Two, in particular, come to mind: J and F. Both are difficult, overbearing, outspoken and irreverent men. Both are stylish and outlandishly witty, with a wry sense of humor. Both have a formidable command of the written and spoken word. Both are absolutely brilliant (and I do not use this adjective lightly!) in their respective fields--and boy do they know it! And most telling of all, both can hold my attention for hours on end. These two have never met (and would most probably hate each other on sight if that day ever comes), but I have had the rare privilege of enjoying a unique friendship with each of them for a good many years.
Strangely enough, they seem to enjoy my company, too. A case of opposites attracting, I suppose. There’s no other explanation for it. I am certainly not idiosyncratic and overbearing (not in public anyway!), nor am I brilliant or even wry. My writing is adequate and competent at best. And I usually have the attention span of a flea. So whatever it was, it clicked, and here we are—still in touch somehow.
I guess the true test of friendship is how it stands against the odds. Take those two. One is constant but often strained, the other quietly fading away. And there is the small matter of me--the much younger and more impressionable party--outgrowing them both as I approach the age they were in when I first met them.
Both started out as complete enigmas to me (and thus the initial attraction), but that impression is now little more than a poignant memory. I finally saw through some of the shadows. I know how to be a friend to them now.
I do still admit, however, to a stubborn attachment to the one I haven’t seen in 14 years. J and I practically spent every day together for nearly 2 years before he left the country for good. I disagreed with half the things he said, but I was drawn to every word nonetheless. Manila had become too predictable and limited for his rich, tortured spirit, which was just aching to break free of its shackles. And so he followed his heart all the way to New York City, and has not looked back since. His leaving all those years ago affected me deeply. You could even say it broke my heart. It isn’t everyday you find a truly kindred spirit who can change your perspective of the world by just being his own, uncompromised self. Sure I was wide-eyed and naïve, and he was much too worldly and maybe even a bit too lost to have been a worthy influence. But he did allow me a tiny glimpse into his shadowed soul, and that was enough to leave a mark on me forever. Even in those uncertain years, he saw something in me that I wouldn’t see myself until much later. We wrote each other literally everyday for many years after he left. Age and distance may have now left a few cracks in my trusty ole’ rose-colored glasses, but my eyes still light up whenever the mailman comes a-knocking. In the age of email, no one else would send me letters in this personal way.
Several years later, F came into my world. Stormed would be a better word. My professional theater life had just begun, a turbulent chapter to say the least, and he was right there in the middle of it. Anchoring it, some might even say. Right or wrong, I listened to this man and began to look at things as if through Alice’s looking glass. Everything suddenly seemed upside down and inside out. It was an uncomfortable perspective, but one that taught me how to be a better theater artist and writer. I’ve disappointed myself more times than I would care to count, but F continues to believe I have something worthwhile to offer the world. Such affirmation has helped shape who I am today.
And so goes my brief reflection on a region of my life I rarely visit. It all just came to me yesterday when J emailed me this self-portrait, one of two photos he sent...
It is very him. Funny though, he used to hate to have his picture taken and avoided it like the plague. There's a new tattoo in there somewhere that he designed himself, he tells me. My friend is still revealing himself in shadows, I see. He says the photos are his flimsy and futile way of painfully getting over a shattered heart.
To me, this photo says that maybe we’re not drifting apart after all. Maybe we’re merely moving on to another plane of friendship. I'm just happy to know that inspite of the broken heart, he is out there, healthy and thriving and living life the way he could never live it here. The letters are few and far between these days, which makes them even more precious. Even so, that’s still more than a lot of friendships have.
Photo credits:
suit: Giorgio Armani
shirt: Christian Dior Homme
tie: Hermes
belt: Dolce & Gabbana
shoes: Ermenegildo Zegna Couture
dogtag: Dolce & Gabbana
jeans: Alexander McQueen
wrist cuff: DSquared
sandals: Tom Ford for Gucci
ink rendering: Byron
photography: J Moran
