"Alam mo, kung isang araw nawala ka, parang walang makakaalam. (You know, if one day you disappear, it's like no one would notice.)" This is something Daphney said to me a couple of years back. I formed a habit of wandering off on my own back then; she said this as I walked her back to the classroom. I bumped into her on my way back alone from the canteen. Back then, we were much closer. She'd give me advice on how to handle my struggling love life and you know me, I'd never fail to disappoint her. But we'd laugh it off in the end.
Still, I can't explain the reason we grew apart. Not just me and her, but me and her friends, too. The same goes with all the groups of friends I've been part of.
Today, I hit a similar note with my present clique. Our professor gave us a lot of beats (places to sort information from) to cover for a requirement. We're assigned to at least 10 different agencies, so they set up an early rendezvous at 7 AM. I set my cell phone to alarm five times, two minutes apart to force me up. But today, I woke up to the sound of it vibrating--vibrating--I forgot to switch it off silent mode. On the screen, was the name of a friend calling me for the 6th time. It was 8:45 AM. Needless to say I missed today's excursion and they're all fucking pissed.
So here I am, doing away with the sentences in my head. I really let them down. But what better way to make it up than to pucker them up with flattery when they're all barking mad? Promise to never be late again but fail to deliver then repeat it the coming month, sending all my credibility down the drain? Wait. That could actually work! But I'll give the former a shot.
Here we are: Carabao and Friends. The leanest, meanest, hand-sanitizer-depleting machines in all of COC*. Most of us (particularly me), came from other dissolved cliques in the classroom. We're block sectioned; if you don't know what that means, picture high school all over again, only with less UNO cards and more grade-obsessed freaks.
Here's a run at who we are.
On the leftmost corner, you'll find what is probably the cutest creature ever conceived: an Epper. In the early days of our group, she was totally nondescript. In fact, an "Epper Minute" was put to effect--a minute when she was urged to speak at least a few words a day. She was that quiet. But as the months wore on, she grew more comfortable and finally acted normal (in a sense.) Now, she's even more adorable, playing all her silly antics on me just for a free treat. I simply write her off with a little pinch in the cheek, a kiss on the nose, and some days, an enormous freaking slap.
Moving on, you could--sir? What are you... May I--please, sir! Show some etiquette. That's not a chimpanzee, that's Gab! NSPC-placer Gab! Stop it with the pokes. No, I mean it. You--oh, man she's up. Oh... man. Oh, no. Oh--who put this banana in my boxers?! No, no! Down girl! Down girl!! AHH!! FU--
...And we're back. Sorry for the delay folks, they had to reattach my torso to my pelvis. So, back on topic, Gab is one of the most reliable confidantes there are. Whenever our schedules align, we take eight stations worth of time together (not to mention another 45 minutes or so waiting for a ride) home. I diverge my secrets to her on the regular. Now I know what you're thinking. Have I ever thought about having sex with her? The answer is no. I don't have to. It's another thing we have on the regular. *Grin.* Kidding aside though, she's kind of a big deal far as journalism goes. She's was a topper at the NSPC in news writing. She's never late for school, seldom misses a requirement, and thinks about 'being productive' the instant she wakes up. She's also constantly in the honor rolls and might be running for cum laude next year. Slowly but surely, this overpowering loudmouth is making her place in this world.
Third picture from the left is Charisma. And no, I don't think that duckface in intentional. A former classmate called her a buffalo once, which translates to "Kalabaw" or "Carabao" in Tagalog, hence the name of our group. Being the firstborn of a policeman and a court stenographer, she's the dominant personality among us. I seldom dare take shots at her; she always has a better comeback. She pairs braces with plunging necklines in school and gets away with it! Far as academics go, she's anal-retentive. I remember her crying from a grade of 2.5... or was it 2.25? Her house is situated in some remote corner of Bulacan so there's always an Indiana Jones feel to visiting (for food. Lots of it. Cooked by her mom who would someday take me in as a son.) We're really close but I keep her at arm's length. I never know when she's gonna bite... or punch, or elbow, or kick, or hit me in the nuts with a fan. But no matter how harassing she is, she's someone I could easily approach and someone who could easily approach me. I won't forget how she once cried on my shoulders. On normal mornings, I'd just gobble down her food and not talk to her for the rest of the day. On slow-going days, I'd pinch her on the cheek and mess up her hair for depressing me with stories of her love life. She's bisexual, by the way.
The black and white picture, third from the right, is Erika. Erika, whom I am at a loss of words to describe. She's kind of an excommunicant who still calls me up from time to time. That's... who I assume is her boyfriend beside her in the pic. Before Carabao and Friends, there was Charisma and Erika. Best friends who love feeling like they've known each other all their lives as they isolate themselves in swimming class. They were even married in Facebook. But everything went sour when Erika transferred to UP, and continued to be so until their friendship eventually languished. At one point, I also felt she was my best friend, too. She's the only classmate I've ever invited home. We could walk drunk for miles holding hands without the slightest hint of sensuality or malice. Wherever she is tonight, I hope she's happy with how things turned out for her.
Onto the second rightmost picture: the only man (still in question), aside me, in the group: Kent! In our ranks, he's a bit of an underling. But his upside is anyone could tell him anything and trust him with it. He's one of the few people I'm comfortable letting my guard down with. He's with his mom in the picture, Tita Shei, and with his sister, the cute yet somewhat evil Ykai. He has never seen his dad but he keeps good sense of a tightly-knit family. I know more about him than all of the people above. We share a common enthusiasm for Tekken and fooling people into believing we're shallow wastes of oxygen as a protective mechanism. He has an incessant habit of poking me, punching me and stepping on my shoes--by incessant, I mean really incessant. He does it all day, all year 'round. But he's a good friend (with almost perfect grammar.) His simple, child-like views of the world make him unique. Eyes of A Child is partly inspired by him.
The last man in the picture is me. But I think I've talked enough.
In five years or so, I'll be seeing these names in bylines, how-to books, magazines, ending credits, business cards, and who knows, maybe even television.
And in fifteen years or so, if Facebook is still 'in,' I'm gonna be seeing their wedding pictures all over my news feed. Damn, that would be so cliche.
In the years to come, I could have collected a more sophisticated pallet. But these people are my base colors. My first coat. Their traces under my skin would never fade. To the future Dave who must have had the remote impulse to read this 15 years from now, these are your roots. I hope life turned out better for you than how you saw it when you were writing this.
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