Between Then and Now

CHAPTER ONE

Bonita

T oday is the day I realize that I can be both happy and devastated at the same time. I step on the brakes as we arrive at the airport for Emily’s flight, four hours early because she’s an overly responsible person. No, wait. That’s actually a light way to put it. Emily is a Type A, Monica Geller (if she were also a freaking genius) kind of girl.

“You better call me every single day or I’m gonna forget what you look like,” I say as I help her with the last of her luggage.

“Bon, you will never forget me. Admit it.” She holds my hand with a deadpan expression. I chuckle lightly because, obviously, she’s right. I can never forget her. I talk to her more often than I talk to my parents–and I live with them–so of course I’ll never forget her.

“Em, I’m not the crying type of person but I swear to the heavens I will bawl my eyes out the minute you’re out of my sight.”

“You’ve always been the crying type of person; we both know it.” Emily rolls her eyes—an action she has mastered for always being the smartest person in the room. “But please don’t cry in front of me or I might not leave at all... Not a single tear, Bonita!” She raises her voice and points an accusing finger at me. But then she sighs and adds in a softer tone, “I will visit, I swear.”

Emily is not only overly organized; she is also very in control of her emotions. I admire her for that, among other things. I’ve always been more of the type to just… be. No logical reasoning, I will always say what I think and what I feel–and as so meone who feels a lot, you’d understand why that equates to also talking a lot.

“Okay but not only visit, you have to call regularly, text more frequently, and not leave my memes on read.” She snickers as she re-checks her boarding passes and documents for the millionth time. I grab her envelope and point it to her accusingly. “No, because you do that, Em. You seenzone us and then you pick up the conversation like nothing happened.” I give her a playful glare as she smiles with the guilt I know she’s feeling. I think. “That was fine when I could just knock on your door and talk to you, but when you’re a million miles away, you have to think of the people you’re leaving behind here,” I say.

“You are such a drama queen, Bon,” she says with another eye roll that’s really just normal for me at this point. She takes her envelope back and settles it on top of her bag.

Emily is leaving for New York, after landing the opportunity to interview for a Wall Street company. She ranked seventh in the Philippine national exams for accountants. Freaking genius, I told ya. She is also my best friend in the world since we were babies. Which is why I am severely devastated that she will officially be away from me. But I am also really, truly, happy for her success. I’ve seen her work tirelessly, sacrificing sleep and her social life to achieve her goals. She deserves every bit of this opportunity, and I know she’s going to shine in New York just as she has here.

“This is worse than a breakup, Em,” I groan, clinging to her airport cart to keep her from leaving. “I might need to go straight to the salon and get a trim to get you off my mind.”

“Again. Drama queen,” she repeats. “I seriously have to go.”

Before she attempts to move away, I hug her so tightly she squirms and curses me under her breath. “I’m gonna miss you, Em Em. I love you so, so, so, so much.” I sway as I continue hugging her. She doesn’t say much but she pats my back reassuringly.

“Yeah, all that too. Bon.” And that, folks, is Emily’s daily affection limit. I’ve always had a feeling that Em has more emotions than she shows, she just doesn’t feel like parading them on her sleeve. Must be an eldest sibling thing. They seem to have an unspoken pact with the world to carry its weight on their shoulders, feeling the need to set a golden example and be responsible. In the youngest-child club, we don’t have those pressures. We’re free to be carefree and spontaneous, often relying on our older siblings to catch us when we fall. But of course, that doesn’t mean we don’t come with our own internal struggles. We’re faced with entirely different burdens.

I give her one last hug, holding on for as long as I can before she gently pulls away. With a final squeeze of my hand, she picks up her luggage and begins walking toward the terminal. I wave frantically, my arm almost hurting from the effort, until she is officially out of my sight. As I walk back to my car, the reality of her departure starts to sink in.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I pull out my phone and open the snapshot I got of Emily’s retreating figure, then send it to our group chat with Haley and Kate. Almost instantly, my phone buzzes with a flurry of sad emojis and heartfelt well-wishes from them. Haley even shares a crying photo of herself. Now that ’s a drama queen.

This is the first time one of us is moving for good, and it’s a monumental moment for everyone. It’s the end of an era. The curtain call. The new dawn. It’s going to be a jarring adjustment for us—the four of us who grew up together in the same neighborhood, on the same streets of Magnolia Heights.

Magnolia Heights is an upscale village just outside Metro Manila, and its residents have been there for as long as I can remember. It’s a tight-knit community where everyone knows each other, and everyone is close. By close, I mean everyone is up in each other’s business whether we want it or not.

