Highway to Happy

I play basketball. I love sweating like a pig. I make high scores in Time Zone. And I don’t know how to use make-up. Definitely one of the boys, right?

But in spite all of the obvious reasons why people dub me as “One of the Boys”, this is the prima facie evidence that I definitely am:

I have been friends since forever with these people. AR, Rain, Neil, Pau and I go a long, long way back (i.e. Pre-school). The group definitely grew in number throughout the years. Despite that, no other girl ever really got to be a part of this barkada. We talked about it over the recent dinner sesh. We looked back at classmates, common friends, ex-girl friends, thinking about who could have had the biggest chance of fitting in. Conclusion? Not one girl. Or, according to Pau, unless magladlad si AR! Haha! I don’t think any girl would freely subject herself to hours of green jokes, double meaning statements and, well, can’t really mention it here. So, yes, I would have to agree with Pau. Unless magladlad si AR, we are the only two girls who can tolerate these boys being, err, boys!


Admittedly, I have a lot to make up to these guys. I’ve been too distant and almost always absent throughout College. Tight schedule, midterm exams, thesis, name it, I had all the reasons. But I don’t think there could be a single valid reason not to make time for friends. Despite all of it, the past year, we reunited as if High School happened yesterday. We laughed until we couldn’t breathe anymore, we delivered inside jokes impeccably and we spill everything with full disclosure. We still have tampuhans, though. Like, I had to constantly bug AR, even to the point of hugging him, and order and pay for Lechon Kawali just for him to talk to me again after being absent in the last get- together! We’ll never outgrow our child-like ways, I suppose. And that’s a good thing.

Like I said, we had more or less friends at one point or another. Some stay for good, some moved on and never looked back. But these people, these are my surefire support system through whatever. This is our version of a non-judging breakfast club. One spills his darkest secret and nobody laughs at him. Instead, we laugh WITH him. Besides, I’m talking about a bunch of young adults who happened to be mostly guys. We skip the “pity party”. We don’t cry and wipe each other’s messed up mascara. We get- together. We talk over pizza, beer, iced tea and chips. We talk about everything. Only, no crying. We’re boys, you see. And tough boys don’t cry. (CHAR!)