friends. I am convinced that the efforts I exert in literally dragging myself out of the house on a weekend are worthwhile. For one, while it might be good for and gentle to the soul to be alone for the weekend - away from the hubbub of an active professional life - it is not healthy to deny oneself of such rare quarterly social activity. More important, however, is that meeting up with these three great friends is a real treat to the most uncommon conversations and behavior!
*****
I had met Sylvia (not her real name), a journalist, ages ago it seems. She and I were classmates in a three-unit course in a piano bar that we, among other friends, frequented. Sylvia and I were nodding acquaintances. She had her circle of friends, and I had mine. Somehow, our circles never dared intersect. Perhaps Davao was not yet ready for such ballistic collisions. After three years, however, I gradually began to dissociate myself from this 3-unit course. I felt that I could have all the singing AND dancing (too) I wanted in the luxury of my revitalized personal life - wearing rubber slippers and in a house dress, at that! And so, I dropped out. As such, I had not seen Sylvia for years!
Those early years, Sylvia had always struck me as a woman, with an intelligence and wit as sharp as her pencil. Invariably dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she was definitely not the kind who drew attention to herself in a social gathering. Rather, she would quietly blend into the background, watching and listening - as if waiting for her chance at glory to say her clever piece in the same swiftness and grace as she retreats once more into her silent mode. On hindsight, I think it was her face that spoke the most eloquently. What gave her thoughts away was the way her eyes twinkled with mischief or disbelief, the way her eyebrows raised in sarcasm or doubt, the way her dimples deepened to restrain her hearty guffaw at a ridiculous statement, the way her eyes deeply penetrated a pretentious faade. Sylvia was definitely a woman of few spoken words... or so I thought.
*****
About a year ago, Sylvia and I serendipitously bumped into each other in some forgettable function. And after the usual polite hello's, and how are you's, we agreed to exchange numbers and keep in touch. Intuitively, we shared similar notions that we were both totally non-conformist women who appeared to be conformists. And in affirming our aversion to conform, we likewise denied the traditional palliative of "let's get in touch" ethics by, in fact, getting in touch occasionally. And so started a new friendship...
I soon learned that behind that mask of nonchalance, Sylvia was a funny and weird lady. Because of the demands of her work, she once conveniently forgot her own birthday. Because of her work, she needs to drown herself among equally intelligent friends (me!) every so often. And because of the demands of her work, she also forgets the keys to the gate of her house. In fact, one night on our way home from a Saturday night of drinking, she had to drop by my house to borrow a butter knife to pick the lock of her gate. Since that night, she had had to carry that butter knife in her bag, ready to be returned to the owner, just in case she bumped into me again. Unfortunately, we saw each other three months later.
She also loves cats, but unlike cats, she loves the water as well as those other fluid, liquid and flowing stuff in life. And like cats, she loves to oversleep.
Her interests are not only far and wide; they also come in spirals from the most uncommon directions. Sylvia has this rare ability of seriously looking at herself from various angles from the outside... and after a few moments of silent internal observation, gleefully laughs at what she sees. A bundle of mysterious contradictions, irony and paradox, not many are able to cope with this lady who is, by the way, ten years my junior.
*****
One Saturday night, when Sylvia and I decided to have a drink or two, she informed me that she would bring along a friend whose company she seemed certain I would enjoy. That was when I met Steve (not his real name), a corporate communication expert. Now, this guy is really nicely weird. Unlike Sylvia, I never saw the serious side of this young man. A tall mestizo, Steve is the ultimate negation of how the dying breed of the coņo community thinks and behaves. He, in fact, hails from one of the more respected families in Davao City - though truth to tell, he seems totally oblivious to the implications of his genealogy. This makes Steve quite endearing.
As a corporate communication expert, Steve is the epitome of a totally alien kind of corporate communication. Unwittingly, he shares his odd kind of corporate communication by teaching Advertising at the Ateneo de Davao University. He had once been absent from his classes so often for a particular semester that he deliberately neglected to collect his salary because of some deep-rooted guilt. His passion for teaching has often been manifested by tapping the blackboard so hard to stress some lecture in class that the wall between his and the adjacent classroom almost collapsed. (To be continued...)
(July 11, 2004 issue) Write letter to the editor.Click here. Join the Sun.Star message board.Click here.
