Au revoir, Onin

I remember a conversation I had with a friend. It was about the difference between "moving on" and "moving forward". I learned how the previous has a notion of hanging on to the past, whilst the latter gives more importance to what lies ahead. I used this in this article I wrote about Onin. Because while the experience of losing a friend has become one of the darkest times in my life (right up there with when my Dad left us when I was 12), it has allowed me to see things with a new set of eyes. As I've said in the article, each moment now is precious. I drew my first resolution for 2008 as early as now: if it's important to me, I have to make time.

A toast to Onin was published on the November 1, 2007 issue of Philippine Daily Inquirer.

A toast to Onin
By Patricia Palea Orjalo
Inquirer
Last updated 06:07pm (Mla time) 11/02/2007

MANILA, Philippines--It has been more than a week since that fateful Friday, and I still hear his voice when I sleep at night. I wake up and stare at the ceiling for 10 minutes -- or is it 20? I think to myself, “I’m going to be late.” But I don’t move for another five minutes.

I stare blankly at my breakfast plate and finish my coffee in hurried gulps. I walk my usual path, listening to the usual morning sounds. I strain to hear his familiar laughter wafting through the air. I work my sadness off. I tire myself trying to drive the negativity away. Oh, and I smoke again; it seems to me that every puff brings me closer to him.

I just cannot believe that he’s gone. After all, he’s Onin. Onin who made each day at work seem like playtime. Onin who brought an extra sandwich each morning, because he knew I rarely ate breakfast before I left the house. Onin who made me laugh at the oddest times: at lunchtime while standing in line at the cafeteria, in the sleepy hours of the afternoon, and in between sobs. Onin -- who bugged us to buy Happy Meals for merienda so that he could have the free toys that he would bring home to his 4-year-old son.

He loved his family so much. His stories were always about his little one, or his Mommy and Daddy, or his brother, or one of his cousins. He always put them first on his list of priorities. His plans were always tailored to what would be best for them.

I was in denial for a long time. From the moment I got the first text message, to the anxious hours of searching for him at the Makati Medical Center and Ospital ng Makati, up until the night I looked at him inside the coffin, I could not accept the painful reality that my good friend had departed. But then again, who would have thought that a person so full of life and who gave so much would go ahead of us?

All of Onin’s friends and loved ones were distraught. A dark cloud hovered over the Vidamo residence on the first night of the wake. Mass was said with everyone present in tears. It started with discreet sniffs and burst out in loud wails of anger, grief and despair. The priest did not bother to stop the ceremony to comfort the family members. He let them be.

“Life is a mystery, and I do not have answers,” he said in his homily. For me, that was the best that anybody could do: to let Onin’s family give free expression to the mixed emotions they were feeling. To let them deal with all of these together is to respect them. It is like saying that you feel for them, but you cannot truly comprehend how difficult this tragedy must be for them.

Unfair. That’s what it is. Not only to Onin’s family, but to all those who lost their loved ones in that explosion in Glorietta 2 last Oct. 19. My heart goes out even to those who have been scarred by the blast, not only in the physical sense, but deep inside where the marks last forever.

Absurd. That’s what the heartless perpetrators did. That is, if the tragedy was another act of terrorism, a bombing plotted to make us all cower.

Polluted by politics. That’s what the whole investigation seems to me. And having Madame President visiting the mall just days after the incident and waving to the press was not cute at all.

I remember the last time Onin and I talked. He had invited me to have a few drinks. I promised we’d go out during my break from my grad school classes. Little did I know that I would not have the chance to fulfill that promise.

Onin’s death made me pause in a way that my busy life would not have allowed. It’s such a cliché, but I realize that life is short, indeed. Each moment, precious. So, I know I have to move forward.

I’m done with crying. Aside from the fact that I’ve cried my eyes out in one weekend, I can hear Onin telling me, “Ayusin mo nga ’yang mukha mo (Why don’t you fix your face?).” That was what he always told me every time I cried.

So, Onin, I am speaking for all the people whose lives you’ve touched: Thank you, ’pare. I raise my glass to you, for the joys you brought to our hearts and the life that you so generously shared. You’ve inspired us all. Cheers.

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Au revoir is goodbye in French. But when we dissect the expression, "voir" being "to see", it actually means "see you again".

Disillusoned

A couple of nights ago I bumped into an old friend. The moment I saw the look in her eyes when she saw me, I knew - it was going to be a long night. Was I right.

