Saturday, June 25, 2011

A Lifelong Farewell

I never thought getting over the loss of a loved one would be this hard. It’s been four days since a very close friend of mine died of heart attack in his sleep but I still haven’t recovered the slightest. And since then, all I ever did was to try, without luck, to keep myself from plunging into depression. So it would take every ounce of my strength to spill on this digital paper all the feelings I’ve kept hidden inside. Wherever you are, I know that you could read this. So here goes.

I regret not spending time with you when I could. You know, being busy with work and school and all that. The last time you asked me to tag along, I bailed out for the stupidest of reasons: a headache and the clothes I was wearing (but hey, you’ve seen my office uniform and though you were insistent, I know you were secretly relieved I wasn’t there, hehe).

And I’m always going to be thankful for your being sympathetic with all my crazy, stupid problems. Remember the last time we rode the bus together? It was me and motion sickness again, and I was having a terrible time keeping up with the conversation. But you talked and paused at the right moment, because though I was feeling shitty, you knew I wanted something to fill the air. And I appreciate your concern over my health. I was rereading our conversation in your mobile and you were so worried about me. And that instant, my heart swelled and I cried.

Didn’t you know I thought you were one of the smartest, most insightful people I’ve met? Yeah, I do respect your opinions and I look up to you. A lot. I love discussing books with you, and other things no matter how trivial they are. I mean, how else would a conversation between two people who share the same fondness for Haruki Murakami go? I feel bad that I wasn’t given the chance to tell you how much I value every single conversation we’ve had, talks about life, love, and even the green jokes . I was always so glad you were there to lift my spirits up whenever I feel down. And you were always ready to listen no matter how crazy my thoughts were. Thanks for showing great interest even in the most inconsequential things in my life, as evidenced by our endless Facebook comments and chats.

I might not tell you often, but I thought it was pretty obvious that I enjoy your company a lot. We would hang out all day long and there would never be the smallest air of uneasiness. Except for that time you told me you missed kissing a girl—honestly, how am I supposed to respond to that ? Yeah, awkward. And that time we watched “Norwegian Wood” in a room and locked the door when the scene got a little too—er—cheesy?

And thank you for trusting me with all your secrets and your girl problems. I thought it was funny when you got really conscious about your looks, because honestly, I don’t think there’s anything to fuss about (uh-huh, made you smile at that ). But you know what, I’ve always felt bad when the girls you liked didn’t fall for the tactics we’d worked on. I mean, what the hell, they sure are missing a lot! But still, it was fun talking to you about them. Of course, what else should your Wingwoman do?

I might not always tell you this, but thank you for just being with me, especially during your family gatherings. You know how hard it is for me to socialize so it felt ultimately good to have someone to talk to in a roomful of strangers. And thank you for taking care of me even if you weren’t asked to.

You’ve been such a great friend, and yet there’s just so much I should apologize on. Sorry for screwing up my birthday bashes. Sorry for the late replies to your text messages. Sorry for missing out on your lunch invitations. Sorry for being so moody. Sorry for getting you caught in stupid arguments (you know what they are).

And here I am, disappointing you again because no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’m still far from getting over. I hope you understand, and I’m sorry because it’s not going to be easy. That emptiness is eating at me, and I’m fighting really hard against it. And all those places we’ve been in, all those movies we’ve seen together, all the bottles of Tanduay Ice we’ve shared, I want you to know that every single memory of you will be stored forever in my heart. But there’s still the gaping hole that I know will never EVER be filled. And I won’t be able to look at life the same way again.

I’m terribly missing you. And though I know you’re in good hands now, nursing this wound would be a lifelong pursuit. All I want now is for you to remember me always, all the memories we’ve shared, good or bad. Take care of me like you always did from the time we became friends. Talk to me in my heart. Help me cope with the loss. I couldn’t promise you anything, except to journey through life as usual. And hoping to see you again, soon.

- For my dear friend Pernell, I'm gonna miss you a lot.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

New Year Noises

It's not at all that weird to be spending the New Year inside my bedroom, a book in hand, and all curtains drawn. I’ve always been comfortable with silence. Until that day, though.

While everyone was busy making silly noises outside, lighting firecrackers, screaming and pointing at the distant fireworks display, wondering how the ones who were lighting them could afford such a luxury, I was staying indoors, reading the Murakami I received last Christmas, and pondering over the laws of attraction.
In between paragraphs, I looked up from my book, stared at the four walls of my grandma’s bedroom and thought about how nice my world would be if it was inside this room, devoid of all the senseless clatter, peaceful, quiet, full of mystery. I thought about the sounds of firecrackers, the torotot’s blown, kids screaming, stereos turned up to full volume. Everything out there is real. And no matter how hard I try, I know I couldn’t keep away from those noises that easily. No matter how much I shield my little world from those things, I know that in one way or another all defenses would come undone.

I closed the book and stared, without seeing a thing. I’ve always loved the sound of silence, but on that day—the start of a new year—I felt something altogether different. I was surprised—amazed even—because never in my whole life had I felt this uncomfortable with silence. I was afraid—afraid of what 2011 would bring. I was terrified of all the uncertainties that come with the new year. I thought about the plans I’ve laid for myself: my first term in graduate school, the business venture I’m about to take, the career changes I’m about to make, the relationship I’m about to rebuild… All these and the roadblocks that are certain to come with it: financial problems, compromises, physical and emotional stress. I realized that I could never look at New Year celebrations the same way again given this new perspective. So this is how it’s like, looking at the world from inside the bedroom, a book in hand, and all the curtains drawn.

So before I got consumed by fear, I put on some warmers and rushed outside, picked up a torotot and blew to my heart’s content. I watched my dad and my brother as they lit the firecrackers. I hate the stench but what the heck, this is a family tradition. I took pictures of my mom, my sister, my grandparents. I watched the dog. He seemed to like the trompillo very much and he’s barking mad. I patted him and thought, oh well, this is life after all. Go ahead and live it. He raced towards the trompillo and gave out a thrilled woof.