A Tribute

Shortly after 8 o'clock the morning of Monday found me at a coffee shop along Katipunan Avenue with a friend. I was having a cup of coffee with a shared breakfast of french toast and omelet, and conversation on topics ranging from religion, spirituality and moral values to the more mundane. There were no right or wrong views, no judgments--- just the freedom to express each other's take on various issues, whether or not our understanding of them was completely accurate.

She's very wise, this friend; though she'll be the first to dispute this. Wisdom, I think, does not require a PhD or any other letters affixed at the end of a name. Instead, it demands an astute listening ear, a sensitive heart, an unbiased perspective, being of the general mind that mistakes are opportunities for learning but that the lessons gleaned from them should not be imposed on others, and an intrinsic desire to empathize.

All these she possesses, and she is wise beyond the bounds of her modest self-regard.

I feel fortunate to have her in my life.

She's my teacher--- a patient, nurturing soul who forgives me my humanity, and as such, committing one mistake after another, allowing me to learn invaluable life lessons at my own time. Never before I'm ready, before true understanding has come into fruition.

She's my second mother--- fussing over me, looking after me, worrying about me, caring for me, giving me space and love to grow. She will fight my battles for me should I ask, but she did not teach me to be a coward so there is no need.

She's my Good Humor peddler. She finds comedy in places I wouldn't think to look, and her joy is infectious. She thinks it's her being a half-wit that people find hilarious; I'm certain it's her innocence and self-effacing nature that is more engaging and amusing for its irony. Objectifying herself as an imbecile when it couldn't be farther from the truth, now THAT is funny.

She's my confidante--- my secret-keeper, my fortress defender, my skeleton-preserver. There is no private thought that I will have to think twice before telling her; no idiotic musings that I will feel apprehensive about sharing with her. She can read my mind and know what I'm feeling before I even breathe a word--- even those she will keep to herself. So absolute is my faith in her, of her respect for my dignity.

She's my one-woman cheering squad--- who applauds all my accomplishments, roots for my endeavors which she divines will turn out to be huge successes, and is quick to turn the other cheek when they don't, to spare me from humiliation. She has volumes of interesting stories to write, masterpieces to commit to paper, but because I've taken up the challenge of writing, she sits back to let me shine, content to bask in the subtle glow.

She has been my life's constant. She has held my hand during my moments of inconsolable grief, suffered my outbursts of temperament with patience and understanding, listened to my petty ramblings, laughed at my pathetic attempts at humor, cradled me in her arms when I had all but given up, and walked with me when I found the courage and strength again, in my shadow, every painful step of the way.

This is my tribute to her: there is no honor greater than being able to call her my sister.

(For Talma)