Tits

Please don’t be appalled (or think ill of this blogsite on grace) by the title. It isn’t what you’re thinking. It’s a perfectly-proper-proper noun: it’s the nickname of my dear friend, Tita. 

Perhaps it is culture or habit; in the Philippines, we normally give our close friends affectionate nicknames by using the first syllable of their given names and adding an “s” to it. 

For instance, Karen becomes Kars; Nellie, Nells; Baby, Babes; Nena, Nens; ergo, Tita becomes Tits. 

Tits and I met at the Art Institute of Chicago, where we were both taking our master’s degree in the 1960s. She was enrolled at the college of fine arts, and I, at the college of performing arts. I can’t recall how we met, but because we were the only two Filipinos in that whole academic Institute, it was not a surprise that we’d find each other. 

On Leap Day this year (she was here on vacation with her hubby), she narrated to me this funny (okay, appalling) incident, which I vaguely remember:

She was at the far end of our school cafetria and I, at the other end. To call her attention, very loudly, I waved and yelled, “Tits! Tits!”  I refuse to imagine the reaction of the American crowd then. 

She was in that school on a Fullbright-Hays Award, and I, on my Uncle Joe and Billy’s generosity. 

Naturally, we were both poor, with zero cash for luxuries. She would spend weekends with me at my uncle Joe's home or uncle Billy's and sometimes, we would drop by her dormitory to pick up her things. 

Once we were invited to a Rizal Day formal celebration that required long gowns, which we could not afford to buy. What to do? We sewed them ourselves! 

Tits, being an artist, stayed awake all night making sure everything was pulido (polished to perfection) with her chartreuse trimmings. (I never heard of chartreuse till then; I called it yellow, but Tits was always precise with colors and lines). 

My gown? I haphazardly sewed it in less than two hours, but I had to keep her company, muting our giggles so as not rouse uncle Billy. 

Behold our handiwork. Alas, it could no longer be edited to Tits’ high level of standards. 

I unearthed three more of our fading old photos, reminders of our carefree, poverty days. 

(Christmas eve with Aunt Mary in Chicago)

(Modelling as alternative career?)

(Yes, that's a typewriter.) 

Not long after, Tits got busy preparing for her wedding, while I got busy packing my bags to go back home to the Philippines to marry Tony. But not before . . . (that’ll be for my next post).