(This opinion/open letter is for my best friend of more than 40 years, Lizzie)
They say a best friend is one of the greatest gifts from above and that not everyone is lucky enough to have at least one in this lifetime; I disagree with the former and give a hesitant nod on the latter. Lizzie and I “met” because we had a big fight back in elementary school (almost like a lifetime ago). She was a newbie with multiple international stamps in her passport I believe and fresh from Papua New Guinea while I was one of the locals unknowingly honing my skills as a bully. Immediately, we didn’t hit it off. I hated the shrill English-speaking tone and overconfidence borne from worldly exposure, who didn’t seem to be impressed with my mestiza features and my “queenly” presence. We ended up having our first shouting match weeks after we met in Grade 4 with Sister M mediating between us saying “You will end up becoming best friends, trust me.” We parted scoffing of course.
Fast forward to now and a very interesting era later, we now have our own families with our greatest treasures, our sons. She is based in the US still and I am here in the North, much nearer than when I was in the Phils. The physical distance though has never diminished our passions in fighting and loving one another. Lizzie, has been through it all and has lived a more interesting life than I have, changing boyfriends after some few years, with choices ranging from the downright disgusting (I can sense a fight coming), to the typical K-drama hero look-alike she typically loves. I, am blessed with a husband that has been my first boyfriend since birth and has been the main inspiration of my creative outputs with his unceasing support and understanding. They sleep together (just so you know, literally sleep only) when we vacay together or we all share the same bed.
Also in between this lifetime were some of the brutal fights you could ever imagine, and the deafening angry silence that lasts for months for just about anything, from a difference of opinion to how one demands how one’s life ought to be lived. Of course, the best times like in any other is the absence of war. Our peaceful phases I call it when we can’t seem to have enough of each other and spend hours over the phone or coming over to me (she spoils me a lot) for a visit. These grand visits began 13 years ago, when she swooped down in the hospital in the Phils from LA to see her week-old godson, turns to me to say to be ready to leave to go to the mall to buy the Godson Appliance and Clothing Showcase she knew I needed.
In our crazy moments we would sharpen our creativity and talk about stupid stuff like how we never fought about something more sensational (and simple, really) like over a man or how our storylines would have been different if some things didn’t happen post High School. In all of these, we would always end up just looking at each other, with no words necessary to convey our confidence that despite the what-ifs we would still end up thickly.
I love Lizzie to bits that I hate her when I feel she is messing something up, and she loves me unconditionally that she just tells me with her eyes that at this age she just wants peace from me and not face my restless spirit head on.
Dear Lizzie, I cannot wait to talk with you tomorrow as you had to end the call early today. Have you noticed how comfortable our long silences are and still disgusting our boisterous laughter must be to others? Of course we haven’t fully processed our last fight yet but we leaped right through our peaceful phase this time which will hopefully last for this lifetime. I wouldn’t dream of any other (though I know you do), and I would gladly fight and spill all my secrets with you even in various lifetimes.
