"Despair"

My friend is going to attend a Comics Convention as "Despair" (from Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman”). As she described the character, Despair is a fat naked lady with tattoos who has mirrors, and when somebody despondent or feeling low is looking at the mirror that person would see Despair instead looking back. Since the costume guidelines are strict about nudity, she’d most probably be wearing a bodysuit with tattoos.

In my experience, Despair can be considered a funny character. Someone who appears only if the person is in a funk. Definitely not a fair-weather friend, but maybe not even a real friend.

In a way, I was like Despair to some of my friends. When they are at an emotional low, I have been known to suddenly appear. Not that they see me only when they are despondent. But maybe, I was just lucky and was there when they needed somebody to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on. Or maybe I was always there and they just remembered I was there only when they needed me. Like Despair, there have been a lot of times I was the person “they saw in the mirror.”

I have not been in that situation for a long time. That job is for young people with time on their hands. I have not had the opportunity to be with my friends for a long, long time. Although I have been making some sort of effort lately to touch base with them.

I can understand Despair. I don’t feed on such emotions. I do not exist because friends need me when they are emotionally low. I am not a battery charger who listens and recharges the speaker. Neither am I a handkerchief wiping away tears, although they are sometimes prompted to cry when I am beside them. Maybe I caused the tears the fall. Maybe they feel brave enough to trust me with their tears. I am not a mirror echoing their needs and their wants. Nor am I a mirror showing who they are at their lowest point. I am not a repository of lost longings.

I have been a friend as I still am a friend who was there when my friends needed to cry and not be ashamed of crying. Whether in a crowded restaurant, an empty donut shop, a coffee bar, under a tree past midnight, commuting in a jeep or hugging and crying on the sidewalk of EDSA, or in the middle of a corridor of a busy office, I have seen friends cry. It is not something I particularly like, but it happens that I was there when they needed to cry. I have learned through the years to be stoic about this and their needs. I may not have always been sympathetic to their issues, but I have been empathic. Admittedly, it is tiring. There were days when I feel diminished because I could not help. Neither could I give any advice. I can only listen. I could only appear as a presence. And maybe, I would be remembered as “someone who was there when needed.”

For a long time, none of these happened to me. I was alone. I was happy because my friends were happy. Life still had its ups and downs, for them as for me. But I was happy because there was no need to “be there.” Nobody sought me out. And I did not need to seek out anyone.

I think the cycle is complete. It has run its course, and I am back as Despair. The listener “who was there.” I am not complaining. Just part of being a friend, I guess.

--andoy, 2 December 2004