Rakesh, who is three and a half as of this writing, likes a particular grown-up song these days, one song that he sings with such delightful emotion and expression. The song is Farewell by Raymond Lauchengco. Play the Farewell song again, daddy, or sing the Farewell song, mommy, are his repeated requests. He sings the chorus lines completely and with vibe. He even knows that the last refrain changes from miles away to oceans away.
Later on in life he’ll know that the song has an amazing recall and that it panders well during that vulnerable moment prior to separation. Later on in life he’ll realize that at the same rate the promise of the song is fulfilled, it is also not kept. Falling-out, drifting away, losing touch – I do not know what the real reasons are behind them but I do know that we see them all over, we see them too often. Maybe, there’s really no compelling reason to justify them. Maybe that’s why we shrug, telling ourselves that’s just the way of the world.
Friends and family separate and never look back. They simply fade away until the memory, the relationship, the bond dissipates, then obscures and then forever remains unremembered. Family members who have been together for months and years, who were once tight and inseparable have gone opposite directions. Classmates who have shared semesters, laboured together for years of school work, exams, papers, projects and pointless discussions; classmates you have partied together, got paddled together, practiced misdemeanors together now barely know each other. Officemates who went to lunch, coffee breaks, dinners, movies and concerts together now occupy cubicles in seemingly different worlds.
The sad part it seems to me is that more than distance, more than new families, new friends, new schools and new careers, we have simply lost the energy to keep and stay in touch. As hard as it is to maintain your own life, your new family, your new friends, your new schools and new careers, you have to have resolve to keep up with a myriad of lives – your family, your old friends, your old classmates and your old officemates. Interestingly enough, a complete severance involves both parties. You have lost interest in them as they have in you. You have kept them in a photo box as they have kept you in theirs. The plane you are living in right now is simply not connected to theirs anymore. You have tucked them in a rarely accessed region of your brain and they have put you in the same place.
Sometimes when the moon and the weather are just right, the sentiments get to you. Sometimes news just comes your way. Recently, I learned that a childhood friend died. As if on cue, the rarely accessed region of the brain is tapped. As a result, a dazzling array of childhood Sampaloc memories came flooding through. Those were precious days, me and my Miguelin friends shared. Too bad, we have drifted so far apart. After indulging in them some more, I quickly gather the memories and quietly tuck them away again in that rarely accessed region of the brain, promising to revisit them every now and then.
Alas, farewells are inevitable at the various crossroads of our lives. They are supposed to enrich the human experience. They tend to make us value the past as well as the future. When Rakesh grows up, I will try to teach him to add substance to farewells. I will ask him to leave something of himself behind and to bring something with him as he finds himself at a crossroad. I will ask him to continue weaving the thread and to look back often to make sure that they are still tightly strung, to minimize falling-out, drifting away and losing touch.
I will also share with him something I heard when I was young. I heard this from a radio host who always ended his show with this piece. Nothing else of what he said mattered to me then or now but these four lines are simply magical:
To all my friends, I smile and say goodbye;
To all those who are not my friends, I also smile and say goodbye;
For if tomorrow we should meet and not smile
Then today’s parting was indeed well made.
