The Company We Keep: Stories of Friendship

 Sometime in 1993 or 1994—it was so long ago, I can’t quite pin down the year—my business partner and good friend moved our office to one of the buildings along Ayala Avenue, Makati. It was a newly bought old building, formerly owned by a bank and sold to another bank. Our company became one of the new tenants.

On our floor were two other small businesses: one in trading and the other in freight forwarding. We were in import-export. By daily chance, we’d bump into each other in the building’s cafeteria. Eventually, we started sharing lunch. Tired of the usual cafeteria food, we began exploring the food stalls around Makati Commercial Center, then gradually graduated to restaurants. This routine turned us from acquaintances into real friends.

The three of us all lived in the south, and in time, we ended up moving to the same village. Another friend from the north remained part of our group. We kept our traditions alive—celebrating birthdays (with the celebrant exempted from paying), and enjoying a Christmas meal together, where we’d swap business stories from the year. When the building was eventually demolished to make way for a new one, our offices moved, but the friendship remained.

In our village, we met new neighbors. Two of them—one a doctor, the other a businessman—blended in perfectly. Our fellowship extended to them. Decades later, we’re still meeting up, though scheduling gets trickier now that we’re seniors. We try our best, despite clashing calendars.

My second set of friends came from Rotary—something I’ve been involved in for over 30 years. The motto Service Above Self brought us together, but it was the food that kept us close. We started trying new restaurants, then eventually traveled abroad together (mostly in Asia). It began with four people, then grew to six or seven over the years. Like Rotary itself, members came and went. It’s a loose group now—the spirit’s a bit dimmed—but the memories still sizzle like the food we once enjoyed.

My third set of friends meets once a month, without fail. We’re four: two former associates (an accountant and a lawyer), plus one who owns a non-life insurance agency. We usually meet in a hotel near MOA—easy parking and good food. Our conversations are animated, covering politics, business, and current events. The lawyer always brings a joke or two, cleverly tied to our discussion. Like the first group, we also celebrate birthdays. The celebrant chooses the restaurant, the food, and best of all—gets a free meal.

In both my first and third sets, we’re mostly seniors now—except for one nearing it.  We’ve earned the privilege of footing the bill without blinking with our 20% discount. But beyond the shared food and friendly teasing, it’s the bond we’ve built that matters. These are the friendships that have tightened over time, the kind that quietly prepares you for that day—unexpected as it always is—when someone’s chair at the table is suddenly empty.

That day came for us two years ago. One of our earliest friends is now gone. We still talk about him, still smile at the memories, and still hear his voice in our stories and laughter.

And so we carry on—ordering the food, telling the stories, and laughing at the same old jokes. While we can. While we’re still around the table.