I posted a poem earlier about friends in general and what we sometimes do, or, rather, what sometimes happens when I talk to them (or more precisely, when they want to talk to me.) After reading it, one of my friends called me "asshole." And, of course, I answered, "Yes, I am."
I sent an email to explain, and part of what I wrote was:
"I deserve to write that poem. I have been a very dear friend to a lot of friends. And I have been a shoulder to cry on for a whole lot of them. And for a whole lot more of them, I have been someone who will listen patiently and be there. For some more, I had to talk and say something. Maybe it made sense, maybe it was just platitudes. But they listened.
"I have seen people cry, people you do not know, but I assure you, you are kindred to. And off the top of my head I can name a whole lot of them. At any point in time that I see them in the mall, on the sidewalk, bus stop, airport, or wherever, we stop, we laugh, we cry, we shout, we hug, we kiss, and we cannot get enough of each other. I have never asked anything of them. Yet if they ask, I drop everything that I do so that we can meet. In some instances, I badger these people so that we can meet.
"I hugged a girlfriend at the Farmer's Plaza bus stop while she was crying. I kept still as a good friend narrated the past year of his life, and crying while we were at San Francisco coffee. In an empty Aurora Blvd. Dunkin Donut shop, on a weekday evening, I was sharing my fourth cup of coffee while a was dissecting my friend's relationship -- and he was across me shedding silent tears. On the fire escape, of an old building in Cubao, while a girl friend was narrating her frustrations. At the Mega Mall stairs, while I was holding the hands of a friend's girlfriend. There was one time, on a bus, the girl was crying on my lap (on my lap, for crying out loud!). While sitting on the subdivision's sidewalk, again, holding the hands of a friend's wife. My family, my daughter, my son, my wife, I have had the occasion, to talk while hugging tight and crying together. And more such things have happened before, with other friends, and their girlfriends or wives.
"If you think that the above diminishes you and makes you ordinary, because it happens to a lot of my friends -- that they share with me their frustrations, fears, anger, grief, fortunes, trials, passion, tribulations, and tears -- I want you to think again. You are my friend, which I why I spend time with you. I care for you as much as I care for these other people. Even if I had no money, if you had asked, I would still share with you whatever is in my pocket. This I had done before, and I guess, I would do if you just ask.
"I cherish these memories. Because I was given a gift: that of a friend, standing before me naked, asking help and offering everything and the only thing that is their own, their open unabashed self. I love them for the trust that they give. I could not do any less than to repay that trust with trust.
"I love these people. And in most instances I have told them so. And I also love their girlfriends and their wives, and I have told them that I loved them, too.
"I am not an emotional vulture. I do not feed on the pain. I do not hold the talks as secrets for me to use as blackmail later on. I may remember and I may not, but these friends remember that I was there when they needed to talk to someone. It has taken its toll on me. For a long, long time, I carried the burden with me, the talks I had with my friends. And after a time, I found out that I could not serve them if I keep the pain to myself. Some days, the pain wrenches me, it is a wearying, tiresome burden. And the pain remains with me still, for a month, or two months, or a year, or five years, or ten years, or twenty years or even twenty-five years after.
"I have learned early on, that I can cry along with my friend. But if I do so, it sometimes trivializes what we do. I feel that I need to be strong for them. That they can cry, and I can only ask them to continue to cry as long as they need to and as long as they want to.
"Handkerchiefs? So far as I can remember, very few are returned. I don't remember, because I don't count them. And, anyway, I would rather forget about the hankies."
And after some more explanations by email, I had to write back:
"The poem, I owe to myself to write. For a long, long time I was feeling that I have gone past that, and that all of my friends will live happily ever after. And then reality struck. One by one, old friends from UPLB and AMA have come to call and talk. And in some instances, cry. If after an eternity, you reach out to a someone, I would think that that someone would be a very good friend indeed And frankly speaking, if you were not my friend, I would steer clear away from you the moment I saw you about to cry, or about to tell me some detail about your life I would rather not know. As your friend, I treat you as a friend: someone who will accept me as I am, acknowledge my presence, and trust with what I have. Looking at it from your viewpoint, I need only ask, was a good friend to you? If I was, then that means that you have been a much dearer friend to me. If I didn't care about you, I'd make you cry with a very nasty remark, and leave immediately. Instead, because I care very much for you, I talk to you about your problems. The tears are gravy; they don't bother me, but I like to think that you trust me enough to show them.
"...I never mentioned that you have been a bad friend. To explain further, there are lots of types of friends... Some friends, you go to when you want to enjoy yourself. There are some friends you go to when you want to be alone. And then there are some friends you see and talk to and cry in front of. The last one happens to be me. And not just for you but for a whole lot of my own friends.
"Looking at it from the other viewpoint, you would the friend I would like to be with if I were drinking wine and want to enjoy the view, keeping silent all the while. You would the friend I'd go to if I were window-shopping, for instance, and looking and discussing the merchandise without really buying anything. You would be one of the friends I'd want around if I wanted to diss someone. You are not the friend I'd go to if I wanted to cry. And if you ask any of your friends, that would be the exact same sentiments for a whole lot of them.
"Just my luck, my friends want to be with me if they want to talk about depressing things. And your luck that they seek you if they want to enjoy things. Friends come in many flavors. And whatever friends do, you do not consider these as weaknesses.
"...And you do not have to be friend who goes looking for a shoulder to cry on..."
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