That’s what friends are for
I recently joined my wife as she celebrated decades of friendship with her high school gang. And a gang is what they are—complete with tattoos (for some), a collective history of shenanigans, and all the swagger and unfiltered banter that would put Deadpool to shame.
Some of them flew in from the US and Canada, another from Japan. The rest, the ones who chose to stay in the Philippines despite the lure of greener pastures, have their own battle scars—traffic woes, inflation, government ineptitude, and the ever-present utang na loob of family obligations. But here they were, converging for this grand reunion because true friendship laughs in the face of distance, time, and years.
Many of them had gone their separate ways once they hit college, built careers, and started raising families. Their high school teachers probably thought they had finally grown up. Apparently not, judging from the way they drank, ate, sang, danced, and got merry in many crazy, different ways (as we husbands watched amused and bemused).
I think they reconnected in the past decade. Unshackled from the ball and chain called children, college funds, and home and car mortgages, they experienced an epiphany the likes of which I have never seen. Welcome back to high school, girls!
As I write this, their group has just checked into a resort in Siargao, fresh from a weekend in a hot spring, after which they’ll run amok in Bangkok for another four days.
My daughter, ever the realist, quipped that by the end of this marathon trip, they’ll either be closer than ever or bickering like an old married couple. She’s probably right. Give friendships enough mileage, and they start to look like dysfunctional yet irreplaceable relationships.
I’ve given this friendship thing some thought. Ever a firm believer in “less is more” when it comes to bosom buddies, I believe “BFF” has a nice ring to it, but “soulmate” feels like a stretch. I’d rather have two or three people willing to take a bullet for me than a hundred who wouldn’t even donate a pint of blood when it counts.
I finally realized that when you’re older, it’s fine to reminisce, but it’s uncool to dwell on the past.
Most of my friends are younger—occupational hazard—but my true besties? They’re the ones whose kids call me Ninong (twice over if they choose me again for their wedding) and whose names appear on my own children’s baptismal certificates. There’s something sacred about friendships that extend beyond shared interests and into shared responsibilities. You know it’s real when you’re entrusted with a child’s spiritual welfare, or at least expected to give the best presents.
In my opinion, BFFs show up when it matters: at reunions planned months ahead or thrown together last minute, silently braving Metro Manila traffic instead of using it as a perpetual excuse. They make sure you get home safe after a party or a long-haul flight, stand by you even when you’re both on the wrong side of an argument and check in just because. Let’s be honest: “I was busy” is the weakest excuse in the age of Wi-Fi and instant messaging.
They ask about your partner and kids, even if they haven’t seen them in years, or even if said kids are entitled brats you secretly thank the universe aren’t yours. They sense when you need help—financial, emotional, or professional—and offer it before you ask. And they do favors without keeping score because friendship isn’t a transaction (unless you’re a politician).
It’s not about who called last, who forgot a birthday, or who paid for coffee. These are petty. Time and distance are powerless against real connections. True friends tell you the truth when you don’t want to hear it, like “Ang baho ng hininga mo, P’re.” (“Your breath stinks, Bro.”), celebrate your victories as their own, and mourn your losses like family.
And for the younger crowd scrolling through this, yes, social media has changed how we interact. It’s easier than ever to “stay connected” without ever really connecting. But trust me, a like on a post or a fire or heart emoji on a story will never replace a three-hour catch-up session over coffee, the warmth of a running inside joke dating back to your pre-gray hair era, or the tacit understanding that no matter how much time passes, some people will always be home.
Seeing my daughter’s relationship with her array of friends—from university, post-grad, work, ARMY, and, yes, even her cousins—I am comforted by the thought that their bond will last, defying the laws of time and space, just because they make an effort to regularly meet and do things together.
After so many years, I finally realized that when you’re older, it’s fine to reminisce, but it’s uncool to dwell on the past like a Spotify playlist stuck on repeat (think Dr. Strange forcing Dormammu to stand down).
By all means, talk about the present, but don’t let every conversation be a rundown of ailments and blood pressure readings, and acquaintances dropping like flies every year, or a pissing contest on whose pill box has more meds. After all, there’s no greater pambasag-trip than mentioning a lingering or terminal illness over a sumptuous putok-batok meal.
The best conversations are still about the future, including bucket lists, post-retirement investments, life plans (Sanrio-themed caskets, anyone? Burial or cremation?), and, most importantly, the next adventure or get-together (because, let’s be real, no one knows who’ll be permanently absent next time).
At my wife’s reunion, two songs repeatedly played in the background: We Are Family and That’s What Friends Are For. Sentimental? Maybe. But in that moment, I felt a twinge of envy at their seemingly unbreakable bond. It reminded me of what Edna Buchanan, the crime novelist, once wrote: “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.” She must have considered neglecting friends a crime of unimaginable proportions.
