TOTGA Series 1: Tony

 

At 24, when the world was a canvas of dreams waiting to be painted, I met Tony through a close friend. Initially, we didn't like each other much, the kind of indifference that comes with unfamiliarity. Yet, as we hung out with our group of ten — a lively mix of four girls and six boys — and since we lived in the same area, we often found ourselves going home together after nights spent under the starlit sky, laughing and sharing stories.

 Our relationship was an unexpected tapestry of friendship, woven through the threads of shared moments. With time, our initial indifference melted away, replaced by a bond that grew stronger as we spent more time together. We set times to meet even when others couldn't join, and Tony became my constant companion. We embarked on simple adventures — eating out, having coffee or drinks, watching movies, and even helping each other with household chores. Grocery runs became a shared task, and I even accompanied him for his car repairs, where we’d spend hours chatting about everything under the sun. It was a friendship that felt like home, a sanctuary from the chaos of life. 

Our families were introduced to one another, and it was surprising how similar our backgrounds were. Coincidence seemed to be the theme of our story — being the same age, both the eldest among our siblings, each having three younger siblings, with our youngest brothers sharing the same age. We were both raised by single mothers, having lost our fathers a few months before our youngest siblings were born. As I was preparing for the bar exam to become a lawyer, Tony was gearing up for his Board Exam to become a Civil Engineer. We shared our aspirations, our dreams interwoven with the hope of seeing our siblings succeed.

A year later, our dreams began to crystallize into reality. I became a lawyer, and Tony was now an engineer. We celebrated our achievements with pure joy, witnessing our aspirations come to life, step by step. Then, one evening, Tony invited me to dinner at a fine dining restaurant. I had a hunch that this was the moment I'd been silently hoping for — the moment our friendship would transform into something more. With anticipation, I donned my best dress, eager to step into the next phase of our journey together.

 Entering the restaurant, my heart raced as I spotted Tony, immaculate in his polo and slacks, sitting at the table he had reserved. His smile lit up the room as he saw me approach, his delight palpable. As I sat across from him, the warmth of his presence enveloped me. We ate, drank, and laughed, the evening unfolding like a perfect symphony. Then, during dessert, just as I anticipated him asking me to be his girlfriend, Tony instead shared news that shattered my expectations — his visa to Canada had been approved, and he would leave the following month. Our dinner, it turned out, was a celebration of our impending separation.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced them into a smile, claiming it was joy for his success. Inside, my heart ached with an unnamed emotion. I supported him as he prepared to leave, reminding him of the essentials he needed to pack. On the day of his flight, standing at the airport, Tony looked at me with tears in his eyes and promised he would return for me if I could wait. In that moment, he asked me to be his girlfriend, a bittersweet proposal wrapped in the uncertainty of time and distance. Through tears, I agreed, telling him I would wait for his return.

The first three months passed with frequent updates, each message a lifeline bridging the miles between us. But as life often does, it grew busy, and our communication dwindled to rare exchanges. Two years later, Tony returned, but not alone — he had a wife by his side. It was a painful revelation, yet I accepted it with grace, understanding that perhaps we were only meant to be friends.

Now, at 45, I am married with two wonderful children. The story of Tony and I remains a cherished chapter in the book of my life, a testament to the beautiful complexity of human connections and the unpredictable paths they take. Life has a way of writing its own stories, sometimes diverging from the narratives we envision, but always leading us to where we are meant to be.