Her Royal High-

Letter of Gratitude – one of the 500 I will have to write before I die.


Dear Princess Zaire,

Princess my ass! I knew you since we were teen-agers, classmates and friends. I called you one day, excitedly announcing, “Guess what I have in my hands?” “What, tell me!” “A book called ‘The Sensuous Couple’!” “I wanna see it. Come over!” I had to take a bus all the way from Taft Avenue to Quezon City, where you lived, which in Manila would probably have taken me 20 light years because of traffic.

As soon as I get to your house, we had a boisterous lunch together. God bless your Mom but your Dad never trusted us. He could smell a rotten fish from a mile away! We went into your bedroom and we excitedly opened the pages of my new book of knowledge. Giggling till it hurt, we looked at the illustrations of the human anatomy. What it can do or what can be done on it, with it, in “vivid” details. Ay, ganun?! Really? What is the butterfly technique, what?! Really, they do that? Hey, you gotta twist your tongue like that, that is so gross! Look at this! We read and giggled and read some more. I left after a couple of hours and you asked me to leave the book. We would go over it again tomorrow at the university, with our other girlfriends.

Your Dad, not wasting a minute, went into your room and found the book under your pillow. He showed no mercy. The next day, you told me that he confiscated “The Sensuous Couple.” Additionally, I was no longer welcome in your house. I was a bad influence. “Buking!”

A couple of years later, I left for the USA. You stayed behind and left the university to attend nursing school. You dated Paulo, a family friend of mine. We wrote to each other. You told me that you would tell the headmistress and your Dad at times, that you would be spending time with me, in my house and you would go out of town with Paulo. I was in the USA but you were supposed to be spending time with me, you crazy! I paid for your qualifying exams so you could come abroad. I never gave up on you because you were my dearest friend and a smart one too. We spoke about the cool things we would own (a Corvette for you and a Mustang for me) when we grow up. We would be the stars of our own American dream. We shared our dreams, our disappointments, lecture notes, food, our money, books, and our experiences. Wind beneath each other’s wings, we were Bette Middler and Barbara Hershey. I was the free spirit, you were the reserved one.

Then I heard you got married. Your first husband divorced you. I heard you got married again, and you had a baby daughter. I came to visit and found you with a beautiful baby girl. I felt sad that you did not seem to be doing well. I sensed that you were unhappy; we spent time together, always as before, we were like sisters catching up. Later on, you left for the Middle East. Your baby passed away; you told me it was painful; she suffered from a congenital ailment. You left your husband for good. I was glad. He did not look like he deserved you. I also told you, “Huy, don’t be offended, but he is butt ugly. What happened?” We laughed loudly about it. Then I never heard from you again.

Until one day, you wrote me from the Middle East. You were coming to the USA. Furthermore, you are coming with a man you called Edward. He is your prince charming, you said, like Prince Edward. You and he are coming to live in the USA permanently. He is an Arab. His real name sounded like Mautassem Bechim Salaem..anyway, something exotic like that. You have a baby girl. The first thing I did was to fly to where you are, at your request, so I can see you and meet the Prince. I observed that not only were you not allowed to answer the phone, you were required to stand at attention when he leaves the house, you were not allowed to give your food order to a male waiter, you were not allowed to walk beside him, you were not allowed to wear make-up and perfume among other things. The Prince was offended when I gave him a hug the first time I met him. How dare I did that? I was not his sister and women should not do that. Forgive me, a mere mortal. You asked me to bring cooked pork chops, which you ate behind the Prince’s back. When he left on an errand, I asked you, “Why do you act like you are in Iraq? You are in the USA you know, not Iraq. Do you see any camels around? So does he want you to wear a burqua? Your husband is a jerk. I don’t like him. By the way, he is not a prince, excuse the hell out of me.” You agreed but we were obviously just chatting. Your Prince had a huge problem with me for acting “unwomanly” – i.e., not allowing him to speak for me at restaurants, as though I was unable to say “That will be the combo with rice, and a large Pepsi please” and having an opinion like “I asked for rice not pita.” When he took me to the airport, he said, “Now I know why you are a not married. You behave badly.” Short of killing your Prince, I said, “I did not ask you for your opinion. My life is none of your business. Clean your own backyard before you clean mine.” To his credit, he did not push me out of the Suburban. At times you would call me in distress when you and he would have fights and he would call me and say “Please find her and make her come back. I will give you all the gold you want.” I cannot make this one up, he offered me gold in exchange for finding you.

Gold or no gold, I advised you to work it out. Then you had three more children; all handsome boys and one pretty girl. One day, out of the blue I blurted, “Why do you never talk about baby Angela? I feel like you just erased her from your mind and replaced her with your new daughter.” You started to talk about her, your hurt, your pain. We talked for hours and it made us both feel better.

I have not heard from you in more than a couple of years. You once told me that your Dad has forgiven me; that he was impressed that I never stopped communicating with you despite my being banned from your house. Yay, me. Years ago, I asked you how you and the kids are. Your response was telling: “I am tired and when life is hard I cannot say I love someone anymore; I just want to hit somebody on the head; the kids are fine- elder son quit college but he makes great money, my other son is doing great and will get a football scholarship; my daughter will be a medical provider and we are fine. We moved into our new 5-bedroom house. I bought a Mercedes. People started to look at me differently when they see me park my car. I told my children I want them to buy me a big diamond, bigger than anything you might have.” “I am sure they will but we do not have to always have what others have. It is too stressful to keep up.” Neither of us laughed.

Today is your birthday. I do not know the date by heart anymore; my computer reminds me of it. I no longer bother to greet you on holidays. I get a very generic “Happy Holidays” with your signature. I so want to celebrate your day just like the old times – lunch of egg’s nest soup and pancit canton at the Automat in Avenida Rizal, halo-halo for dessert, followed by shopping for books and sundries at Alemar’s. I wish so much to talk about what is left of our dreams. I hope your Prince did not turn into a grumpy old toad. Long live my long lost friend! I am sure I will hear from you again someday. Kul am wa enta bi-khair. Mashallah!