BITS OF JOYCE

A Eulogy for the Friendship I Lost

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They say the loss of a friendship can hurt more than the end of a romantic relationship. Perhaps it’s true! There’s something uniquely painful about watching a friendship unravel, especially when you once believed it would last a lifetime.

To be completely honest, I’m still hurt. I’m still bitter about what happened to me and my high school best friends. Maybe that’s the hardest part to admit: despite everything, I still miss them.

Ours was never a simple friendship. It was a whirlwind (away-bati) kind of relationship, the kind that could fall apart and somehow find its way back together.

It started to unravel when they betrayed me over Ali and my elopement. It took me two whole years before I found my way back to them, and somehow, when I did, it felt like we had grown even closer. We made up for lost time. We met up constantly, went on nights out, had staycations and road trips. There were so many ordinary, beautiful moments that made me believe we had finally made it through the worst of it.

Then came 2022, and suddenly, we found ourselves on opposite sides of a political divide. I was the only one among us who held a different belief, I was a kakampink, and I still stand by what I believed then. I believed I was supporting the people I thought were right for the country, and I don’t regret standing up for what I believed was right. As Mother Taylor once said, “I want to be on the right side of history.”

I know I wasn’t always the calmest version of myself during that time. I was passionate, emotional, and perhaps more vocal than I should have been. I let the frustration get the better of me at times. I can acknowledge that. I can take responsibility for the way I expressed myself. But I refuse to take responsibility for the friendship falling apart simply because I dared to believe differently.

They could have disagreed with me and sat me down to talk without making me feel like I was alone. I felt like they ganged up on me because I held a different belief, and in doing so, they reopened a wound I had never really gotten over. The betrayal surrounding my elopement came rushing back. Once again, I found myself feeling abandoned by the people I loved most. And so I did what I do best: I closed the door and walked away.

I wish they had sat down with me. I wish they had spoken to me. I wish they had given me the chance to explain myself, just as I would have wanted to understand them. Just like the open-forum we always did in high school. I wish they had chosen conversation over taking it to social media, friendship over pride, and understanding over judgment. I just wish they held my hand.

I wish they had held on a little tighter when our friendship began slipping through our fingers. Because I was willing to hold on.

I wish they had fought for us.

Instead, they let go.

And sometimes that still makes me feel like I was nothing more than a disposable utensil - useful for a while, and thrown away once they were done.

When 2025 came, I finally gathered enough courage to reach out. I explained myself. I apologized - not because I believed everything had been my fault, but because I loved them enough to put my pride aside and try to save what was left of our friendship.

Because I missed them.

Because I loved them.

Because despite everything that had happened, some part of me was still hopeful that maybe we could find our way back to each other. But only Cherry Pie replied, almost as though she were speaking for the whole group, the spokesperson. To be honest, I expected more from Jessa and Love Grace for they were the ones I’m really closed with but I guess I was wrong, and I felt like it was Jannine who made the shots, who had the final say. I can just imagine the discussion they had in their group chat.

Alas, Cherry Pie told me that they were okay simply seeing Mama’s posts of me and the twins. I was taken aback. I couldn’t believe and understand it at first. How could people who had once been such a huge part of my life be okay with knowing me only through someone else’s posts? How could years of memories, love, and friendship mean so little that they could simply dispose of me?

Maybe that was the moment I finally understood that I was holding on to something they had already let go of.

A month later, I unfriended and unfollowed them all. Not because I stopped caring. Perhaps because I cared too much.

I am angry.

I am bitter.

I am hurt.

But beneath all of that, I still miss them. And that is the saddest part.

Because sometimes you can know that a friendship hurt you, know that you were not entirely to blame, know that you deserved better - and still grieve the people who once felt like home.

Maybe that is what I’m grieving now. Not just the friendship we lost, but the friendship I thought we would have for the rest of our lives.

I can’t wait for the day when all I feel toward them is indifference - when their names no longer stir anger in me, hurt me, when their existence no longer takes up space in my thoughts. I hope that day comes soon. I hope one day, they simply become strangers.

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, by Joenah Joyce

Bamboo stalk

Bamboo Stalk

Did you know there’s a book about a Kuwaiti-Filipino that’s apparently quite famous in the Middle East and it even has a TV adaptation? 👀

The Bamboo Stalk (ساق البامبو) by Saud Alsanousi tells the story of José, the son of a Kuwaiti father and a Filipina mother, as he grows up caught between two cultures and struggles with questions of identity, belonging, racism, class, and what it means to call somewhere “home.”

As a Filipina married to a Kuwaiti, living in Kuwait, and with half-Kuwaiti children, I was immediately intrigued by the premise of this book. A Kuwaiti-Filipino protagonist caught between two identities, two cultures, and two places that never fully accept him felt like something I couldn’t help but be curious about.

One thing I struggled with was how the Philippines and Filipinos were portrayed. At times, I felt that the book paints Filipinos as poor, miserable, and inferior. I know the novel is addressing real social issues but the Philippines is not defined by poverty and misery. It’s a whole more than that! Maybe I’m simply more sensitive to this portrayal because I’m Filipino myself, and I know that makes me somewhat biased.

Interestingly, I also noticed how the novel portrays some of the negative and toxic aspects of Kuwaiti culture and society. However, these seemed to be presented in a more discreet and subtle way. Maybe the author is somewhat biased too, but his courage to raise those issues are admirable.

I really liked how the author incorporated Jose Rizal’s quotes and weaved pieces of Philippine history throughout the story. The novel tackles so many important issues: racism, poverty, politics, misogyny, social class, cultural expectations, and the toxic norms that exist within both societies.

But above everything else, I felt devastated for Issa. It’s difficult to imagine what it must feel like to be rejected by the land and people around you, to be cast away from one place and never fully accepted by another; to feel as though you have no land you can truly call your own, to grow up carrying a name and an identity that never quite feel entirely yours.

From childhood, Issa is caught between his Filipino roots and his Kuwaiti identity, growing up with a constant sense that he belongs to neither world completely. He spends much of his life searching for the place that might finally resemble him, searching for his roots while everything around him constantly reminds him that he is a stranger - both in the place where he was born and in the place he supposedly belongs to by blood. That part of his story really broke my heart. I also admired Issa’s inner thoughts, reflections, opinions, and observations throughout the novel. His perspective is what made the story feel so personal and intimate.