My Friend, I Ask You Not To Cry In Front Of Me

my friend

I ask you

please not to cry in front of me



why is it, I wonder, that you do that?

unashamedly you cry

in a donut shop while we drink our fourth cup of coffee

in office corridors amid walls decorated with Christmas cheer

in a gotohan, and really crying out loud with tears dripping to a

bowl of arroz caldo

at an EDSA bus stop, in Cubao, while I hug you tight with eyes closed

on a bus going to Laguna while you look out the window trying to

ignore me yet not seeing the scenery

while sitting on the stairs of a mall while I hold your hand

in a grassy field in Laguna where we sat cross-legged in the middle

of the night



you told your tales

how you felt

what you did

who you loved or who you hated

how the land cracked open or how the heavens fell

somebody left or walked away or did not leave



you shouted or whimpered

kicked, punched

bawled, caterwauled

cursed and cussed



in turn I uttered words

empty platitudes besides your concerns

generic words and cliches it seems

"this too will end"

"we will laugh about this years from now"

"such things happen"

"I told you that before"



I too am ashamed that I made you cry

because I listened

and watched while tears wet your cheeks

I offer my handkerchief

once wet, it disappears, never to return

while tears continue from blood-red eyes

accompanied by sniffles



my eyes start to turn wet

yet I could not cry with you

for now you weep

and I can cry later

in silence and alone

where I can shed tears

but not in front of my friend



--andoy, 3 January 2005