When I first wrote about Rizza, it was a small, almost private testimony wishing her the best on her wedding — the kind you post quietly online hoping the right person stumbles upon it. That was twenty years ago. She has just turned fifty, and here I am, still finding reasons to write about her.
It was her Friendster photo, of all things, that first pushed me to finally put these words down the first time. Today it is the memory of that photo — and the long road between then and now — that brings me back to the keyboard.
When I think of Rizza, the past does not feel very far away. She has always been a familiar presence in my life — a prominent figure in school and in our community. We were classmates in grade school, high school, and college. By my count, I have known her for roughly forty years now — a number that quietly astonishes me every time I say it aloud.
We grew up in the same neighborhood chapel and spent a few summers together at Flores de Mayo. One year in the late 80s, we were even crowned Mr. and Ms. Flores de Mayo, smiling awkwardly in our Sunday best. Her brother Randy shares the same birthday as I do, which meant more shared memories: simple celebrations, borrowed umbrellas, and little jokes only kids understand.
She was my first crush ever — the kind of crush that quietly rearranges your universe without making you act like an idiot, at least not outwardly. Because we were friends, I had to be careful about “protecting my identity,” making sure I didn’t behave so strangely that people would tease me endlessly. At the same time, I was comfortable enough around her that I didn’t get tongue-tied whenever she was nearby.
It became almost routine for me to drop by their house: sometimes to play chess with Randy, sometimes just to flip through family photo albums while we chatted. She has always had a slender, almost frail build that earned her a few nicknames over the years, but appearances were deceiving. Behind that frame was someone intelligent, opinionated, and open-minded.
As if our shared years in Mintal — same schools, same chapel, same circle of friends — were not enough, life decided to throw in another overlap. In 2000, we briefly became officemates at Philweb. The girl who had once been my seatmate, project partner, and quiet crush now sat a few desks away in a professional setting. It felt like our personal timeline had gained another chapter.
Over the years, I watched her go through a few relationships that did not work out the way she had hoped. Through all of that, I never tried to court her, even though she often appeared in my dreams as the “guest star” of my subconscious storylines. It became clear that whatever my younger heart might have wanted, fate had drawn a different kind of line for us: we were meant to be friends for life, not romantic leads in each other’s stories.
Where life has taken us
When she announced her wedding, I sent her a sober, heartfelt message — my way of telling her how blessed she was to find the person she would spend the rest of her life with, and how grateful I was to have witnessed so much of her journey from the sidelines. She married Buddy, and not long after, welcomed her first-born into the world — a chapter I had the quiet joy of watching unfold from afar. More than a decade later, I finally met Buddy in Sydney where we’d go play music together or go fishing.
Life, as it tends to do, scattered us across geographies. But it also, in its generous way, kept us connected. When I moved to Sydney, the distance between us shortened again — she is based here, and while we do not see each other often, she has always been easy to find. Some friendships do not require constant maintenance; they simply persist, the way a landmark persists in a city you know by heart.
She has just celebrated her 50th birthday. Fifty years of the same quiet intelligence, the same open-minded warmth, the same woman who graduated with distinction in grade school and never really stopped achieving since. Watching her reach this milestone feels less like marking time and more like witnessing the full flowering of someone you were privileged to know at the very beginning.
Moments I remember most about Rizza
- 1983 – The umbrella incident. I remember her being taunted by young admirers in grade school. Her umbrella ended up destroyed. It was one of the first times I saw how easily kindness can be taken advantage of — and how quietly she absorbed those moments without making a scene.
- 1984 – Grade 2 Zinnia. She became my classmate in Grade 2 Zinnia under Madam Papin. That was the year I officially declared her as my first crush, at least in my own mind.
- 1987 – Flores de Mayo together. Same chapel, same prayers, same late-afternoon processions. Those days blurred catechism, childhood, and early friendship into one long, warm memory.
- 1988 – Graduation with distinction. She finished with distinction, and so did I. Standing there in our uniforms and medals felt like crossing a small finish line side by side.
- 1989 – St. Agnes at Holy Cross of Mintal. In high school, she became my classmate again in Madam Alminaza’s St. Agnes class. This trend will continue until our senior years. Certainly familiar faces in a new phase of life.
- 1992 – High school graduation and UIC. We both graduated as Honorable Mention and both chose Computer Engineering at UIC. Different paths were available, but somehow we chose the same one again.
- 1996 – On-the-job training.Our UIC on the job placement was at Rhine Marketing Corporation at Magallanes, the same familiar ally in an environment closer to the industry and outside the classroom. That pattern — new place, same friend — followed us for years.
- 1997 – College graduation. We closed another shared chapter, having stretched our story from childhood to early adulthood, through classrooms and computer labs.
- 2000 – Philweb days. She invited me to join Philweb. No longer just classmates but colleagues navigating the professional world together establishing our young careers.
- 2019 – Moving to Sydney.We found each other again in the same city, still connected, still easy to find. And a 50th birthday in 2026 that deserves far more than a Facebook comment.
There are people in your life who do not need to be present constantly to matter deeply. Rizza is one of those people for me. Forty years on, she remains exactly what she has always been — a familiar landmark in the landscape of my life, unchanged in all the ways that count.
Happy 50th, Riz. May the next fifty be just as full.