CAKE on the BENCH

I was in a hurry one late Saturday afternoon to change clothes and to do the usual things before leaving the house. It was just like any other ordinary weekend where my friends and I are accustomed to meet each other to collaborate on several pursuits we were already used to; eat to heart’s content, watch good and wannabe good movies, and an endless exchange of gray as well a green matters, ha-ha-ha. Five o’clock was my deadline because my friend Evanson will be fetching me up. I’ve decided to put on my newly bought semi-fit collared shirt paired with a year old Dickies jeans and sneakers manufactured by Mendrez which I bought just a week ago. Would it then be already self-absorbed if I still mention my Penshoppe belt? Don’t you worry, I still hold the principles of humility, after all, those are not so costly brands.

However, something struck my mind as I was already halfway through finishing my outfit exploit. What would’ve been so special that afternoon that I was very much excited to enact the already seemed like a monotonous routine during weekend. What would’ve been so different that afternoon that it’s like I was going to see old friends whom I wasn’t able to be with for a decade already. Then realization came next. My days in the country were counted and possibly that Saturday could already be my last.

I’ve got an opportunity to work abroad which I have not planned, not even last in the list of my priorities and aspirations. Almost all the people around me knew that I have been long standing on the ground of idealism and patriotism. My heart and soul had been telling me all those years that I had to help my country alleviate its economic condition, find ways on how to eradicate corruption in the government, and contribute bright ideas about turning the table of every poor family into something which can offer boost their human dignity, that is with sufficient food.

However, I admit I’ve lost in the battle. I lost because I have compromised one of my hard-earned principles to just work here in my country until the last drop of my blood and until the days eat up my youth. I lost because for a considerable period of time I may not be able to share my empathy and compassion with the plight of my common poor countrymen. Nonetheless, I may have lost in this phase of my life; I promise that I shall rise up to regain and win the battle. With a promise of success abroad, I pray that I would be back bringing with me the fruits of my labor which shall empower me to help my people in my own special way. The rest would then again be history.

So to go back, I was already settled with my apparel but Evanson was not yet in sight. Television really is a good friend when you are trying to ease out anxiety caused by boredom and untamed excitement. Not until one hour of waiting. Six o’clock came and my invaluable friend Evanson was still in his invisible act. The television was then still my refuge. Seven o’clock came. I reckoned that’s enough time span of waiting which means I had to give up my hard-planned outfit. Then just a few minutes I took off my Dickies jeans, FnH shirt, and Medrez shoes, Evanson arrived and demanded me to immediately change clothes. Isn’t it he’s nice?

We then headed to the place where we used to hang out back to our college days and even after we have already graduated. The place which almost all of my friends I met in college had been a good common vote whenever we ran out of idea on which place is best to go. There had been lots of memories in that place really. To mention some; playing billiards with complete strangers, diverse breeds of aliens and of course hot, just-okay, and never-mind gals with business intentions with the former and the next; a friend who suddenly puked while drinking a bottle of beer; and billiard balls flying in the air caused by a neophyte player, still a friend.

While on our way, I was a bit disheartened when I learned that most of my friends would not be able to show up because of some impediments. My spirit was then in oblivion with the only earnest thought that I would not be able to see most of my friends again, at least for one to three years. Good thing Evan together with a new friend Joel was around to brighten up the mode of my longing.

And then I smell the familiar scent as well as the unmistakably patented noise of the place as I hurried inside with my two other companions. Some people whom I’ve known for already more than a decade readily bestowed upon me their unselfish smile as I ambled toward the place near the billiard table. And suddenly heavens were opened; there in one of my favorite spots of the place I recognized several familiar faces. Yes some of my invaluable friends, Jervis, Glenn, Kups and Rizza.

It was a set-up, I guess. Glenn brought along a good measure of fruitcake more than enough for our feast and very clever it suited my concern for diet that I brought home the leftover. The pivotal moment was when the group brought out a sort of scrapbook where they literally invested time just to compile some of my solo as well as group pictures with hand-written dedications. And Evanson, the relentless committed convenor of the group, wrote a special tribute for our eleven years of togetherness, a heart-melting piece I may say, more than enough for Evanson to be vindicated for his late that night. Though I refused to give off a drop of tear, my happiness then was immeasurable. Still worthy to mention, though a bit disturbing, were pieces of masks with printed photos of my face. I don’t know if it’s because Halloween was coming, ha-ha-ha. Cameras were on and I knew that those pictures would again serve as evidence of camaraderie of good friends. I was soon to leave the country and the love and care which my friends showed to me that night were good reasons enough for me to come back home.

Caryl, the gorgeous momma of the group, as well as Mands, Carlo and Dean, in same way also gave significant part of the celebration. Then I went home that night with a feeling of joy and exuberance. And by the way, I was already wearing another signatured sweatshirt, a send off gift of Evanson, BENCH.