Barkada ko, Mahal ko

I wasn’t particularly close to Marlina back in college. I was a journ major, and she was in broadcomm, but we were in the same barkada.

Barkada is a Tagalog term meaning clique. More specifically, a barkada is a group of friends who hang together informally. I say “informally” (yes, with fingers of both hands gesturing quotation marks) to differentiate it from fraternities, sororities, or associations with a specific identity or stated mission. A barkada hangs together for no reason at all. Sometimes they sit around and drink a lot of beer. Most times they just sit around and chat. But more than anything, barkadas hang out just to be.

It had been 20 years since I saw Marlina. We had a reunion back in ’86 in Stockton, but even then, I don’t think we paired up to catch up. My college best friend Iza made a rare appearance and we latched on to each other to the exclusion of others.

Then, over the holidays and from out of the blue, Marlina posted a message and sent me a picture on Facebook, and we started emailing back and forth. I knew Marlina had made Minneapolis her home but, as fate would have it, she was visiting her mom and dad in New York. I told her I was going to be in New York and we decided to meet.

Marlina hadn’t changed at all. She's still as cute as ever, pretty, petite, witty, sharp and ageless. What a gift to share two days with her! As we caught up with each other’s lives, laying bare our souls, I saw her true inner strength. Out of respect for Marlina’s privacy, I will only say that her personal triumph over intense challenges has imbued her persona with palpable power.

“Cross with confidence!” Marlina prodded me and Monette, as she jaywalked across busy Lexington and 49th, oblivious of oncoming, honking New York City cabs.

Over and beyond my superficial example of her fearlessness, I found so much to admire and love about Marlina. We had a lot of catching up to do and we talked non-stop as we braved the crowds and crossed the streets of Manhattan with determined confidence.

Marlina went on to finish grad school, headed up the Asian film fest in New York, moved to Minneapolis to work at a prestigious arts center, got married, had a daughter, and survived tremendous personal crises with incredible fortitude. Marlina’s way out was through, with courage, spirituality and humor.

What a gift she is to me! I’ve been missing intelligence, imagination and inspiration in my immediate circle, and somehow we found each other again. Time hadn't ravaged our connectedness.

Marlina, I thank you for who you are. I know who you are. You are a perfect child of God. In you I see the manifestation of divine power and light. You are an example of strength and faith. You don’ta looka like-a man. You are whole, perfect and complete! Now and forever more. And so it is!

Barkada ko, mahal ko. My friend, I love you.

Juggling Juggernaut

It rained the other day and Arnold trailed mud and matted grass into the house after going out to poop. The bathroom floor is stamped with bear-like paw prints. He hangs out there. It's cool to his tummy. Arnold is a newfy, just turned four and weighs 185 lbs. His vet is livid that I've not been able to bring his weight down. I have to bungee cord the fridge whenever I leave the house. Arnold opens it and helps himself to the rotisserie chicken and apple sausages. He even closes the fridge door behind him so that I can't really tell he's raided the contents until I get to the living room and find plastic food containers strewn about. Arnold doesn't care for the sockeye salmon. He takes it out for the cats. I find little cat nibbles on the edges of the filet. Animal antics.

There's a teacup from last evening's chamomile, a mug from this morning's coffee, a teaspoon and fork, and a dinner plate unwashed in the kitchen sink.

Meanwhile, I'm blogging. The tv's on and the usual pundits are parsing the words of Romney's "I am a Mormon" speech. My gmail is open in another window and I see emails forwarding into my Outlook. My faculties are fully engaged -- I'm thinking, I'm creating, I'm writing, I'm listening, I'm arguing with the tv, shaking my fist in the air, and giving the middle-finger to Tucker Carlson. All at the same time. I'm multi-tasking!

There's a heap of laundry in the bedroom. I say to myself, "manana." It's been manana for a couple of semanas now.

By now, I've accepted quite a few LinkedIn invitations, read a bunch of messages on Facebook, joined more online causes, signed up for the 6 degrees of separation experiment, scribbled on Fun Walls, watched youtube, dragged and dropped emails into newly color-labeled folders, moderated a few posts, tried out a new widget on Grouply, and I am feeling the elation of accomplishment!

Ah, but where did the time go? It's almost dusk and yesterday's mud is now caked solid. I've run out of clean panties to wear. Arnold's devoured my protein supply. Really, all I've done today is put on lipstick and sit on my butt.

So much for the myth of superwoman.