An Allergy to Affection
10 Things I Hate About You, 1999
My last day in the outside world went something like this.
It was the start of my favorite reasonably overpriced restaurant’s promo in celebration of National Pancake Month: just a little over a dollar for their two-piece classic buttermilk pancakes drizzled with a hearty serving of maple syrup. My friends seated on the other side of the room sent over the details via Messenger and invited me and my best friend to go after class. They managed to get away with it scot-free, despite being right in front of our professor who was in the middle of an impassioned monologue about the intersections of technology and society.
The weather out was perfect for walking: the typically merciless Manila heat had simmered down to a tolerable temperature to accommodate us as we took our normal route out of the campus. Even the street that eternally reeked of sewage and stale cooking oil which we had to pass to get to our destination was devoid of the stench that normally clings to my clothes. When all five of us arrived at the entrance, we were escorted to the last available table, the group of friends standing behind us immediately relegated to the waiting list.
For the rest of the afternoon, it was all exchanged anecdotes and inside jokes, crinkles by the eyes and straight-up guffaws instead of ladylike laughs: I completely forgot when our meals arrive and how the pancakes were, or even how relieved I was to see a smaller total amount on our bill because the conversation was going to a thousand different places all at once, at several miles per hour. Despite being stuck with four people who reflexively take Boomerangs in any given situation, this event was poorly documented. I guess that’s how you know we had fun.
I booked a ride home while my friends were still struggling to divide our change equally. As I was in the process of packing my things, someone—I forget who—says, “We should do this again sometime!” and the sentiment is echoed repeatedly and with such enthusiasm that a smile can’t help but spread across my face. For a minute, I stepped back to take in the sight of my beaming friends. I thought of hugging them one by one before I leave. But I hesitated and bid everyone goodbye instead and told them I’ll see them tomorrow.
Oh, the irony. It’s been three months since that happened and I am hyperfixated on the hugs that never came to be and how I should have pushed through with them anyway. (If only I knew things would end up like this, maybe I wouldn’t have let go.) Which is beyond weird since I was never the kind of person who liked doing that! It is true that I claim I would take a bullet for any loved one without thinking twice but I flinch whenever I see someone heading in my general direction with their arms outstretched, regardless of how close we are. Every time a friend traps me in a warm embrace, I look like I’m being held hostage judging from the tension in my muscles and the obvious expression of panic in my face and they let go almost instantly. It’s definitely been hard to reconcile these two completely different versions of me but hey, it’s not like I’m unbothered by the way I am!
It’s not like I was neglected or treated poorly growing up. Quite the opposite, really. Being an only child, I was always on the receiving end of my family members’ affection. I was surrounded by people who witnessed all of my firsts in this world, showered me with praise and adoration, and expressed these emotions through hugs and kisses. As a result, I never got used to doing the same for others. I simply never needed to.
When I found myself amongst peers I was just getting to know, I found other ways to establish friendships that didn’t rely on physical contact. I packaged myself as the go-to girl for words of wisdom and acts of service in case anyone seems particularly troubled by their muddled and messy lives. I help best by laying out a framework of what they should do next, and providing the resources they need to move forward. If your boyfriend breaks up with you, I won’t necessarily cuddle you until the pain goes away. But I will give you solid advice on how to get over him (after all, coaches don’t play) and treat you to your favorite meal because I know that food is actually the solution to most modern-day problems.
Though there’s nothing inherently wrong with this approach, I still believed I could afford to make some changes. And in all fairness, it’s not like I never tried. I observed my friends during their unguarded moments and tried to mimic their behaviors: the subconscious intertwining of arms, the pat on the shoulder or the sudden squishing of cheeks. In retrospect, it seemed like such a clinical, detached way to look at something so natural and human. I felt like a scientist observing the results of an experiment done on laboratory rats from a glass window. But it felt unnatural of me to seamlessly ingrain something so foreign in my daily routine. Eventually, I made the decision to simply work at being an adequate daughter/friend in all other possible aspects.
But like every pandemic-centered think piece produced over the past few weeks has said at some point, I guess we can all agree that this quarantine changes people. You know that cheesy saying about how we tend to want something more when it’s completely out of our reach? I can confirm that it’s true. Having to keep a safe distance from everyone around me and not being able to see some of my constants in months has me craving for human warmth more than ever before.
In fact, I wasn’t surprised to find out that touch starvation is an actual thing: like how people would normally react when deprived of food, this sensation produces feelings of stress, depression, and anxiety which then triggers adverse physiological effects such as an increase in blood pressure, muscle tension, and risk of infection. I recently read an article about a man who created a cuddle curtain which allowed him to hug his grandmother despite currently living in the time of an airborne virus. Normally, I wouldn’t get why physical contact is so much of a necessity that it would unleash the inventor in an ordinary citizen but now I understand.
Besides the obvious wonders hugging could do for my bodily functions (if I have to hear someone mention the word oxytocin levels again, I’m going to yell), I am now acutely aware of how it helps us convey emotions that cannot be expressed through words alone or provide the kind of comfort needed when we don’t exactly know how to solve our problem just yet. It’s a metaphorical way to divide the load we bear on our backs, to fuse together the pieces in us that have become broken and jagged because of events that are out of our control. Now that we are in a state of emotional bankruptcy, any tangible form of genuine connection is much-needed currency.
As the days start to bleed into one another, I can’t help but imagine scenes from a parallel universe, one where all of this is already a thing of the past, a “Remember when?” used to spice up boring conversations. I think of the day when it is safe to go back to school and invite my friends to eat reasonably overpriced pancakes with me, and how I know the first thing I’ll do when I see them. How have you been? I missed you. I thought I’d never see you again but I’m here now. All the words I’ve wanted to say, condensed in a way that is concise but equally as powerful and heartfelt: a long and warm hug.