by benny
Bebsy is this
beautiful chick I met during my formative years living in Manila. It’s
not what you think. She is an old buddy who remains constant in my life
tho we live in different cities, different countries. We have this
unorthodox kinship, as she provides me every now and then bits of wisdom (she’s
3 years older therefore she thinks she’s some Jedi Master) and entertainment
with hilarious anecdotes of her sit-com of a life.
I quoted her
many twisted and perverse views on social issues, and re-posted her own warped
versions of world history which in my estimation has received the most number
of comments on my blog.
In the middle
of our recent discussion about the ongoing case of Oscar Pistorius, Bebsy
designated me as key eulogy speaker at her funeral service. (She has
this habit of jumping from one topic to another mid-conversation, saying
something completely off topic sans warning nor smooth transition, expecting you to keep up and respond.)
Mean, wicked
people, for the most part, live long evil lives, unless of course you’re Hitler
or Osama Bin Laden. Although Bebsy believes 45 is when she kicks the
bucket, considering the true nature of the way her bizarre evil mind works and
the hedonistic life she led in her mid to late 20s (to which I have been a
witness of) this woman will outlive us all.
I am going off
the cuff today and dedicate an entire blog post to Bebsy, my emblematic life
travelling companion, and show you, my readers, how our pure platonic and
almost dysfunctional relationship, that is of a heterosexual male and a
heterosexual half-female (a part of her brain is all-dude) works. I
mean, I do adore her and all, but it’s not something I tell her cos she
gets all emotional and shit.
See, it’s her
birthday today. I will try to be non-revealing and eulogize my buddy, one who I
believe is the lovechild produced from of an orgy amongst Naomi Campbell (her
mouth!), Larry David and Sylvia Plath with Lena Dunham watching on the
sideline.
1.
In our younger years, Bebsy and I had a dream of getting our own travel
show aptly called Flip & Hebe (Filipino and
Hebrew). Genius, right? Picture Lonely Planet’s Ian Wright as a
duo. Somewhere in my apartment is a notebook detailing episodes of
lost cities & cultures we’d visit and document. We would have
killed. It was a bloody brilliant concept. It is important that
this is the first thing I mention in my eulogy. Her death
notwithstanding, I have not given up on that dream.
2.
Bebsy and I met at a bar owned by her first boyfriend. My buddies
and I frequented that bar, located near the International School where I had worked. She would come in to occasionally hang out or help wait tables.
She never
gives this historical fact to anyone. She’s long obliterated the memory
of that Ex and she thinks that giving the story that we met at a bar makes her
cheap and desperate. (her views always are off base)
My buddy
Alejandro pined for her longingly. Like most regulars at the bar, he was
a foreigner. A native Honduran living in Manila. After 3 shots of
whisky he would romanticize Bebsy’s exotic beauty and hounded her to no
end to run away with him to Lisbon and raise a family. She shone in the tender light
of his gruff adoration, but she always responded with a funny
comeback. She never took him seriously, never thought of herself as the
beautiful and sensuous woman Alejandro saw her for. Unbeknownst to her,
she was his first love. She broke the poor guy's heart. It’s my
all-time favorite memory of Ironmike's.
3.
On top of our travel show, a mutual love for the same music and mutual hatred for the same politicos,
Bebsy and I bonded over books. We shared a collection of Maugham, Camus
and Salinger. We both identified with Holden Caulfield and upped one
another with Catcher in the Rye quotes. Man, we sounded like pretentious
assholes.
When she broke
up with the Ex, she wrote me a beautifully written account of the bitter
break-up. I couldn't care less what happened, but through that email I
discovered her flair for writing. In my otherwise drab life that year I
got excited. Like a parent who suddenly discovers that his child has an
innate ability to fly. Not quite, but close.
I continue to
encourage her to write. I made her set up a blog. What is penned
on extra rice, please does not even scratch the surface
of her gift. She is just too lazy to write and hone her craft. (Genius of
a blog title, I may add, because it was MY idea; it's her perennial request over
a Filipino meal.)
Our friendship
flourished because of many hours talking about existential and absurdist
bullshit over mojitos, exotic meals and many email exchanges over the
years; some were filled with great life secrets and regrets, most of the time
with profanity-induced nonsense. She is honest and raw with the written
word. You see her true self when she speaks through her pen.
4.
Bebsy’s potentially intimidating confidence, (one part Zen-stillness,
another part her large, bored-looking, judgemental eyes) is undercut by her warm
sweet sincere smile, a discrepancy that can be disconcerting.
She looks like
an evil bitch at first glance. It’s her height not very common for
Filipinos, that protruding mouth, her face that looks like she’s criticizing
you and letting you know she’d rather be some place else, when all she’s doing
really is recalling what she ate for breakfast that’s making her stomach
upset.
The secret to
her social success is that she’s genuinely interested – not in all subjects,
but certainly in all people. She enjoys listening to people’s stories,
always asking questions without false enthusiasm and nosiness. She finds
valuable lessons in people's experiences. She does not fake it.
That’s how charming she can be and why people generally get smitten with
her.
My girlfriend
Holly was initially not impressed with Bebsy when I’d talk about my life in
Manila. “I don’t trust that one. She’s up to no good.”
Ten minutes
into their first meeting, the 2 were deconstructing ‘Talented Mr. Ripley’ and
cackling in laughter while sharing travel experiences to Sorrento, Italy.
Holly understands my connection with Bebsy, and until most recently actually
appreciates it.
5.
