I'm here, my alien buddy. Just ring me up.
Ely,
Hazzah!
My alien bud, I'm writing this while you are back at hibernating. Inside, of course, no other than your little allegorical cave. Again. I get it. Our collective batteries are only good for a couple of hours, with you having the slimmest chance of lasting an entire conversation over the most normal of humanly routines.
How mundane. How basic. How boring. I can hear you grunting under your breath. Your Palanhuik ego would preach, "We must never ever get boring".
But just like your odd request for a synchronized wardrobe makeover, let me say, "Hi." I know it's quite doltish of me to pretend and act like the normies we hate but, hey, something different. Cheers to growing old! Trying to be our own mismatches!
You'd probably laugh first before an insult will make its way through miles of earth - 15 if you're in Alabang, 30 if you're with the puppy cats. You'd throw the same question back at me. My own boomerang. You'd divert the attention away from you and I'll take the bait as always.
Aren't you sick of my pity parties? I know I am. Well today, let's talk about you. For a change. So again, "Hi."
How have you been? Bro, Marzia's health is way more important than your YouTube needs. Aside from being completely upset about her untimely retreat, I'm not really sure how life has been for you. I turned to Facebook for answers. I forced myself to scroll back, sifting tons of gay messages for an hour and couple of minutes. Some recent Daddy issues. Blah blah blah. The callings of the Void. Yada yada. Cats. Lots of cats. Then nothing. We missed about three, four years of gossip from each other after your sudden de-materialization from life. You said you needed it. I was too occupied with college, anyway. I was too occupied with my boyfriend back then, you said. True. But your reappearance offered something new. Even you wouldn't believe what it was.
Have I been a good friend? You'd smack me for even asking.
I've spilled my guts out for you and you probably know more than my parents do right now. I, on the other hand, barely know what has been going on with you. "Why be so cruelly secretive?" I get it. You needed time. And you needed to keep things for yourself. Secrets were your treasures.
At least you were able to be one of those proper friends.
You allowed me to be vulnerable. I could shed my armor, my mask, and reveal the awkward flesh underneath. That flesh so scared of criticism. Scared of the uncultured judgment. Funny how in front of you and your brutally honest eyes, not even a single unoriginal piece of me was afraid to reveal its true form.
Because you genuinely cared. Most of the times. Let's be real. I'm quite an annoying creature, even I can't stand myself. I knew other people wouldn't have the least bit of patience to like me. But you'd actually give my del Rey playlist a spin. You'd take interests in the random indie, jazz bands I'd recommend for the idle days, same with the emo/alternative/whatever the hell they are songs for the crazy days. You would stay way past your bed time just to hear my post-break-up-pre-make-up rants. Yes, yes. I regret ever denying I actually loved. My bad. You were there when I had the urge for more Kleenex boxes. I would've been covered by straight lines for scars if it wasn't for your constant messages of reassurance. I can do it. I could. You believed I was better than my sadness.
Your wise words were comforting, they sound as if they were from the parents I deprived myself of. I needed that. Growing up without a clue, without any manual to adulthood was dangerous. And even if you haven't figured this life out yet, you let me believe I could take this world on. Because I can. Because I will. With you, dragged by the leg.
Knowing me, let this 2011-too-late reply end this ridiculously sappy letter. I hope it still counts.
Yes things have come far from what you expected. Stopping isn't an answer. Slowing down is best for the weary, the ones on the verge of losing their sanity. Hell is metaphorical. Heaven, too. If that's what you want to believe. So just enjoy life as the closet hedonistic freak you really are. Stop isolating yourself. You need us as much as we need you. I'm glad you're happy, Tol. At our age it's not a surprise to have those changes. Existential dread is what it's called, the experience you had before but you didn't had words for. Slow down if you seem to be losing track of how far you've come. I'm here. I'll be your designated breadcrumb trail officer. Life is fair being cruel to everyone, sparing no one. Maybe a haircut will help, or new clothes. I'm sure I can't tell you everything that changed, I am oblivious to a lot of them myself. I can't tell you how to be you. I can assure you, since our break up, you've got no one to be jealous of anymore (I still can't believe he tried to hit on you while we were still a thing). The new guy isn't like him, anyway. And I wasn't like who I was before. And I know who needs my attention, love, time, and occasionally harsh remarks.
I'm here, my alien buddy. Just ring me up.
Photo by Miriam Espacio
11.11.18
#writercaht #openlettersbycaht