I met him when I was just 13.  I think what struck me was his smile: pilyong-pilyo. He was different from most people who came to my father’s law office.  He was with his whole family and they  were jovial, conversing softly but sharing humor.  Looking at them as I was that afternoon, I would never have known that they were waiting to see my Dad because they were undergoing a family crisis.

A man had repeatedly trespassed on their property.  He had been warned that if he ever came into their property again, there would be dire consequences.  That last time that the man came onto their property, his Dad took his rifle and fired a warning shot.  Unfortunately for his Dad, the bullet he fired ricocheted on the concrete pavement; entered the intruder’s right buttock; exited out his nape; the bullet severed an artery which caused him to bleed to death.  His Dad was charged with murder.  He was charged as co-conspirator.

The intruder’s family included him in the complaint even if he was at the Ipil Residence Hall in UP Diliman.  He was reviewing for the 1980 Bar Exams.  They claimed that he was home and that his Dad asked him to bring down his rifle from their bedroom on the second floor.  They contended that he was the one who handed the rifle to his Dad.

Maybe that was why they were laughing that afternoon when I first saw them.  Unlike most people who came to see my Dad who were teary, tense and agitated, they were bantering.  The charge was ridiculous, of course. He would not have been able to bring down his Dad’s rifle from the second floor bedroom because he can barely walk, let alone go down the stairs carrying a rifle.  He has polio and he walks with pronounced difficulty.  But as they sat in my Dad’s office, I didn’t know any of that.  I just saw a beaming smile.

I left them there, and I went up to my room to do my homework and watch TV. The telephone rang a few times and I ran down the stairs to answer it.  That was my job when the secretary had left for the day.  I was supposed to take down messages for my Dad.

When my Dad came, all of us children trooped to the front door.  We were his homecoming committee.  We were to give him his slippers, give him water or coffee.  I was supposed to give him his messages.  Having done all that, I left to go back to my room.  About an hour later, my Dad called me.

When I came down, he introduced us.  We shook hands.  I remember exactly what my Dad said: “Bimbi, this is Lanly.  He is reviewing for the Bar.  He is from the UP College of Law.”  I remember noting my Dad’s rapture, as though he was showing me a rare specie he had discovered. “How do you do?” These were the first four words we ever exchanged.

The ridiculous charges against him were dropped. he took the Bar and passed it.  I did not see him until a year after that.  He worked with my Dad at his office.  It was summer vacation and I was home every morning.  I saw him come in to the office.  I saw him read entire folders before leaving for his hearing and then coming back later after his hearing was over.

He was  reserved.  He only spoke when spoken to.  I always eavesdropped on his conversations, especially with my Dad’s secretaries.  I learned he was from Marilao, Bulacan.  I learned that he played the guitar.  I learned that he played the organ. I also learned that he didn’t like coffee all that much.  We didn’t really speak to each other: after all, what could a 13 year old second year high school student have to say to a 27 year old new lawyer?  Nothing.

My Dad invited him to attend services at our church in Las Pinas.  My Dad gave me the job of being his tour guide.  He picked me up in his brother’s car.  He sat up front with the driver and I sat in the back.  The only thing I ever managed to say were the directions to get to Las Pinas. We did not speak to each other.

Soon, he got a job at a bank.  I never saw him again except once when his brother’s car overheated near our house.  He and his brother were on their way to Makati from their house in San Juan.  They left their car at our garage and took a cab to Makati.  I was with my Dad when they arrived. He and my Dad spoke. I observed him but what could I possibly say to him?

That Christmas, he sent us a calendar from the LandBank with his name on it.  There it was on our dining room wall.  From my place at the dining table, I saw his name at every meal. I always wondered about him; how he was doing; what he was doing; if he was thinking of me the way I was thinking of him at that moment.

I left for the United States as an exchange student and I often thought of him. But the acquaintance had been dropped.  There was no way by which I could talk to him and if we had spoken, there was certainly nothing to say.

When I came home from the States, my Dad took us to Mindanao where he ran as Assemblyman for Agusan del Sur.  I tried to go back to the US but I was unsuccessful.  I went back to UP after a leave of absence.  My mother began her real estate career and she asked me to attend a seminar.  She made me her  sales assistant.

The real estate trainer told us to find contacts.  When I got home, I took my Dad’s rolodex and I started dialing numbers and asking for people and informing them that I was a sales assistant for a real estate firm, etc. etc.

I was so excited when I got to his name.  I mentally prepared my spiel, made sure that I would be professional and I tried hard not to be giggly. When the phone rang, it was his aunt who answered the phone.  He had left for the day.  But she gave me his home phone number in San Juan.

When I called him there, I waited on the line for so long, I was afraid that the child who answered the phone (I think her name was Malou) totally forgot all about me.  I felt a fool, waiting on the line.  I was thinking of putting the phone down when he answered.

I must have sounded like a call center agent with a sales pitch.  He was very patient.  He listened.  He had a few questions.  He said he had a friend from the office who might be interested in purchasing a house.  So he gave me her name and her number.  (The lady bought a house which was my mother’s first ever sale.)

After that, he asked me “How are you?” I was taken aback.  I had not prepared for that question.  I must have stammered.  Then he said “Your Dad said you went to the States as an exchange student.” (Hah!  My Dad was such a blabbermouth!) “Did you enjoy your stay in the States?” (Oh my, was he really interested or was he just politely doing small talk?)

For the life of me, he asked me question after question and I must have seemed wooden.  I don’t remember anything I said.  I don’t remember any of my answers, although I remembered every single one of his questions. I was surprised that he was talking to me as a person and then I remembered.  I was 17 now, not 13 anymore.  I was a person, almost legal age. So I told myself to relax because he was just being polite. It turned out that he had also qualified as an exchange student under the AFS when he was in high school but he didn’t want to leave school because he was about to graduate. (Ah, it was just small talk.)

But then he gave me his phone number.  He told me to call him if I was ever going to the Land Bank to meet his friend.  He said we should meet up and maybe have a snack. What a nice guy, I thought.  He was not only polite, he was personable.  I was so sorry that when I did go to the Land Bank, he was out of the office.  We did talk on the phone a lot, even after his friend had already fully paid the downpayment on the lot she bought.  We just kept in touch.  WE talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and talked.  We talked.

The day I turned 18, I was surprised to find a whole bouquet of American roses waiting for me.  The roses didn’t seem real: they were so big and the petals so thick  just like velvet.  I called him and thanked him.  I didn’t see him until a few months later.  That was our first date.

He was not my only date at that time.  I had a lot of first dates.  But he was the only one I went out with the second and third and fourth time until the dates became a more or less regular thing.  By that time, I was not interested in anyone else. We formalized the relationship after I graduated in 1988.  We were engaged in 1992 and we got married in 1994.

I am still married to him.  We still talk and talk and talk and talk and talk.  We still date: at least once every week.  He calls me when I am out of the house.  I call him when he’s out of the house.  We have been married for 17 years.  We have two teen-aged children.  But I feel the same way about him today the way I felt about him when I was 13.  I am 44 now. I have known him for 31 years.  He still makes my day and he still makes me blush. I get giggly and I very often feel my heart palpitating when I see him. His is my most enduring friendship.

He turns 59 today.   What can I say except thank you?  Thank you for the best years of my life.  Happy birthday, Lanly. Thank you. I cannot think of anyone else to share my life with.  Thank you for sharing your life with me. Thank you.