In a social setting, I always have a looming dark cloud over my head and
Bebsy is little miss sunshine personified. I am the freak at a party,
finding solace in the corner and people watching with my warm beer. She was
my social crutch and my secret weapon to a lot of party obligations in the
90’s. I can never articulate her brand of humour. It's dark,
self-deprecating most of the time, affiliative yet aggressive especially
around close friends. She finds comedy in any situation, and I have to
honestly say, that is one of her greatest traits.
I am astounded
with the infinite supply of trivial information she keeps in her head. It's annoying. She has vast knowledge of films, books, music, theatre, history and different
cultures that it makes me thrilled when she has the occasional mental
blackout. She speaks in movie quotes and bursts into song even at
the most inappropriate times.
6.
Ironically, when she's affectionate towards someone, she could be
mean-spirited, overly critical and potty-mouthed. This is her tender
self to her treasured lot: people whom she holds dear in her life, those she
lovingly calls Ass, Nerd, Douche, Idiot and Bastard; the very few people who
understand her bordering-on-psycho yet comical way of showing how she cares and loves.
With our
little group of 2, she monopolizes conversations. I give her a story of
my terrible bout with stomach flu, she would cut me off and text a photo of a
spot on her neck.
“Im glad
you’re better. But check out that mole. You think it’s cancerous?”
I give
slightly more of a free pass to her, since she is constantly surrounded with
loud, demanding people in her life, seeking her attention and service
24/7.
On the phone I
listen to her complain or talk about whatever mundane issue she needs to get
off her chest, compelling me to robotically say “Uh-huh” or “no
kidding” while focusing intently on a game on tv.
On video
chat, as I seek her advise about a fight with Holly, she gazes at me
with the most sympathetic look of concern, meanwhile off camera, she’s texting a friend about a recent episode of Dexter or Breaking Bad.
That’s how we
roll. We are aware how we bullshit each other with our listening
skills, but the fact is, a simple nod or "uh-huh" is enough for us
both.
7.
At the risk of sounding like a wuss, Bebsy scares me when she’s angry.
She is quiet. She is never confrontational. She gets intensely mad
when she feels abused and disrespected and when this happens, she walks away.
Disappears. A massive character flaw, I'd always say. She has
her own way of dealing with anger which involves her being isolated and alone.
We've had our
share of dare-I-say 'girly fights' and with me, she has always managed to
verbalize what upsets her. What I did wrong. What I should've done.
What big dick I was. She is relentless. Guilty or not, I
still feel at fault and find myself having a great need to apologize.
Seeing her hurt is the last thing anybody would want. That’s her
genius. And I hate her for it.
8.
We are not a mushy duo. I’ve seen Bebsy cry many times. But she makes it
look so comical that it's hard to take her seriously. In most cases, I
would shake her, turn her inside out and make her realize she’s wasting both
our times. Then I’d feel a need to give her a good smack in the head.
Seriously.
One time tho
she let out a soft, silent sob. One that she didn’t want me to see.
That was very painful and heartbreaking to watch. I was bewildered and
saddened by the bad hand life has dealt her during that difficult time, and
when I saw her that vulnerable right before my eyes, my inherent reaction was
to say nothing, just be present and hold her hand.
That’s the
thing about Bebsy. One moment you want to wring her neck or smack her in
the head, the next moment you want to take care of her and reassure her that
you’ll never leave her side.
9.
She sends text messages about almost everything: photos of her
injured body parts, questions she can easily Google but too lazy to do on her
own. She sends messages so confusing they are actually meant for someone
else.
I complained
about this manic texting once, and when she stopped, I found myself strangely
missing it, missing her. Because her family and her very close circle
of friends are all geographically out of her reach, it's her way of protecting
the linkage. In her mind these random texts are her way of saying ‘I’m
thinking of you. I'm making an effort to keep this relationship going. I value
your response. So respond, Godammit.”
She complains
about sending expensive international texts but has no problem calling me in
Madrid from her cellular phone in Toronto to read a whole David
Sedaris essay she thought was so funny. (FYI Nothing is funny at 3am when
you’re doing your damnest to adjust to local time by sleeping soundly. So I
don't think it was unreasonable for me to be un-amused. Sweet Jesus.)
10.
She is never big-headed about her real remarkable talents (she's cunning
& smart, puts the CakeBoss to shame & has the voice of an angel),
but very arrogant about the ones she clearly does not possess.
I’m very
intuitive, she
boasts. No, she’s not.
I know what
people are thinking. No,
she doesn’t.
I’m a wiz
at Math. Algebra,
yes, she proved that one time, but Basic Arithmetic, hell no. Tell her
your birth year, ask what your age is, her response,"Fuck.... Math."
I am a
great basketball player.
No one can prove this. No one has seen her play, not even Hans Smit, her
own university phys ed teacher. (She bribed him with hard-to-find
imported smokes so she didn’t have to go through a whole trimester of gym!)
11.
She is the sweetest and kindest friend any man can ever have.
That, I can attest to. She is thoughtful, selfless, loyal and trust
worthy. She's like a big kid, really. She remembers birthdays and
knows her friends’ mothers’ first names. She has this unique calming
personality that makes everybody feel comfortable around her, making
people she's just met feel like they're long lost friends.
She genuinely
cares. Her kindness is beyond compare. She would take a bullet for
people she loves the way she would do for her own children. The truth is,
no one is like her.
Bebsy is the
only person I can truthfully talk to and be myself without a shred of
shame. We share our failures and victories, I confide in her the secrets
of my heart, and with each other, we are transparent. With her, I can stand in
the honest truth of who I am, without any tinge of judgment from her, and that
is the gift she continually gives me in life. The great gift anyone can get by
simply being her friend.
It’s pretty
cool that I have a buddy like that who just happens to be a chick, you know?
Happy birthday
B.
Love ya pal.
Ben
Indulge me as I list mine:
