BONI

"Kuya, dalawa pong Cubao."

"Huy, ano ka ba?"

"Bakit, tama naman 'di ba? Cubao ka rin bababa?"

"Oo, pero di naman ako nagpapalibre."

"Bakit, kailangan ko magpaalam?"

"Eh kanina ka pa sa tricycle eh..."

"Walang pakialamanan. Saan ka nga ulit umuuwi?"

I met her in the Fall of 2010 back when I was one of the few new employees in a small office on the other side of Boni. I don't actually recall the first time I saw her, and I honestly can't remember her from the tide of faces I have been introduced to on my first day of work. But I do see her every morning jump from the IT Department, to Accounting, to Marketing, then to Admin. I have no idea what she does but she seemed to be well acquainted with everybody. I, however, am not someone who would hang out and smoke cigarettes on coffee breaks to hear the latest gossip. I'd rather sleep most of my lunch breaks, if possible.

The nature of our jobs are very different, but we happened to take the same route going home. Since I'm quite allergic to crowds and small talk, I let the wave of 'honda' employees finish their time-out before I punch mine. Why rush? Everybody's going to get stuck in traffic anyway. I see her standing outside of the gate sometimes waiting for people who would take the tricycle with her going to EDSA. Unfortunately, I was the victim that evening and was even forced to take the same bus ride too. I didn't want to embarrass her so I just said okay. That was the first time we actually "talked." It was so traumatic that I could not ride buses today without remembering that first encounter. 

"Gusto ko yung pangalan mo. Hindi maintindihan kung panlalaki o pambabae. Astig."

"Ayoko ng second name ko though."

"As if naman mapapalitan mo pa. Pwede pero magastos. Tsaka hindi naman degrading. Anyway, 'di ka naman nabuburyong sa trabaho mo?" 

"Okay pa naman. Bakit?" 

"Wala lang. Feeling ko lang ikaw yung tipong mabo-bore sa corporate eh. Second job mo na 'to diba?"

"Yup."

"'Yup.' Tipid neto sumagot. Matulog ka na nga."

"Hindi naman ako inaantok."

"Magpanggap ka na lang. 'Pag di ka natulog marami pa 'kong itatanong."

"Go lang."

"Nakabasa ka na ng Khaled Hosseini?"

That was the day I managed to gracefully tell her not to pay for my fare, as usually she would strongly insist despite my protests. I thought blood would spill all over, but she peacefully obliged. I paid for hers instead to return the favor somehow. By the way she shyly smiled and thanked me, I could see she's not used to someone doing favors for or treating her. I don't think nobody offers, but maybe because she can just be a little too domineering most of the time. She'd take the wheel when she can. It didn't help that I was a year younger too.

She's already been in that company for two years when I came in. Her CV was quite decorated for a fresh grad, so I don't know why she chose a relatively small and unknown company for a first job (and actually stayed) when she could have taken better offers. I never dared to ask, but I know she has her reasons. I'd say I know, because after a few chance tricycle and bus rides together I began to realize she can actually make a lot of sense. Yet I don't understand why she asks me too many personal questions. I'm not anybody who's interesting at all. All of these thoughts came hurling in my mind as she enthusiastically rendered her review of Hosseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns", from a feminist point-of-view.

After a couple more months, the chance rides suddenly ceased. I never saw her again standing outside the gate in the evenings. I tried getting in queue ahead of other employees at the time-keeping machine just to see if she's going home earlier than usual. She's not, and she doesn't seem to be rendering OT either. I would purposely stay long at the terminal on mornings but no sight of her still. I would see her every now and then in the office, but coming up to her to casually ask her "what's up?" was not something I was comfortable doing. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I just gave up. 

Early one Wednesday morning, someone from her department came knocking in our room. "Hey, sino gusto sumulat ng farewell note? Last day niya this Friday. Tago niyo ah, surprise dapat yan. Balikan ko mamayang lunch. Or basta before Friday. Thanks!" Before we could even ask who was leaving, she was already heading to the Sales room beside ours. Inside the brown envelope that was handed to me were colorful pieces of square-cut construction paper. Farewell notes and scrapbooks are the signature tokens there for people who are resigning. That time, however, I was surprised to see her name written outside the envelope. So she's leaving, I told myself. I took a green one and placed it under my mouse pad so I won't forget. I tried thinking of what to write the whole day. I regret knowing that she's leaving, and at the same time I felt a little tinge of guilt thinking about how I've been trying to avoid talking to her over the past few months. Is this the best time to apologize? What can I say when I couldn't explain it to myself either? What if she didn't even notice anyway? I thought, and overthought. Friday came. I never handed the paper. For the second time, I just gave up. 

"One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs

And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls"

Being brave is a process. I'll see you outside Kabul, Tariq.

Laila

I read the short note over and over to make sure it was indeed for me. I called the guard at the gate. "Kuya, sure kang para sa 'kin 'tong package?" I asked, wondering if she just made a mistake. "Yes po, kumpleto naman pong pangalan yung nakalagay." I did not argue further. I know it was for me because inside the package was a paperback copy of Hosseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns". It's just that, my name is not 'Tariq,' hers is not 'Laila,' and we are neither in Kabul. When I read the novel that evening, it was then that I realized that the letter was an encrypted message that she wanted me to decipher. I hurriedly rummaged for the DHL packaging that contained the book, where I know I'd find her return address. Perhaps that's the address of her new office. I feel stupid because I can just send her a message on Facebook, but I'm not brave enough to do that. At least not yet. But what I do know is that this time, I'm not giving up on her. #