Belgium’s magic flutist visits Manila | Vera Files

Belgium’s magic flutist visits Manila | Vera Files

I spoke too soon or more Friends from Season 57

I spoke too soon because not long after I blogged about my old drinking mates, they showed up, most of them anyway, at the book launching of Amadis Ma. Guerrero Tuesday night. Clockwise: freelance writer-researcher Bob Navarro, Francis, whose surname I still can't recall but who remains affable and steady despite the fifth bottle of beer, our favorite diplomat Alejandrino "Al" Vicente, who has served in war-torn countries and can't wait to retire so he can finally write a long-postponed novel, the blogger looking not yet inebriated, Rolly, good old Rustie Otico and his nephew Edmund (Rustie wondered aloud at the book selling table if there was a senior citizen discount!), and the author who, in true character, announced to all, even before we could drink to everyone's health, that he had only P300 in his pocket so we should all go Dutch on the bill. Rightly so for this happy bunch of genteel paupers.

Author Amadis , whose latest book is Tanghalang Pilipino:Celebrating 25 years of Philippine Theater, is also godfather to my youngest of two daughters, Ida. He informally invited me to the launch at the Cultural Center Little Theater lobby via SMS, saying, in his laconic, self-effacing manner that he has this de luxe book coming out, but he was just the hired hand so could I come as moral support? Of course, we did, Rolly and I. Rolly happened to be in town for some Inquirer seminar, and he surprised his kumpadre by showing up. He and I didn't plan our color motif (we came from different parts of town). What is it they say about sharing same wavelength? That evening we all did. Even Amadis is wearing a tunic.

Some friends and I refer to Tessie Jose (in red) as the real National Artist. It's mainly because she has made the writing life possible for Manong Frankie, a diabetic but seen here holding a glass of sweetened ice tea. Amadis is wearing a solid gold pendant with an image of his patron, the Virgin Mother, a legacy from his father who died tragically in the last war when Amadis was still an infant. The pendant from the older Guerrero (named Tristan, if I'm accurate) was from his first communion which must have happened in the late 1800s. What I like about Manong Frankie is his support of writers, aging and emerging. He always turns up at our launches. If he can't, he tells you to leave copies of your book "at the shop," his Solidaridad Bookstore, so Tessie and her staff can take care of sellling them. My poetry books all sold out, and when Solidaridad requested replenishment of stock, I could not give them more (poetry is printed in very small editions).

Old friends

Dario checks out my two panoramic shots of a Batanes seashore dating back to '98. He now has them in his collection.

Rustie lets out a hearty guffaw

Ahhh, I wil not let this month end without claiming a semblance of poetry on this space. Too tired from the heat and the constant composing and correcting of manuscripts, I've decided to just let balladeer Michael Feinstein sing "Old Friend" while I post pictures of the people I spent Sunday with, a pleasurable company of persons with whom I've had a history: Rustie Otico, Cynthia Alberto Diaz, Dario Noche and Alejandrino "Al" Vicente. 

Al explains why Anne Proulx's short story "Brokeback Mountain" is notches better than the film version and brings out Rustie's copy of the O. Henry reader of prize-winning short stories as evidence.

Until gentler winds bring us all together again. Meanwhile, this is for all of you, old pals. There are several songs with the same title of "Old Friend", but this by far says it all for me as I go over traces of an afternoon of shared laughter, the clinking of glasses of red wine, one faux pas after another whenever memory faltered. And that was often.  My four traveling companions to Cavite are true friends--not even decades of being apart diminished the warmth when we clasped hands with Al who has traveled the world, including hot spots in the Arab world, as a diplomat but who has remained the articulate literatteur and cineaste of old.

Love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

Every time I lost another lover
I call up my old friend
And I say let's get together
I'm under the weather
Another love has come to an end

And she listens as I tell her my sad story
And wonders at my taste in friends
And we ponder why I do it
And the pain of getting through it
And she laughs and says, "You'll do it again"

But we sit in a bar and talk till two
'Bout life and love as old friends do
And tell each other what we've been through
Our love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

And I ask her if her life is ever lonely
And if she ever feels despair
And she says she's learned to love it
'Cause that's really all part of it
And it helps her feel the good times when they're there

Yes, we sit in a bar and talk till two
About life and love as old friends do
And tell each other what we've been through
Our love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

And we wonder if I live with any lovers
Or spend my life alone
And the bartender is dozing
And it's getting time for closing
So we figured that I'll go out on my own

But we'll meet the year was '62
And travel the world as old friends do
And tell each other what we've been through
Our love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change

Love is rare, life is strange
Nothing lasts, people change
Old friend


Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtABADNJnT4

Cynthia always seems to carry a bag, not a barrel, of laughs, in a manner of speaking.

Rustie studies Cynthia's camera while we suggest that he consider taking up a new interest like photography and journaling after decades of being an unsung copy editor. He insists on regaining his strength first before venturing into anything new.

During the supposedly best hour for taking pictures (4 p.m.), Rustie led us to his fence where we peeked over the edge and gazed at his neighbor's orchids. That he finally has time again to admire flowers is a personal cause for rejoicing and thanksgiving.

 Photos by Babeth Lolarga