I hate drugs. Because it has robbed me of my loved-ones: friends, boyfriend, relatives and family. Here’s the email I sent my good friend and novena buddy Ana right after an unforgettable incident. I was deeply frustrated back then, and I hope this will not be the case when we meet again this weekend for a reunion after five years.
It was a usual Tuesday night. I’m in the bus in Lawton, on my way to Baclaran for novena, when I received a text message from my best friend. “Oy, punta ka dito sa malate house. Alis na si *** tomorrow for Dubai”. Without second thoughts, I went out of the bus and hailed an fx to malate.
I quickly replied. “Ok. Sunduin nyo ako sa kanto.” It has been a long time since I last saw my friends from the college org. So this seems like a perfect opportunity for us to meet again, a reunion.
I waited for a few minutes in the well-lit store where I asked my friends to meet me up. But I got impatient and took all the courage to walk through the dark street to the San Pascual house. Along the way, I kept recalling the parties and rehearsals we had in that house. It’s like a dream barkada house that you see in the movies. I even considered transferring there because of it’s accessibility to my office (only an fx or/and an mrt ride away), to the schools (in case I’d decide to pursue my MA/MS Advertising degree), to my sidelines and raket, and of course, to my life (night life, theater, love life, etc.). I can probably say that I’d have everything within my reach.
I finally reached the house. I was so excited I didn’t even knock, I just entered. “Look who’s here!” I can tell that they were so excited to see me. It was almost midnight, so I wondered why they were so few in the house. “Andun sila”, said my friend Tanya as she pointed the innermost recess of the house. What would they be doing in that room--it’s the stockroom! Without hesitation, I went in as instructed.
Argh! Smoke filled the room. Everyone’s laughing like crazy. When I went in, they stopped for a while to acknowledge my presence. They offered me the usual yosi students puffed in school, and I refused. I noticed that there is something in that room. There’s a peculiar smell, and it’s not just cigarette smoke.
Being so polite, I stayed in that room for almost an hour. Then someone handed me something to puff by mistake.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke”, I said.
“Hindi yosi yan. Try mo, masarap ang amats nyan.”
“Naku, pasensha na. I really don’t, e.”
“Dapat i-try mo at least once in your life.”
When my best friend realized that I was almost coerced to try something I’m not really into, he interrupted and led me outside.
Still in shock, I was silent the whole night. They kept asking me how I’m feeling. Of course I wasn’t ok, but I pretended to be fine. I decided not to ask, it would make them think I’m so naïve.
A few minutes after we left, the rest of my friends went out of the room as well. Still giggling over jokes I never understood, they went straight to the kitchen to look for something to eat. I guess that’s the effect of it, food trip or FT, as they call it. From sauteed eggplants to spicy peanuts to milk chocolates and even overriped tomatoes, almost any food within their reach seemed appetizing for them.
Later on, when the effect seemed to have subsided, someone yelled “Classmates, tapos na ang recess”, signaling the resume of the session. They invited me over, but I declined. My other super friend was gracious enough to keep me company outside the room.
That session was followed by another one. I wanted to stop them, but I was outnumbered. Instead, I decided to tell them I have work early in the morning that I have to go home.
On my way home, I was almost in tears thinking how could the people I trusted most in college turned into such addicts. From the way their sessions went, they seemed to have done it so frequent, and they really are hooked. I don’t know where to seek help for them, and who to turn to. I even felt that I have not been at least a friend to them, to have tolerated such acts in front of me.
The next day, I wasn’t able to go to work. I was still in shock because my experience. I’m still in denial because those people are the same people I looked up to in college. From most of them I shaped my dreams and turned to for support.
Oh well, people change. I just hope the way I esteem them wouldn’t. But after what I’ve witnessed, I can’t promise myself.
It was a usual Tuesday night. I’m in the bus in Lawton, on my way to Baclaran for novena, when I received a text message from my best friend. “Oy, punta ka dito sa malate house. Alis na si *** tomorrow for Dubai”. Without second thoughts, I went out of the bus and hailed an fx to malate.
I quickly replied. “Ok. Sunduin nyo ako sa kanto.” It has been a long time since I last saw my friends from the college org. So this seems like a perfect opportunity for us to meet again, a reunion.
I waited for a few minutes in the well-lit store where I asked my friends to meet me up. But I got impatient and took all the courage to walk through the dark street to the San Pascual house. Along the way, I kept recalling the parties and rehearsals we had in that house. It’s like a dream barkada house that you see in the movies. I even considered transferring there because of it’s accessibility to my office (only an fx or/and an mrt ride away), to the schools (in case I’d decide to pursue my MA/MS Advertising degree), to my sidelines and raket, and of course, to my life (night life, theater, love life, etc.). I can probably say that I’d have everything within my reach.
I finally reached the house. I was so excited I didn’t even knock, I just entered. “Look who’s here!” I can tell that they were so excited to see me. It was almost midnight, so I wondered why they were so few in the house. “Andun sila”, said my friend Tanya as she pointed the innermost recess of the house. What would they be doing in that room--it’s the stockroom! Without hesitation, I went in as instructed.
Argh! Smoke filled the room. Everyone’s laughing like crazy. When I went in, they stopped for a while to acknowledge my presence. They offered me the usual yosi students puffed in school, and I refused. I noticed that there is something in that room. There’s a peculiar smell, and it’s not just cigarette smoke.
Being so polite, I stayed in that room for almost an hour. Then someone handed me something to puff by mistake.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke”, I said.
“Hindi yosi yan. Try mo, masarap ang amats nyan.”
“Naku, pasensha na. I really don’t, e.”
“Dapat i-try mo at least once in your life.”
When my best friend realized that I was almost coerced to try something I’m not really into, he interrupted and led me outside.
Still in shock, I was silent the whole night. They kept asking me how I’m feeling. Of course I wasn’t ok, but I pretended to be fine. I decided not to ask, it would make them think I’m so naïve.
A few minutes after we left, the rest of my friends went out of the room as well. Still giggling over jokes I never understood, they went straight to the kitchen to look for something to eat. I guess that’s the effect of it, food trip or FT, as they call it. From sauteed eggplants to spicy peanuts to milk chocolates and even overriped tomatoes, almost any food within their reach seemed appetizing for them.
Later on, when the effect seemed to have subsided, someone yelled “Classmates, tapos na ang recess”, signaling the resume of the session. They invited me over, but I declined. My other super friend was gracious enough to keep me company outside the room.
That session was followed by another one. I wanted to stop them, but I was outnumbered. Instead, I decided to tell them I have work early in the morning that I have to go home.
On my way home, I was almost in tears thinking how could the people I trusted most in college turned into such addicts. From the way their sessions went, they seemed to have done it so frequent, and they really are hooked. I don’t know where to seek help for them, and who to turn to. I even felt that I have not been at least a friend to them, to have tolerated such acts in front of me.
The next day, I wasn’t able to go to work. I was still in shock because my experience. I’m still in denial because those people are the same people I looked up to in college. From most of them I shaped my dreams and turned to for support.
Oh well, people change. I just hope the way I esteem them wouldn’t. But after what I’ve witnessed, I can’t promise myself.
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