I remember when I was a kid, I was in NY with my family and I remember that I had bought this coloring book of the Berenstain Bears. I remember buying it in Barnes and Noble and then going to FAO Schwartz, a famous toy store on Fifth Avenue, and buying a doll of the Sister Bear character. As a kid, I loved to read the Berenstain bears books because it spoke of family and friendship, of trials and errors, all coupled with some life lessons that seemed so big back when I a kid. The library at my school was filled with volumes and volumes of these books along with the popular Amelia Bedelia, Adventures of Tintin, Babar, and also the Arthur books. I would go to the library everyday with my friends to read the books and find myself immersed in these less-than-ordinary worlds. What fascinated me the most was that there was always something my friends and I could relate to at that day and age…. Something that would make us say to each other, “Hey, look! This is like that time when we went to the park as well!” or “Remember the time when…?”

Anyway, back to the coloring book. I remember this so much because that summer in NY, we also went on a typical day trip to Ellis Island. It was a good time then.. I remember taking the ferry and eating some Sabrett hotdogs and a huge tumbler of lemonade. This was my world back then. The simple pleasures of a day out. But that day was even more memorable because it was the first time I ever grasped the concept of losing something valuable to me. While on the ferry, I remember sitting down on my bench and holding my stuffed bear, excited to go through my book.. the one I got in Barnes and Noble. It was not like your ordinary coloring book because it was one of those books which had some scented pages and was also an interactive story book. I asked my mom where my book was because I remembered placing it under the stroller that she was pushing. I felt a little panic that was making my heart beat faster. My heart sank as I struggled to find my book and could feel myself tearing up a bit. It dawned on me... I lost my book. I started to cry and I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself because it was a new and exciting thing that I treasured. Something that I thought I would be able to enjoy and add to my collection of books. All day long, I was excited to learn from it and cherish it but I was patient because I wanted to open it when we got to Ellis Island.. But I lost it. Nothing could ever bring it back. My mom told me not to cry because we could go buy another one. But I remember feeling that I didn’t want another one. Because it wasn’t the same anymore—the thrill of going through thousands of books and finally finding the ONE that spoke to me, the ONE I wanted to cherish, was gone... This, as far as I can remember is my first memorable experience of losing something that is of value to me. I know it seems pretty shallow, but this memory has stuck to me... and it made me realize something that no book could ever teach me—how its like to feel what losing something is.

My best friend back then from primary school was a Scottish girl from my class named Victoria Charles. We called her Vicky. Vicky’s mum was a Filipino-Brit and she had just separated from Vicky’s dad. So, her mum decided to move to the Philippines to apparently find some sort of clarity...or whatever it is that adults try to sort out when they go through a crisis. I met Vicky at school when my teacher introduced her to us. We clicked immediately talking about all sorts of things and Vicky also loved the Berenstain Bears. We’d take turns reading books and talk about it with our other friends. So, when I came back to the Philippines and saw Vicky again, one could only imagine what her reaction was like when I told her about losing the book. She was actually just as devastated as I was because it sounded like a great find... But I remember her telling me, “Its okay… I lost one of my favorite Barbies too when I was on the plane.” Like little drama queens we sulked about losing something we valued and then moved on to play with Poly Pockets… It was at the end of that summer that Vicky’s mum told her that they were moving again… but this time it was back to Scotland. Apparently, Vicky’s dad had repented and wanted a fresh start for their family. I was happy for her yet I knew I was going to lose something valuable to me, yet this time, it was a person---my best friend back then. I was so sad. I never had a friend move away… We promised to keep in touch and be friends forever but we were kids and we didn’t know how big the world was and how on earth we could have kept in touch. She promised to come back to visit but because of some circumstances, she never got to and just like that, she was gone. This was the first time I ever lost a friend. I never really knew it would be such a feeling to get used to because now that I look back, there were a bunch of people who reminded me of the feeling of losing something valuable.

Growing up for me was like a rollercoaster. Sure, I never really had to want for anything, I got to travel, I got to do all sorts of things and join all sorts of extra-curricular clubs—but there was always some sort of loss. I lost my father at a very young age. That same year, my aunt died suddenly, and the next was my grandmother and then my mum’s best friend who was like a mum to me. And during that time, it was so incomprehensible to grasp the concept of death. It wasn’t like what it was in the movies. It was hell on earth. The feelings, the confusion, and all the emotions I would possibly comprehend came out. I couldn’t fathom so many emotions and I was basically just devastated. But in the midst of the loss and with my family by my side, I recall hands that held on to me tight and the hands that wiped away my tears as they cried with me. They were my friends.

My dad told me before that you’re a lucky person if you can count with even one hand the number of the REAL GENUINE friends that you have in your life. Those are the people that you can trust with your life. He said that you had to chose these people carefully and discern their full intentions. I remember this and up until now I still think about it especially when I meet new people who seem to be potential friends. I remember coming to Switzerland anticipating the kind of people I would meet and the politics of friendship that would later face me. I was lucky enough to be able to sort out a solid group of people who I hung out with. From my very first year in Switzerland, I’ve experienced all sorts of drama and absolute ecstasy with all the people I’ve met. There was a point as well when it became difficult for me to discern the real motives of some people. My best friends would tell me to be careful when there were some dubious characters that would linger on with our group. Honestly, back then, I didn’t mind having new and different people hang out with me. I guess I was sort of that kind of person. I wanted to make people feel welcomed. But there was that breaking point where I realized that people were too pretentious and it wasn’t funny anymore. It’s hard to trust people. Especially from what I’ve seen and all the sorts of things I’ve gone through. I thought things would get out of hand that I just wanted to shout at people and tell them off for being stupid enough to take me for granted…to mistreat my genuine kindness and for hurting me. But looking back, I think I’m partly to blame for being too nice to people. You see, I’m the kind of person who has a beautiful image of a person I get along with. But whenever something I dislike happens, a piece of that beauty fades away and a part of me decides to not care. It still happens until now, but actually with the people I truly care about, I make an effort to rebuild this beauty and sort things out. Besides, what have I got to lose if its someone worth it? Maybe it is impossible, as a matter of fact. But perhaps what is impossible is the only possible chance of something new. Maybe... and perhaps, in truth, the uncertainty still has the slightest possibility of this chance... Maybe friendship, if there still is such a noble thing that exists, would possibly come through and honor what appears impossible.

Tomorrow it’s Thanksgiving. I know it’s an All-American tradition, but I think it’s great to have a special day to be thankful for something or someone. Life lessons prove to be the greatest character builder. People we meet, circumstances we face, and the choices we make all make us who we are. This Thanksgiving, I’d want to give thanks. To the people (aside from my family) who’ve helped me, formed me, and made me realize who I am, what my potentials are, what my faults and weaknesses are, and most especially, what I’m worth. I’m lucky enough to say I have the friends I can count on. These are the people who’ve stood by me in times of trials, the people who held my hand and told me things would be ok, the people who would hug me and tell me that “Life is Good” whenever they see me down or upset about something, those people who know exactly what’s in my head when I’m quiet or if my infamous eyebrow is raised out of frustration or stress, the people who know what buttons to push, the people who help me without me having to ask, the friends I have the most amazing memories of, the people who know me inside out and accept me no matter what they know about me…. These are the people I can truly say are worth it and are the most beautiful people to me.

*No Stress. Life is Good.*