Until you come back

This afternoon, I cut my thumb on one of the metal pegs that held the wooden backing of the picture frame that I was filling with a photo. I was preparing my going-away present for Joy, who is leaving Cambodia in a week for work in Mongolia. I didn’t notice the cut until I felt a slickness as I was pressing the photo into the frame. When I lifted my thumb from the photo, it was smeared with my bloody thumbprint. It wasn’t a complete print; more like a smudge actually. It glared against the whiteness of the photo paper, like a red exclamation point. I looked in front and noted that the smudge wasn’t noticeable at all. I was glad.

Lou’s sms yesterday, inviting me to the despedida party for Joy and asking me to bring something that represents how she had touched my life, sent me to a mild state of panic. I couldn’t think of anything to bring, although I’d been working on my present for more than a week already. I’ve only known her for a short time, as compared to the other people in our group.

So I thought hard and realized a few things in the process.

I met Joy because of Lou. When I came to Cambodia on April 19, 2004, Ms Ruthy, my boss who knew Lou, advised me to get in touch with her. When I called Lou, she offered to take me out to dinner. Lou and Joy picked me up from the house of my Cambodian friend, where I’d been staying. It was Friday, May 14, 2004, around 7PM. They brought me to Bamboo House, the now-closed Filipino restaurant. While having dinner, I was introduced to Jojo and Verse–who arrived shortly after our food was served. They seemed to be a happy and agreeable group.

After dinner,  they agreed to go to a hotel for some after-dinner drinks and coffee. On the way to the hotel we passed by Phsar Thmey (literally, New Market but it’s official name is Central Market), when Joy told me that the market was built on reclaimed marshland. And that each year, the building slowly sinks into the land that gets soft during the rainy season. This struck me hard and until now I don’t clearly know the reason why. Joy’s story made so much an impression to me that I wrote a poem about it months later. I dedicated this poem (called Phnom Penh is Sinking) to Lou and her. I posted this poem in my poetry blog.

At the Intercon Hotel, they pointed out to me that the hotel band was Filipino. The singer did not sing very well, and they cheerfully agreed with me when I said it. There was some happy chatting going around. They seemed genuinely interested to get to know me, and they were eager to tell me stories about their lives in Cambodia. Before they brought me back home at around half-past ten, they invited me to drop by their home, called House of Joy (or HOJ) because they had weekend lunches there, when the church choir rehearses.

I enjoyed that night immensely, because I hadn’t gone out after 8PM since arriving in Phnom Penh 4 weeks before. Their company was also enjoyable, in my opinion. But for some reason, I will never see them again after that night. I immersed myself in all things Cambodian. I met few other Filipinos aside from them and the other Filipinos I met before them. I was determined to make my life work in Cambodia and I wanted to minimize the time I spent with Filipinos. Having come from a family of overseas workers, I’ve heard enough horror stories of Filipinos doing bad things to other Filipinos: the intrigues, gossips, bad-mouthing, etc. 

Even when a group of my gay friends became regular habitues of HOJ in late 2005, I didn’t join them. In fact, I only went to HOJ in Street 310 once in 2006. I think this was before they moved to HOJ’s present location on Street 470. I began to gravitate to HOJ around late 2006, if I remember correctly. I think this was also around the time I slowly began to sporadically attend the mass on Saturday afternoons. But that time, I was more of a regular to the Saturday night dinners rather than the mass that preceded these dinners.

I was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed as if there wasn’t a 2-year gap between our first meeting and the succeeding visits. While Lou has struck me as the quiet counterpoint to Joy’s vivacity, they are equally tender and thoughtful in their own unique ways. I like the fact that Joy and I can talk about serious topics and somewhat-frivolous concerns with equal fervor and passion. We can giggle together like naughty schoolkids and yet manage to talk substance when the need to do so arises. Lou and I exchange few words but when we do, I feel warm and good afterwards. The other members of this virtual household were also impressive in their regard and respect for individuality.

And when I learned that Joy is moving to Mongolia, I felt a particularly tight catch in my throat. While not really prone to feeling regret, I nevertheless found myself wishing for more time to spend with her. The lunches and the afternoon coffees of playing hooky, the lazy weekend afternoons of seemingly endless talking, eating, and hanging around. It seems that I have talked and eaten my way through many (if not all) of the things (good and bad) I went through in the past year with her.

Knowing this, how could I bring something that would represent the way Joy has touched my life? I thought of bringing a plate or a mug to symbolize the many meals and coffees that we have shared. Or an alarm clock to symbolize the late nights we both regularly spend in front of the computer, surfing the internet, playing games or what-not. Or a canvas shopping bag to symbolize our desire to care for the environment and our predilection for making impulsive purchases.

In the end, I decided to go with my plan of giving her something that will remind her of me. Two years is a short time, but two years without her would definitely be not the same. If it’s any indication, the pain in my thumb as I am typing this post will be like my longing to see her again and spend time with her again.

A slow hum in my ear, an insistent throb in my belly, and a slight nagging in my head.