For some odd reason I want to write about my neighbors.
To the right of our house (if you come out of the gate), are the Schellekens, featuring M and B, whom like many of the residents of our village, are retirees, and are both pushing the latter part of 70, I think.
To the left, and downhill from us, are George’s family (sorry I forgot his surname), who are probably around my age or older, but are pensioners of a sort due to a terrible plane crash the OFW husband (George) suffered in 2003 while in Dubai, and is currently recuperating from. And from which, I believe their income is derived, after having noticed, nosy as I am, that neither of them are employed inspite of their numerous material accoutrements.
Theirs is a Wikipedia – worthy story, believe me, which if I would tackle writing if I had the time, and or any other such excuse that I am capable, believe me, of making. At some point however, I believe I likely will.
At any rate, this post will be about the Schellekens, named after dear old M, whom I am referring to as an acronym for reasons that are unclear to me, except that maybe I would like to keep his identity secret should it turn out he is hiding from a dark past from his home country Holland, or some such absurd reason. Completely absurd of course because, from our brief but meaningful times together, in the form of three dinners at their beautiful brand new house, two of which I was invited to and the more recent because I invited myself, I have found the old couple to be interesting, appreciative and a welcome addition to my life as a whole.
This I say with due appreciation of George’s family, and this I say in complete appreciation of the fact that, inspite of myself, I am a downright ogre, with near zero ability to tolerate intolerable people. I admit, you see, from a lack of ability to suffer fools, of which in life there are many.
Now, living in such a manner is not easy. It is my estimation that duplicity is a common if not all too tolerated skill amongst Filipinos, who have the skill of pretending to enjoy the company of idiots, or at least, people they secretly deem as idiots, and pretend to enjoy themselves immensely whilst in their presence. This of course brings about the natural tendency to, while out of earshot, exclaim one’s true feelings of the other to their friends and family (that the other is an idiot, in case you forgot), bringing about, to me, an even bigger sin in the fact that they were lying, purportedly in the hope that they are deemed to be ‘nice’, and / or ‘amiable’ towards their fellow human beings. All this however, merely leading me to believe that where there was just one idiot, there are now two.
All this talk of intolerables of course, possibly leading you to believe that I am about to espouse the winning personalities and charm of my dear, septuagenarian neighbors. Or perhaps exclaim in wonderful prose, or as wonderful as I can muster, the happiness and inestimable joy I feel while having dinner and conversation in their house.
On the contrary, I am wont to do neither, because for the most part, they are just ordinary folk like you and me. M is a bored retiree, who spends his time listing down his many DVDs and emailing friends with his new computer, making small talk, reminiscing about friends and trips in Europe, and all sorts of things that old people who had lead interesting and busy lives when they were younger, would likely say and do.
B on the other hand, is a wonderful cook who runs a strict household, with two maids at her beck and call. She has lived away from the Philippines for 2 decades, and is possibly more European now than Filipina.
The two of them are an interesting pair, with M doting over his B whom he obviously so loves and respects, accepting her eccentricities and letting her having the last word in arguments with a sly grin and a conceding wink. B on the other hand, is feisty and intelligent, ready to put her two cents in while measuring your opinion with fairness.
Theirs is a company I am not overly excited to have. I am not in a rush to be or get invited there, however nor would I avoid such a thing if it happened either. It is perhaps for that very reason why I appreciate it. Ours is an even relationship. I am not challenged to make a good impression, nor am I guarded in any way either. When I am there, I am merely myself, quite unacceptable in most circles I’ve known, and possibly the reason I enjoy it as much.
In fact, I am hard put to pin down exactly why it is exactly I enjoy their company, or even why I am brought to writing about it as I have today.
Except that, maybe in the hope of doing so, I’ll relate that after a long day last week, when I had accomplished much of what I had sought to do that day, I felt a need to enjoy the companionship of people I did not feel I needed to make an impression, nor would require me to be guarded in any way, and would allow me to by myself.
And for that reason alone, I called their mobile, invited myself over for dinner, and showed up at their door in fifteen minutes.
My stomach grumbling with hunger, I sheepishly wished I brought something with me and told them so, which of course they claimed was perfectly unnecessary, yet I made a mental note to do so anyway.
Thus our conversation started, and so did dinner, leading up to two and a half hours of discourse on this and that, and finally, bidding them goodnight and goodbye. They’re old, of course, and I didn’t want to tax them any longer.
And as I stood in front of our gate fumbling for keys, I thought about the things we discussed so fervently. I wondered how I could possibly bring Jill with me one day, the presence of which seems quite important to them to merit the very long trip. Again, I noted how important it is for me to bring something for them the next time I decide to show up like I did, and since they had themselves some friends coming in from Europe to vacation a week from now, thought perhaps that was the opportune time.
And I thought to myself, it was great, this feeling of having good friends.
Nice.