Emily is the next person to leave the village after my brother Joshua, who left seven years ago. Despite the distance, he visits yearly, and we talk regularly, so I have high hopes of maintaining my relationship with Em too. Josh is also in New York—been there since he was nineteen. I told Emily to give him a call if she needed help getting acclimated to the city, but knowing her, she probably won’t do it. Independence is her thing.

The only reason I drove her to the airport was because I begged her to let me. Rob, her boyfriend, was supposed to do it, but he had an important work thing (or so he says; I never really trust him these days), and Em was all set to get a taxi. I couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving all alone, so I insisted (See, Rob, that’s what people do when they care).

As I sit in my car, the memories of our childhood flood back. The four of us—Emily, Haley, Kate, and I—shared countless adventures, from building forts in each other's bedrooms (with Kate and Haley’s being our favorite because as sisters, their room was twice the size of ours) to sneaking out for late-night ice cream runs. We have been through thick and thin together, supporting each other through school exams, family dramas, and many, many heartbreaks.

My phone rings suddenly and when I answer, three faces are already on the screen. Speak of the devils .

“Guys, I am in line at baggage check-in,” Emily says as she scratches her forehead with an expression of someone who just wants to be left alone.

“Yeah, but you can’t just leave without saying goodbye!” Haley says, “Shoot!” she adds as she seems to spill coffee on her car seat.

“I said goodbye!” Emily exclaims a little too loudly, because her next words are in a much softer tone, “Multiple times, Hale. We even slept next to each other last night.” We all slept in her room last night, which I admit now was a bad idea because my back hurts from being curled up the entire time.

Before Haley can answer, Kate interjects. “Well, I’m gonna miss you, Em. I know, we’re too clingy for you, but we just–Hey! Peter, what do we do when someone is on time out?” She lowers her phone, and her screen shows nothing but the florals on her dress, then a kid’s face smeared with chocolate, and then she drops off the call. She’s currently in her last year of college and is training at the preschool in our village, and every day is a chaotic experience for her.

I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, Em. Go ahead and do your thing now.” Emily chuckles but drops out of the call.

“Where are you going, Bon?” Haley says, “I just finished rehearsals, wanna eat?”

“Just gonna get a trim, I’ll meet you at the Corner in an hour?” I say and she agrees.

When I arrive at the mall, I go straight to the salon. My split ends aren’t really just at the ends of my hair now. Are split middles a thing?

When I get there, I see a sign that says they are offering free haircuts for those who can donate a full length of hair. I’ve never cut my hair short before. It’s always been long and straight. A part of me is screaming to finally give in to the temptation, and the other part is begging me to preserve my beautifully damaged hair. I go in to check the requirements anyway. Inquiring won’t hurt.

One of the staff members makes their way toward me and says, “Ma’am, the length of your hair is perfect. We are currently in collaboration with the Philippine Cancer Institute and we’re donating full length wigs to patients. If we cut yours into a bob, it’s going to be the perfect donation.” He gestures to the detailed flyers and hands me one.

It contains infographics on cancer patients in the country and how having a full head of hair helps them feel less insecure about the effects of chemotherapy on their heads and bodies.

“You can think about it until tomorrow, Ma’am. The promo will end by then,” the staff adds.

I’m not gonna lie. A free haircut and a chance to do something good are really appealing to me right now. So, I say, “No, let’s do it now!”

I was never an overthinker. I’d like to think of life as something that would pass me by if I took too much time thinking about what might go wrong. I took up my college course in film production simply because I love watching movies and I have strong opinions on production quality. By strong opinions, I mean that I’m one of those cuckoo strangers on the internet that post paragraph-long discussions on Rotten Tomatoes. Because who else is going to tell Russell Crowe that his Javert is terrible? (Spoiler alert: a lot of people. Oops.) I didn’t think about where film production would take me; I just thought it would be something that I’d love to do.

This time, I'm cutting my hair short—not because I need a change or want to shed some emotional baggage, like many people do when they decide to change their hairstyle. No, I'm doing it simply because I saw a sign offering a free cut and the chance to help someone else. So, here I am, ready to lose some hair and gain some good karma.

When the stylist finishes, I look at myself in the mirror and can’t help but smile. The new bob looks fantastic, and I feel an incredible sense of lightness. I thank everyone in the salon profusely for helping me make what I now consider one of the best decisions I have made so far.

As I drive home, my new haircut blowing lightly in the wind, I feel reborn. It’s amazing what a haircut can do for a woman, especially when she hasn’t had one in years. This is probably what butterflies feel like when they wake up one day with pretty wings instead of fuzzy… skin? I don’t know.

On the way home, I park in front of the local restaurant to grab a sandwich with Haley. And as I get out of my car, I see Ryan sitting in the outdoor dining area. He’s looking at his burger like it’s a bomb he’s trying to defuse. I chuckle because a part of me, as always, just itches to disturb his concentration.