Sayang!

By Emmanuelle

Truly, in this case, there is more substance to our native tongue than to our adopted one. Sometimes, that which is squeezed from the self is better by far.

How to translate, transpose, and transmit the exact meaning of the word sayang? All through the night, and dawn, and early morn, this writer tossed and turned, upped and paced, called and texted, knotted brows and scratched head and pulled hair, and finally, knocked skull on wall, brought wall down on skull. There were anay behind that wall pala.

The words wasted, misused, thrown away touched the tip, but then, failed to fall right smack down to it. Like a golf ball whooshing through air, swishing through weeds, then petering out, stopping to a standstill just at the rim of the hole. Tottering, almost tipping over but not. Not into there or anywhere for that matter.

Sayang calls to mind, and heart, two instances in one’s life:

When you almost had something at the tip of your fingers, when you almost had it cupped in your palm, when you can almost touch it, smell it, savor its sweetness. And you close your eyes in anticipation. Alas! You open your eyes, nada! You cannot quite grasp the how and the why, but somehow, you lost it, you have it not, you cup it not. All you have left is the memory of almost touching it, its smell of savory sweetness coy inside your nose. Like a job, like a promotion, like a love. A dream not coming true. At least, not in this moment in time. Sayang!

The other instance? When you offered and gave and even sacrificed all that you are and all that you have. And your offerings and gifts and sacrifices were accepted, and you believed, reciprocated with as equal intensity. And later on you find out, your offerings and gifts and sacrifices were not as treasured, not as cherished and not as valued. You watch the goodness and the golden moments drip and drop like so much excess baggage, like so many chips shrugged off one’s shoulder. And you are left empty and numb because you had given all that you are and all that is yours, and there is none more left to begin with again except your hollowed self and your drained soul. Sayang!

And this story is one of those sayang ones.

Nene is the youngest sister of Cita, a former high school classmate from way before. Since the batch started bitching together twice a year, or even more, in the guise of reunions, Nene had been a regular and welcome addition. Saling-pusa, ika nga. We cooked a lot and ate the lot. But most of the time, we bitched a lot. About the past, about the present turn in our lives, about our partners or the lack, about all sorts of infidelities, about the town and its politics, about the country and its politics, about the world and its politics, Sometimes about SARS, Meningococcemia and the latest strain of Flu. In short, everything that is deep and truly not shallow.

And Nene floats around and amongst us, seemingly a swallow graceful and lost in a dreamy world of her own. She is slight, and pretty, and smile nicely though absently. And like a swallow, she zeroes in to a bowl of peanuts that is peanutless, a serving plate of lechon or a glass of beer that is half-full or half-empty. She fills and refills. She even answers the phone and opens the door to late arrivals and gate-crashers.

And she is not only a great alalay to Cita and to the shameless rest of us. During non-reunion days, she is accountant in a bank. A big bank.

She also had loved. And lost. And loved. And been loved. And lost. And in all these, to one unworthy cause. And she is near dying. And no one can do anything about it.

And this writer is not helping her any by breaking all the rules here on the use of And.

(To be continued next week.)

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