If I remember correctly, Chingbee Kalaw came to Maryknoll Grade School then in Pennsylvania, Manila when we were in the seventh grade. I think we graduated in 1957, so she must have come in 1956. This means we knew each other for 62 years. That’s a very long time.
She became a gangmate of Ting-ting de los Reyes, Buki Richardson and me. We were very good fast friends who laughed a lot together and spent time in each other’s houses. She lived on Valenzuela St. in San Juan and I lived on Valenzuela St. in Sta. Mesa. The last time I saw her she asked me if I remembered the time we gave a party at the house of Tingting’s grandmother. “We had to make invitations at your house,” she said, “and we slept there on banig on the floor. We had to stick little flowers and sequins on little boxes. Remember, Tums?” My friends are divided into two: those who call me Twee and those who call me Tums.
Yes, of course, I remembered. I had a pocketbook on types of parties and we chose to have a box social, meaning that the girls had to bring picnic baskets full of food and the boys who were our guests had to bid for them. Good concept but the party was a failure. At least that’s what I remember.
We were around 13 years old then. Our mothers were in their middle 30s. I remember they were beautiful. Tita Eva Kalaw, not a Senator yet and Tita Mita Pardo de Tavera, not yet the Secretary for Social Welfare, came glamorous in their red sheaths. Tita Lita de los Reyes and my mother were also very glamorous. I don’t think Tita Curly Corominas Scholfield, Buki’s mom, was at the party. I remember all our mothers were lovely in their prime. The middle 30s are the most beautiful ages for women.
That memory brings to mind that we were five gangmates in our freshman year. Tingting de los Reyes, Chingbee Kalaw, Buki Richardson, Josine Loinaz and me. People then said we were an impressive group of head turners. That was in high school when we juggled our studies with parties and boys.
Then time and-later- men intervened. We grew up, went away to school, some of us married the wrong guys, fell apart, then did it all again. We heard about each other’s lives from the grapevine. Then one day, after around 30 years, we suddenly ran into each other again. Okay, we had put on more than a few pounds. Had done quite a number of grownup things. I had gone forward with my career and was finally president of an ad agency. Now we were members of the Management Association of the Philippines (MAP). We would have lunch together, laugh about old times. We became friends again.
Then, suddenly, this year I got married and my classmates said Chingbee wanted to see me but she was recently sick. Then she was dying. Finally, one morning a few days ago, I received a text saying she had gone. I felt distraught. She had gone on the busiest week of my life. My husband and I had planned this trip for a while. We are going on a long holiday to Bohol, where he has family. Furthermore, we are driving to Bohol. Yes, driving. We are driving then taking ferries to the next island. Roro, I think it’s called. It is going to be a leisurely trip once we take off. We will be stopping to sleep at motels or small hotels along the way. We will be eating at carinderias we come across. We are going to have what could be the last adventure of our lives.
Of course, I am excited about the trip. I, 74 years old, am the youngest member of the party. My husband is 80 and my cousins, Mandy and Ruben, are around the same age. But I am also bothered that Chingbee, now Cuenca, passed away when she did and I am unable to go to her wake. I could simply send a text to her son to condole with her family. Also, I wonder why every time someone close to me passes on, I happen to be out of the country or leaving for somewhere and therefore am unable to be at the wake.
Maybe I should look at that as a gift from God. If I am not at the wake, I cannot believe they are gone. I just think I will run into them one day. At a meeting, for example. Or at lunch. We will wave at each other and blow kisses across the room. Then we will make the hand signals that say “I will call you.” We will know when we meet again that we are still dear friends, that we still love each other the way we used to when we were young and very full of hope in high school.
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Please text your comments to 0998-991-2287. By the way, I am on holiday so will not have a column next week.