It began with her saying "Tara na, tama na to." She was holding several shopping bags, and was referring to her trying to find a white bag to add to her spree. And then she added, "Magkape na tayo" as if trying to read my mind asking "Where to? "

Catching up began with small talk. Oh this is awkward, I said to myself. I knew I had to ask her the question. Even if I already knew what her answer would be. But what the heck, I wanted to get it over and done with. "So kamusta na kayo?" I went and gulped on whipped cream (I knew I needed sugar high). "Hay nako, wag mo na tanungin. Alam mo namang ayokong kinakamusta diba? Kasi nga nababati," came her response as if on cue. Parang hindi pa nailalagay yung question mark sa dulo ng question ko, may sagot na siya. Na ilang beses na naming narinig. Pero dahil kaibigan ko siya, I had to ask. I had to know if the bastard is still making her life the hell that it is. But what do you know, my friend already has this belief that if anybody asks her about her marriage, it would shake the status quo that is the ok-lang-hindi-kami-masyadong-nagaaway mode of her relationship with her husband.

It is pathetic. Just her coming up with that belief is. Pucha bawal mangamusta? Anona?

I thought that was the end of it. But then she went on and spilled the rest of her miserable life. Of lies, of alcohol and women, of money problems - both in excess and lack thereof, of constant quarreling in front of her innocent child, of her belittling in-laws, of her dysfunctional relationship with her father, of her older brother's selfishness and immature ways eating up on their Mom's savings, of her Mom's recent visit and operation. Of losing self-confidence, of losing herself in it all.

I tried to share my own life dilemmas, just to appease her that she's not carrying all the problems in the world. But I have to admit - my concerns pale in comparison to her emotional and psychological baggage. I feel it until now as I type it away, willing the heaviness to disappear in my writing.

On the way home I realized that what made her story so sad are not the circumstances per se. Rather, it was the resigned way she told them. It was as if she was convincing herself that everything is ok. It seemed that she gave up on her hopes and dreams of a happy life.

As soon as I closed my cab door, I cried. After the first tear fell to my cheek, the rest just can't help but flow. The cab driver must have thought I was crazy. I was tempted to tell him my infamous line to "Just drive" when I saw him peeking at me through the rear view mirror. But I got scared that he might leave me to walk SLEX all the way home.

I only stopped when it was time to pay the toll. I continued the drama in my bedroom. I felt like I was crying for her. For all the pains she experienced and continues to endure. I cried until my eyelids hurt so bad.

You say I'm emotional. You're damned right.

SYJHTSU (Sometimes You Just Have To Shut Up)

I left with an ugly-looking rash on the right-side of my mouth. I haven't had enough sleep for days. I crammed for our last paper and for the finals the day before. The 3 hours of brisk hand-writing (Professor's instruction: Write legibly. I give very low points for answers I can't read.) for the final exam didn't help. I was in no mood at all, especially for the stares at the airport. I screamed in my head: Screw you people! My cousins said I looked like a terrorist with the face mask and the dark eyeglasses (that comes with pointing while laughing their heads off at me). Haha. Funny.

My mood relaxed a bit upon landing on the Busuanga airport. I say 'a bit' coz the 2-hour dusty rough road to Salvacion triggered the not-so-happy me again. I was at my breaking point. I got bitchier by the micro-second. Oh, and did I mention that the doctor said I had to refrain from eating seafood for a while because of my infection? Great. Palawan without seafood. Just great.

I was surprised to find the world painted in a different shade the next day. And I mean literally. The sky was bluish gray at 5:00AM (Yes, I woke up around this time for the rest of my vacation), and it slowly changed to a mixture of red, orange, pink and yellow. The moonset was beautiful. Its parallelism with the sunrise on the other side of the island was breathtaking. I found myself ranting less as the days went by. I slept better (and earlier! weeeeeeeeeee!). I ate slower. I smiled more.

Everything was timely, as it was holy week. Time for reflection, as the elders say. I reflected in my own way - a little different from the usual prayerful means that my Mom expects us to be in. We went to a lot of beaches - one island per day. My cousins and I were in our "skimpy bikinis". How in the world are we going to be prayerful in those outfits? Huh. You tell me. But you see, amidst all the antics, the crazy fun while swimming, snorkeling and picture-taking, all of us will fall quiet. For a long time. In our own time. It's as if we knew when to keep quiet, and not to bother each other. We just sat on the powdery white sand, and stared at the wonderfulness that surrounded us. We took in all the beauty that we can - from the countless white-sand beaches in the islands nearby, to the vast blue waters, to the bright sky, to the yellow and black cardinals. We did that, even by the pool at the resthouse. Stared at a distance. Sighed in awe. Thanked the Lord for the blessings of family, beauty and relaxation time on top of peace and quiet.

