The One With Phoebe Buffay


Lately, I’ve been watching too much episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S., the TV series. I find the series wonderful not only because it’s hilarious and it speaks of and about the young, but more especially because the characters embody everyone—those who may or may not extend high remarks in other people’s lives. These characters, despite being the normal people that they are, have created a spectrum of varying tinges no matter how faint. And we liked it.

Of the six characters, what I enjoy and relate to the most is Phoebe Buffay. I believe that her character is complex and interesting, probably next to Falstaff, one of Shakespeare’s best crafted characters. For certain reasons, her lack of academic background is superseded by three marks she possesses: wit, integrity, and a good heart. Even I cannot say that I have these three all at once. For all we know, Phoebe is strange. She finds pleasure in the things that many may find bizarre, but at the end of the day, she is actually pleased. Her voice may not sound pleasant, but she exudes confidence, because she’s proud about herself, including the things that are not beautiful. She is also independent who relies to any skill and knowledge she has; but she still makes a living out of what’s scarce.

Phoebe likes what she does. Phoebe is true to herself. Phoebe never harms anyone. She may not know all the things in the world and their meaning, but she understands the real value of things, and this makes her happy. Come to think of it, she, of all the characters, is the happiest.

And how many of us have known a Phoebe Buffay? I’m not raising my hand.

In this world where many do not understand why they are sad and what things can make them feel fulfilled, it’s almost impossible to find such cunning character. It’s very hard to find that someone who decides for himself in these times when we are all saturated with the media leverage.

Come to think of it, we probably hate the Phoebe Buffays we know, because they’re different, brave, charming, and crazily happy. We even hate how they clothe themselves because everytime we see them, a voice shouts inside and tells us, “That could be you!”

Phoebe could be us. We could be Phoebe. Only we do not allow to be her, because we do not want change. We do not dare to brave the streets feeling different because we suck to that goddamn comfort of belongingness.

Unlike Phoebe’s, our ships have sailed only until the shore and not a mile farther; we, the cautious who have not lived at all.

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