A photo e-card found its way in my Inbox. It was from A. and the photo was of the nine right feet (with corresponding shoe) of nine girls who managed to make it through one December night in 1999. Said photo was taken the morning after what felt like the longest night spent by nine girls in a place that only allows for long nights, only to be rudely disturbed by an impatient morning sun. I eventually would have my own story set in this place two years later with a person who knew how important it is to be witness to long nights such as these, never mind sleep, never mind lack of shelter, never mind empty pockets. But right now I have to set aside thoughts of that one long night. Right now, it's all about the girls and that one December night in 1999.

All I have of that time is a picture taken of us about to leave the hostel we barely got to find after scouring through hostels so few and far between. The choice had to be made; otherwise, we would be late for dinner and there was the inconvenience of drizzling and doing all these on two hired pedicabs.

I also remember the first task that had to be dealt with once the heavy knapsacks and tote bags were dumped on the beds - a cockroach had to be disposed of. All at once, wedges and sandals and heels were flying in the air, trying to hit a part of the wall, only to bounce off each other. The poor cockroach would eventually be put out of its misery (or was it the girls who derived greater relief?) through the unwitting wedge of the struggling medical student who, at the time, seemed more preoccupied with sports and choral groups than anatomy and long hours at the hospital.

I barely remember what happened at dinner (though there was a recollection of black pasta and lamb) and I couldn't figure out how we ended up at a comedy bar (we only caught the tail end of of a performer who was struggling to finish a Whitney Houston song). I later learned that it is not good to show up at a comedy bar when the performance is almost over.

As with heavy stomachs and energies still up, we ended up at a coffee shop where we learned the concept of overpriced brews to be made up for by nine chattering voices competing for airtime and attention. At the time, little did we know that one of us was already engaged to a man she just met months before that and is to be married months after. At the time, little did we also know that another would find herself uprooted, leaving behind a web of family and friends who has made her whole. Who knows what other secrets were kept hidden that night, some eventually revealed, others forever buried, even forgotten. But as with secrets and revelations, they would have to take a backseat to the promising wee hours of the morning.

Fast forward to that morning when the picture of the nine feet and nine shoes was taken. A little bird whispered to my ear how good it was that I decided to actually show up and not do one of my disappearing acts (as I was wont to do then and now) for it was to be the last time that many of the girls would be gathered in one time and one place. Truth be told, that night didn't play host to all of the girls - some, by that time, no longer had the freedom offered to those without husband, partner or child. In their honor, the nine girls said a prayer and raised their glasses to those who couldn't join them and this precious group of girls who found solace, security, annoyance, loyalty and love in each other.

(For Norie Bandian-Ocampo, Teny Pacardo, Kaye Domingo, Lubs Gleeck-Munar, Candy Azote, Jean Varca, Ven Martinez-Lustria, Joffin Baril-Alcantara, Ian Arcelo, Erin Baldos, PJ Alpano and Aileen Cortes-Small.)