I don’t think I’ll ever forget this story.
When we were in senior year, my college friends and I just loved staying at my friend Ayn’s place. The house is along Banawe St. in Quezon City and it was our favorite place to just chill-out, study, work on our group projects, shoot films, and just kill time. We always went there in a group.
Why that place? Because it’s so big with seven rooms, far from buzzkill neighbors, the design is ideal for parties, and the best of all, NO PARENTS. Ayn lives with only her sister, who is the type who asks you, “Hey, when is your next party here? I have some spare beer in the fridge.” That’s the kind of sister you wanna have.
Anyway, one time, Ayn was telling us the WHOLE DAY about the cake she had at home. Being someone who is allergic to anything (or anyone) sweet, Ayn offered, “Guys, we have tiramisu at home. You might want to come over and have some. It’s just me and the maid at home these days and we can’t possibly devour it all.”
As much as we’d love to make love with her tiramisu, her house was just too far from the university. It’s a nice place to party but you won’t really drive or commute all the way to that other end of the city just to have cake, when there’s a bakeshop in Philcoa. Besides, it was thesis season. Everyone was a worker bee.
So no one really went over to Ayn’s place and touched that tiramisu. Poor cake.
A week passed and while all of us were killing time, thinking of something to do, somebody teased Ayn that maybe she had another tiramisu cake that she would love to share since we were not busy anymore.
“Funny you mentioned it,” Ayn said. “It was just so weird. A few days ago, I was gonna have tiramisu so I opened the ref but was shocked to find there was none of it left. So I asked Ate Tessie. I asked her where the cake was. She said that one of my friends ate it.”
Ayn continued narrating. Here’s her conversation with Ate Tessie, the maid. (Translated to English for the sake of my non-Pinoy readers.)
Ayn: One of my friends? Who?
Ate Tessie: I don’t know his name. He barely talks.
Ate Tessie: The other day. He rang the doorbell. I opened the gate. He asked if you were here. I told him you weren’t. He asked if there was some food inside. Since he’s one of your friends, I let him in and gave him the cake. He ate it.
Ayn: All of it?
Ate Tessie: All of it. I was surprised myself. I left him in the dining room. When I came back, he was gone and so was the tiramisu.
Ayn: You really don’t know his name?
Ate Tessie: No. He doesn’t talk when he’s with you. He’s very, very quiet. I’ve never talked to him. But he’s a part of your group. He’s always here when you and your friends arrive. In fact, I always see him with your friends when they visit. That’s why I’m sure he’s a friend of yours.
Ayn: Can you describe him?
Ate Tessie: Tall. Dark-skinned. Long-haired. Always sad. Never speaks a word. But he’s always with you and your friends. I see him all the time.
For the record, none of our friends look like that. And seriously, who would travel miles just for a cake? And we were all at the university at the time. It was a weekday.
So we were left asking, WHO THE HELL WAS THAT?! WHO ATE THE TIRAMISU?!?!
This incident became a classic among our friends. It turned into an inside joke. The greatest mystery we’ve encountered ever. And now, I’m blogging about it because I want to ask you, what do you think happened? Who ate the tiramisu? Here are some possibilities:
A. Ate Tessie ate the tiramisu. She just cooked up that story so she could get away with it.
B. Ayn ate the tiramisu. She was just in denial and wanted to pin it on someone else. (Why would she? Haha.)
C. One of our friends ate the tiramisu. He disguised himself so no one would identify him and be popularly known as the pig who ate the whole tiramisu all by himself in one seating.
D. A ghost ate the tiramisu. Supernatural beings have weaknesses, too. Just so happened that his was tiramisu.
So, what do you think? Who ate the tiramisu?