Tiudy-dee-dee-doo: An ode to Ely Buendia and a best friend who is now an angel

Her name was Tiudy. Actually, that’s her surname. But “Tiu Dy” just stuck like gum in high school.

Chu-dee, Chu-deeeee, yelled my batch mates in the corridor. It just rolled off the tongue the right way. Sometimes, a doo was added to the “choo dee,” like in Ely Buendia’s song “With a Smile.”

Nine years later, this is the same song that will play during her wake, a projection of photos, memories of her cramped in a 5-minuter AVP. You’ll get by, with a smi-ile… I like to think of it as her song for us, assuring us that it’s all gonna be okay. And for a time, it wasn’t.

Lift your head

Tiudy passed on January 10, 2010, just before she reached her 27th birthday. She was rushed to the hospital for extreme fever, diarrhea and vomiting, which turned out to be dengue. That same day, at around 9:00 p.m., she died.

The doctor said her immune system was down, too down for her to fight a fatal bite. To this day, I still dream of her on the hospital bed, our hands clinging to her, begging her to live, but life just continued disappearing from her eyes, fast, shorter than the prolonged beep of the heart monitor. Chu-dee-dee-doooo…

Baby don’t be scared

I still remember the day Tiudy and I decided to stick together. First day in high school, and the bell hadn’t rung yet to signal the flag ceremony.

That day, as I was approaching the classroom assigned to our section, which was already full of rowdy students, I couldn’t help but feel nervous. The uncertainty was making me feel sick, having no idea who my classmates were, if I knew anybody, or if anyone would even give me a warm greeting.

Attending classes and getting good grades were one thing, but looking for your clique and becoming popular was another. I wasn’t too good with the latter.

But as things turned out, I didn’t even have to move a muscle. “Hoy Alina, Alina, yoohoo,” a husky loud voice said. I craned my neck to find who was calling me and then I saw her.

Tiudy was fair-skinned, with big brown eyes, a small nose and protruding teeth. She was loud, sometimes unbearably so, her hunched posture contrasting with her strong personality. Tiudy and I had known each other in Grade 3, when I became part of a trio: Tiudy, her best friend Ida, and me, the smart girl, which meant I was more like an extra. But that day, Ida wasn’t in the picture; she belonged to a different class. Tiudy held my hand and said, “Sama tayo ha,” and I just nodded and sat beside her. Just like that, as if it was decided and written. Since then, through high school’s ups and downs, fights about boys, gossip, and stupid girl wars, Tiudy and I stuck together.

I was a passive kind of friend. I still am. Looking back, I can say it was she who carried the friendship, making it possible to become real best friends all the way to college until we started working. Besides initiating it, Tiudy made me become popular in school. I was always the nerdy, writer girl, moody and dry-humored (a complete opposite of Tiudy, who was very funny).  I was her plus one.

The author (left) and her best friend Tiudy

We were the same age, but she acted more like my “ate”, my protector, fighting girls who were picking squabbles with me. When I had problems looking for dresses to wear for parties, she always came to the rescue.

Tiudy was the kikay to my tomboy. She was the one who introduced me to makeup, shoulder bags and pretty accessories. During special moments in my life—graduation party, 18th birthday, college graduation—Tiudy was my designated makeup artist. In college, she drew me a sketch of my wedding dress. I remember telling her, “May dress na, eh wala pang asawa?”

Tiudy was also very good with directions and commuting. Her number was on my speed dial every time I got lost in the urban jungle that is Metro Manila. I miss our tele-babads (scolding her for chewing something loud while talking on the receiver), her teasing me over my boring pencil-cut pants, our trips to Robinsons’ Galleria to eat in Red Ribbon and ordering her favorite combo of pansit, cake and Coke. Regular Coke! With Tiudy, never ever forget the Coke!

I miss our birthday traditions of dropping by each other’s house, eating handa and unwrapping gifts. Most of all, I miss having her as my best friend, a person who I can run to every time, a person who sometimes knew me better than I knew myself, a friend who truly had unconditional love for me.

The things that could go wrong along the way

I never asked her why she chose me. It doesn’t matter now, really. But sometimes, my heart aches like waves in the sea. I feel guilt. She gave me so much and I was just this passive friend who went along. Back then, I didn’t care. I always thought I wasn’t made for friendships, that relationships were just labels in grocery store and I just happened to pass along.

We were sophomores when Tiudy called me her best friend, and gave me a necklace with a heart pendant, the letters BFF carved on them. So we can wear it together, she said.  Ang corny mo, I just teased her in reply. My coldness could have been mistaken for heartlessness. I still have that necklace now, in my jewelry box.

Seven years after her death, I still dream about her from time to time. Our dreams are always the same: inside a mall, looking at huge rows of fancy accessories: shiny colorful earrings, necklaces, rings and bracelets. Sometimes I wake up and think it was real, that she’s alive, that I will ring her landline and we will laugh about my dream of her death.

I wish I could’ve been a better friend to her, but knowing Tiudy, I was already enough, including my flaws, warts and all. These days, I still have a hard time making friends. But I would like to think Tiudy taught me to a better one, and I do think I am these days.

You’ll get by, with a smile. Choo-dee-dee-doo…

Kathrina Joy Tiudy (Feb 2, 1983 – Jan. 10, 2010)