Letter of Gratitude as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author of Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, and it is all small stuff…
Dear Edwin Alimbuyugen,
You are one of those skeletons in my closet, my very dark secret, that I was forced to disclose during my first high school reunion eight years ago. One of my very best friends, asked me “After Bob Abada, how can you choose Edwin of all people? We expected more from you.” “Like who, Bogs Adornado?” Oh, dear God. I am sorry Edwin but I really have to be mature now so here I ‘fess up.
Thank you for teaching me about French kissing, practicum. Was that kiss good as a croissant with cheese and guava jelly in it or what? Or was it like hot pan de sal with a dollop of Anchor butter on it? Was it sweet as a ripe mango, fallen from the tree? Or picked up from the ground, perhaps? I remember it to be as good as a horror movie when you do not know if the monster is going to grab you from behind. It was exciting. However, it had no flavor. None whatsoever. Flat as black decaf. Thank you for turning me into a closet bona-fide sinful shameful slut on the night of our senior prom. Not that it was such a bad thing when I think of it now! It was good like a veinti, double espresso, with room, wings, jesus christ whatever!
We went to the “lover’s lane” behind the Administration Building of my future university in Diliman, Quezon City. We found a bush to hide behind so we could make out. Alas, the security guard found us ,and shining a flashlight on us like some freaking military police, we were caught in the act of Making Out 101, all wet kisses that made me feel like I was being licked on my pimple prone cheeks by a Chihuahua my mom owned, Breeze or Tide they were named, while you groped “below the neck and above the waist.” That’s it! BUSTED!
My dreams were about to get squashed. But dreams, I found out were only as high as what you have in your pocket so you paid up the avenger short Filipino security guard so he would not call my parents to tell them that I was going to marry the first boy who kissed me and touched “below my neck and above my waist.” Mahabaging Dios! (Merciful God)
That evening, I became a sinner in the eyes of God, the UP Oblation (Oble), UP prexy SP Lopez, and in the eyes of the little man that had a whistle, a baton, and a badge that identified him as an avenger of sixteen-year-old hormonal boys and girls. He probably prevented me from being an unwed mother whose dream of becoming a diplomat, lawyer, doctor, political science major, drama queen was compromised that evening of my prom. Whoever that little man was, I thank him, honestly.
Anyway, back to you Edwin. We stopped seeing each other after that incident and would largely ignore each other or pretend we did not know each other after that. After all, you were not deserving of being BFF. You were a jock and that was all and horny. Yes. That too. In the meantime, I was destined for bigger things –let us see, like being a student activist and a B student at the state university of the republic for which the Filipino flag at that time stands. Kind of earth shattering success at that point, right?
Thanks to you, the next time I made out with another boy, I was already aware of what a proper kiss must be and you also taught me to be picky when it comes to boys. None of these boys with a Beatle haircut and none of these awful last names that sound like a frigging bumble bee. None like you, sorry Edwin. Because I tell you, I would not be changing my name to Bumblebee or Buzzword in this lifetime or the next.
I have not seen you and we will probably continue to ignore each other when we see each other again. You were a kind young man, I really should not disrespect you. I hope you pursued your dream of becoming an engineer. I hope you have a good life with children that adore you and a wife who loves you like I love my husband. Please keep your mouth shut about that incident because it was not a big deal. When I disclosed this secret to my friends, and I tell you we were in our forties, they all told me it was lame. Not when you are sixteen years old and you are playing tonsil hockey with a boy, or another girl for that matter!!
I found an “Edwin” on the Web. Could this be you??!!
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