As I stare at my whopping GCash balance of PHP 00.00, I wonder if I can still afford to be a good friend.
I’m tired of writing essays that are littered with “before COVID-19,” but it’s difficult to not cling to who I was before all this. Before the quarantine came around and took away the parts of me I never thought I would miss.
While I’m sure there have been times where I’ve doubted my goodness, none of them come close to the crushing insecurity of maintaining relationships while in a global pandemic.
I used to thrive on begged and borrowed moments. After a particularly long school day, I could rely on one or two dormmates to accompany me to UP Town Center. As I walked from one class to another, I found comfort in acquaintances who would fill me in on the latest chika. Even the in-betweens were spent wisely; from studying next to each other in silence, to deciding that you’d all much rather be drowning a line of lemon drop shots at Lan Kwai.
My personal love language — aside from quality time, as you might have guessed — is actually giving gifts. For as long as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed making custom presents for loved ones; being able to add personal touches translated my care for them into something tangible, something they could use.
In my freshman year, I made everyone in my barkada “finals week” kits of their favorite candies and handwritten letters of encouragement. In my sophomore year, I tried to get my ex-boyfriend 20 commissioned art pieces for his 20th birthday after he once offhandedly joked that his dream was to one day be famous enough that the likes of Amorsolo might make art of him.
And even way before that. Open When letters, explosion boxes, a 50-page thesis about why I would be the ideal girlfriend. I pour my heart out into the gifts I give, and in a selfish way, it’s because I want to prove something. Look. I’m listening, it seems to say. I remembered your favorite cake. I kept a list of all the things you said that started with “I want…”
Look. I’m a good friend.
Nothing used to make my heart soar more than the response I would get from them. I admit that it can be self-centered, but their small affirmations would ease my worries over being a bad friend.
It’s been a little over a year since I last made a care package. None of my friends have received any of my signature handwritten letters in a while. For every birthday and every Christmas spent in quarantine, I begrudgingly settle for Instagram shop bento cakes or Shopee “Gift Bundles for all occasions.”
And each time, I worry — I know — that it’s still not enough.
One friend had to weather the hardest semester of their academic life within the four corners of their room. Another went on to feel a grief that could not be spoken; a sadness that might have been alleviated had there been someone’s hand to hold.
Another cried to me over Discord call, equally frustrated at the unfairness of it all. I would measure each response before clicking ALT on my keyboard because I was on Push to Talk. It felt so inorganic of me, even though my friend assured me they were simply grateful for the company.
I’m sure the reverse has happened, too. At my lowest, I struggle to reach out to friends. I’ve reduced the most painful points of the pandemic to a story on my finsta; a tweet on my private account, compressed within 280 characters. There have been times, even, when I’ve deleted my own expressions of emotion out of shame; thinking I’m performative and egotistical to cry for help. Because I fumble with expressing myself, my friends, in turn, do not what to give me.
It feels impossible, most days, to reach the spaces that were once so easy for us to fill.
If you’ve read this far hoping for a resolution, I’m sorry to disappoint. I know just about as much as you do. I still spend much of my days agonizing over how I can do better, be better.
Here are the not-so-small things I am learning:
In the absence of physical intimacy, video calls until 3 AM are the next best thing. When you send someone a meme to wake up to, it still translates to I was thinking of you when I saw this, just as much as a handmade present might say. I don’t have to keep going broke to tell the people I care for that I care for them. There are loves that are priceless; that do not cost a single peso.
We‘ve gotten creative with our Instagram stories and Spotify playlists. We’ve gotten by with our game nights and e-numans.
We are all trying. And just as much as we all sometimes fail, there are nights when I go to bed with the lingering taste of soju and the buzz of conversation, and I cannot help but think, I saw.
You made Groovy bot play all the songs I like. When someone talked over me because of lag, you went out of your way to ask me to finish what I was going to say. And when I fell asleep for a bit because I’m always sleepy when I get drunk, I’m grateful that you stuck around until I woke up so I wouldn’t be alone.
I saw.
You are a good friend, you know?
And if I can think that of others — perhaps I can learn to give myself some credit, too.
