Three Treasures

There are three different watches on my dressing table that I treasure much more than the others. And I am not talking about costs or how much they’re worth in pesos and cents. I will share them with you in the order of their chronology, not of their importance. For I hold them dear in my heart for different reasons.

Watch No. 1

I have a group of friends (five of us) and we call ourselves “The Golden Girls of Alabang.” This is half accurate—our ages range from 40 to 60. But we all live in the area of Alabang, a place south of Manila. We meet regularly to talk about our lives, most especially that part in the workplace which we once shared and the common friends we sometimes meet and those we don’t see anymore.

It was nearing Christmas and over lunch, a celebration of someone’s birthday, we talked about gifts. Ggie, the artist in the group, was wearing this exact watch model but the charms spelled A-R-T-I-S-T. We coveted it on sight—and each wanted to buy herself one (like a friendship band uniform). The only difference would be the charms (which should describe what we do). We each gave Ggie our pesos, the exact cost of the watch. Simple.

But this group has a penchant for complicating matters. We had the brilliant idea of an exchange gift on Christmas. My pesos would pay for Mabel’s watch, and Mabel’s would pay for Dolly’s, and Dolly’s would pay for Gigi’s, and Ggie’s would pay for Baby's, and Baby's would pay for Grace’s—more or less. Ggie, who'd rather draw, didn't take down notes so that when she gave us all our watches, nobody knew whose watch-money went to whom.

My author-watch is a gift from… Mabel? Or Ggie? Or Dolly? Or Baby? I wear it often, especially when I go out with the “The Golden Girls of Alabang.” In all the other occasions when people say it is a beautiful watch, and it is, I volunteer the unusual tale of how it came to me. Their faces twitch and they hold my hand to look closely at the A-U-T-H-O-R.

 

Watch No. 2

 My client, and now a friend, Lita, has a collection of watches (like I do). But hers comes with names I can’t spell like Gerard Peregeaux, Patek Philippe, Beobachtugshur, IWC Da Vinci, and such bought in her many travels abroad. Mine have names like Redo, Sioko, Possil, Esprek, and such bought in my many trips to flea markets.

In one of our meetings, she burst with what she might have been trying hard to rein in her mind. “Grace, where on earth did you get that watch?” I was appalled that she was appalled. It was a perfectly great plastic watch with multi-colored rhinestones.

In our next meeting-cum-chit-chat that week, before she could sit down, she dangled a black velvet pouch before my nose and said, “Your watch really agitates me. Throw it away and wear this.”

I carefully took it out of the pouch and I sucked in a great volume of air, sounding like a heavy-duty vacuum cleaner.

It was grand! It smelled fresh out of a Swarovski store, with more Swarovski stones than my own rhinestones. And, although I don’t think of costs when it comes to watches, an errant mental note read, this new watch costs more than all my watches combined!

I took off my old watch (put it inside my bag with quiet plans to wear it where Lita won’t ever see it again) and put my new watch on. Now I wear this royalty watch to very special occasions—meetings with Lita.

Watch No. 3

My mother won this fancy thin watch with a matching bracelet in a parlor game played in one of our clan reunions. I happened to be beside her when she opened the box and I let out a teeny yelp of admiration. Aware of my mother’s legendary generosity, I knew what she was going to say next. “Here, you may have it. The watch which you gave me is still in running condition.”

“Mom, you won it. Keep it.”

I never would have guessed that a few months later, mom would leave this world in a rush. After the funeral, my sister and I looked through her things, or what was left of the earthly possessions she gave away. One of them was the box with the thin-strapped watch. Averse to anything that glitters, my sister shoved the box to my chest and grimaced, “Eeek, your taste, take it.”

I loved the watch the first time I saw it. I love it even more now because it was my mother’s. I like to think she must have really wanted me to keep it because it wasn’t one of those she gave away.

If I had a daughter (which I don’t), or a granddaughter (which I don’t—yet) I’d will these three watches to her. And I will tell her that even after I am gone, she should treasure them because they meant the world to grandma.

(I know, I know, my photos of these treasures don't do them justice. I got a beating from Ate Vi, who has gotten into the habit of peeking over my shoulders; and Ggie called, giving me many pointers on jewelry photography. But when I look at the photos above, my heart does not see the wrinkled background and the metal glare and the flat composition, and the other gaffes. I see only grace.)