Who Do You Friend?

I attended the Assumption Convent, an all girl catholic school in Manila, from the time I was in Kindergarten (also know as Prep 1-B, first grade was Prep1-A and then the rest of the grades followed as 2nd, 3rd, 4th, etc.) until I graduated High School. Twelve years, the same school, the same plaid skirt, sailor shirt, and neck tie. Well not technically the very same skirt, shirt and tie, these are fungible items after all ..... but definitely the same one and only look.

First day of school, we gathered with our mothers in the Chalet. The Chalet was essentially a covered concrete area, but our school's foundress was French and so we clung to some bits of Frenchiness in the middle of a city that was culturally more Spanish, Chinese, and American.

Another example of our Frenchiness was that we were all trained to curtsy for our superiors. Receiving our report cards, that were read out to the entire school assembly ("Kah-ren Robi-chow, 2 Bs, 3 Cs, and a D in Mathematics, tsk-tsk"), we each curtsied and thanked the serious faced nun reading our grades. "Thank you, Mother Agnes.", we recited in our childish sing-song, left leg bent, right leg swept behind diagonally 225 degrees to the rear and left, left hand holding plaid skirt out, right hand held out palm up, and head bowed waiting to receive our report cards, one by one, in alphabetical order.

Back to the first day of Kindergarten, I can remember like yesterday. Carol Uy, bobbed hair and straight bangs, had a bag full of "tansans" (bottle caps). She dropped some of her tansans under the bench we were all supposed to be sitting on demurely, and this brought her great concern as if these tansans were made of gold. "My tansans, my tansans", she muttered while kneeling up, over and below our seats. In that instant I realized that she was cool and I was not because she had tansans while I didn't.

All these girls I went to school with gave me my first introduction to the rules of childhood and life. We kept each other in line: "Ha-laaaaah, you're not supposed to do that." We ratted on each other: "Mother Remedios, Kah-ren has no paper." We friended and unfriended each other before facebook came along and made the verbs official: "If you don't friend her, I'll friend you."

As elementary passed into high school years, political upheaval took over the country and martial law was declared. Some of the girls left the country with their families. The school modernized and curties became a quaint practice all but forgotten. Still, we always stopped at noon to pray the Angelus, before we clobbered each other at "Bataille" (a ball game named after war, seriously). We all went on to higher education in Manila and all over the world.

We now live in Asia, Europe, Australia, and the Americas. We are in law, medicine, government, the corporate world, religious service, the arts and the society pages. We celebrated our 25th and 30th high school reunions by going back to Mother Rose Hall, and rehearsing, and then performing in dance revues. Each one of us is a diva extraordinaire. We are at each others' sides in an instant. No request is too big or too small.

When I went through a divorce in the early 90's, they listened to me, held my hand, housed me, but mostly fed me. Juno, Dee, and Maribel opened their hearts, homes, and kitchens for me. I still owe them tupperware. Everytime Carol (of the tansan fame) flew into Los Angeles, she brought me presents, stories, and fed me the international airline flight crew diet regimen of krispy kreme, pancit, and coffee.

When my mother lay dying seven years ago, she needed blood. I felt like a vampire, interested in everyone's blood type and general health status. All my old schoolmates went online to spread the request for blood. Some came and donated their own blood. One pulled all the influence she had with the local blood bank to get Mom extra blood vouchers. All prayed.

From when we shared tansans and ba-on (food from home) in the Chalet, we friended for life.