Serendipity

From the back: Isabelle, Carla and Reni on Heritage Street.

Dinner with The Three Muses. 9:50 P.M., December 27, 2005.

Every bone in my body knows I was meant to be here.

It is as though the entire universe conspired for me to have sushi with these three women in Cafe Leona tonight, when on any other occasion, if they (or I) had taken a different route and stepped out just a few minutes earlier or later than we did, we would have missed each other entirely.

I bumped into them in the town square earlier today. They were buying tinubong, a native delicacy cooked in kawayan (bamboo). I was with our kasamahan Mila, who was helping me carry my load of pasalubong - a few rattan bags, some hand-woven blankets, a carved figure of a man embracing a woman, and my rattan hat. It was bright noon, twenty minutes after 12.

Reni, a tall, imposing woman, folded me into her wide, wide arms and held me there for a good, long time. "I got your email," she said, as she released me, "I was going to text you that we were going to Vigan too." The email is the one I'd sent out to friends regarding my recent resignation, and "we" refers to her little troupe of literati friends (who are mine, as well) - Carla, foremost advocate of YA literature in the Philippines, dear mentor and former teacher, and Isabelle, HK/LA documentary film-maker. Reni, of course, owns Tahanan Publishing; she'd wanted me to be her assistant a few weeks before that Company made me (what was then) a more lucrative offer. I remember being torn, of having to decide between the two job prospects, of being afraid that I might not be able to handle the latter, while agonizing over whether the former would be enough to financially sustain me. In the end, I chose the greater challenge, and, despite how it all ended, I do not regret doing so.

Now, a young girl named Fran is manning the post that Reni had offered me. She is doing an able job, Reni says, and she is happy with her. I'd met Fran during Writer's Night a few weeks ago; she was with Luis K., and we hugged each other like we were old friends.

Tonight, with Reni and Carla and Isabelle, I feel happier than I've been in months. They talk about the incredible pastries that can only be found in Austria, and what it's like to live in Hong Kong and New York. It turns out that both Carla and Reni are direct descendants of former presidents (Carla, of President Quirino, while Reni is President Roxas' granddaughter). As we talk, the cast and crew of Panday walks by. Jericho and Heart are on a bicycle, circling the plaza - they look very much like the archetypal couple, Adam and Eve, Malakas and Maganda - everyone in Cafe Leona stops mid-meal to watch them pass. Soon after, a wedding parade commences. The bride and groom are on a be-decked karitela, and they look very happy. "Congratulations!," we clap for them; they shout their thanks, laughing with us in turn. "I wish them all the luck," says Isabelle, with a sly twinkle in her eye. "Oh, come on," Reni replies, "even after Marc (her ex-husband), I still believe in true love. There is always hope."

Though I declined to drink with them, I feel like I am basking in warm, healing sunlight. I could sit here forever, listening to these amazing women tell their stories. Then they ask me to say something - "you're unusually quiet," says Reni, "what are you thinking?"

"Well, here it is," I share, "I have enough money in the bank to do either one of two things: save it for a house for when I get married, like my mother keeps saying, or go to Europe. All of Europe."

"Europe," they agree unanimously, "go to Europe."

"You can always earn that money again," Reni affirms.

"And you'll learn more about life traveling in Europe than you would in a marriage," laughs Isabelle.

"Do it while you're still young," Carla enthuses, "you cannot buy youth, not like you can buy a house."

A few hours later, after more sushi and wine, we walk back to Syquia Mansion, where these women were staying (it is Carla's family house), back through the cobblestone streets that I have come to love.

The wind lifts up my shawl, sweeps my hair behind my ears. It feels wonderful to be so alive.