The 6 days in Palawan was more than a vacation to me. It was a renewing experience. It reminded me that sometimes, you just have to shut up. I hope the Lord understands that we simply had to do it in our bikinis.

cheers

If sadness were taken in shots
and not in one big gulp,
then I must be an alcoholic.

Breathe me

I like the holidays. As a child, I always looked forward to Christmas and all the gifts that could fit under our Christmas tree. I recently realized, though, that the cold air and the 'idle time' during my vacation leave depressed me. It's like I finally had the time to relax, breathe, and feel what I had been denying for some time now - I am sad.

My sister found a song for me..or rather, she thought of me when she read the lyrics. So I'm sharing it here. My (current) song...

Breathe me by Sia

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times
before
I Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there's no-one else
to blame

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be
found,
Yeah I think that I might
break
Lost myself again and I feel
unsafe

Be my friend
Hold me,
wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Be my friend

Hold me,
wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

On Chocolates and Perspective

I wrote this 2 nights ago:

I was supposed to be on a bus to Sagada. Instead, I'm home musing.

I felt a little sad on the way home tonight. I boarded the shuttle, but impulsively went off after 3 minutes. I went to Starbucks and got myself a Chocolate Chip Frappucino. I was hoping to uplift my spirits. Earlier today, I began a spiel on chocolates and Harry Potter with an officemate. I stopped mid-sentence, thinking he might not really be interested in chocolates and/or Harry Potter. I was supposed to make a point on how I thought J.K. Rowling was brilliant on her idea of chocolates making people better after a dementor-attack. As Wikipedia relates it, "a dementor is a soul-sucking fictional fiend" and that "Chocolate is an effective first aid to mild cases of contact. This may be because chocolate is a source of serotonin, an anti-depressant chemical."

Anyway, half-a-grande of the choco chip frap later, I wasn't sad anymore. Miracle? I don't think so. Coz I wasn't exactly jumping with joy, I was just...lightheaded. It's as if I gained a certain perspective as I sipped, texted and stared at the purple couch, all at the same time. It could've been epiphany for me, minus a person to share my thoughts with.

I would've loved a girl friend at that moment. So I tried to call up one. She's not in Makati. I texted another. She's at work ("sorry,girl,can't leave"). The other one's presumed to be busy, so I brushed her off my "possibles". I would've called on another usual coffee-mate but her office is 4 long blocks away.

I gave up on girl friends. Being "in the moment", I opted for a friend whom I've dated a couple of times. He almost always brought refreshing insights. I thought - refreshing...that's not bad for me now, is it? So what the heck, I texted him (I made up a story for the invitation be as casual as possible). And what do you know, he's in a meeting!

Bakit ba palaging ganito? Kung kelan kailangan ko ng kausap, wala silang lahat. Hindi nila kasalanan. At choice ko rin namang hindi istorbohin yung iba. Pero minsan, hay... nakakalungkot talaga.

At home, I tried to walk with my perspective. I walked to and fro on our frontyard, cigarette on hand. Puff. Step, step, step. Pause. Long stride. I did it for 10 times or so, when I noticed Chubby (our dog) was looking right at me. I sighed. I felt like he understood. The dog understood. Or maybe he was just thinking how stupid I looked.

I love him just the same. Coz he's there, when the others weren't.

my spot

I don't have a spot. You know, that place you that go to - when you're sad, when you just hate the world, or when the world hates you, or when you simply want to be by yourself. Movie and tv characters almost always have one in their moments of emotional self-indulgence. I've always wanted one. I've envied the main character's serenity when she (of course now, I'm imagining a girl) reaches her spot. In my mind, she ran all the way from the comfort of her own bedroom, wanting to get away from it all. You visit the spot when you're tired. When you're lost. When you're overwhelmed. Rarely when you're happy. But it's ok... because your spot will always understand.

Sometimes, in my desire for that place, I could almost feel it around me, hugging me in a way that only it can. It encloses me, yet I am free in it. I could almost hear the scattered noise from a distance. I could almost see the colors - mixing and swirling and then fading towards the horizon.

I have one wish now: Bring me there.