Paalam...

Its been almost two weeks since June 4. Almost two weeks after I buried a dear friend. Earlier today, I went to his mother’s home in Victoria. It was supposed to be his 32nd birthday today. How ironic that we are without him on his birthday. That I should remember him on this day devoid of happiness, but rather stricken with grief.

Two weeks ago I lost a friend, confidante, brother (fraternity brother) and comrade-in-arms (or should I say “former” to please those who would rather brand him a traitor to the movement???).

I have many misgivings about the life that he lived. Mostly, I felt pain for all the suffering he went through just to be the person he wanted to be. He was born an unwanted child. His father simply did not care. He was raised by an aunt who did care. She raised him as her own, an only child for a lonely old woman. Even when he grew up, he yearned to see his true mother. He never did see her.

In his college days, he was looked up to for his fire-brand idealism and his steadfastness to the leftist ideologue. He was a gifted writer and a bad practical joker. He did manage to laugh at just about anything, despite the absurdity of some of his jokes. He was always the last person to go to sleep in meetings, ED’s (educational discussions) and trainings. We used to say that we two would last all night, as long as there was a cigarette to light. For all his talent, man envied him. He was shunned from the leftist movement by individuals who would rather see themselves move up the ranks. He was later branded a counter-revolutionary, a term that still riles me to this day. They turned personal differences into an official vendetta against him. He would later be brought in to our Fraternity.

He enjoyed fraternity life. Although the fraternity was considered by many in Tarlac as leftist, we held our own identity separate from the main leftist movement. We were our own movement, we used to say. That seemed to suit him fine. He was able to kept his idealism alive, but did not have to deal with the assholes he once called comrades. That suited me fined as well. I had a seething anger against theory-mouthing spineless cowards that represented the youth movement of Tarlac (back then).

Moving on after college, we lost touch. We would occasionally see each other in Frat soirées or during the fundraising held before these events. We would SMS each other badly-written dirty jokes every now and then. I wrote for a few of his online news sites. I would email these news stories to him and he would publish them whenever he could. The last we met was December. He was bored and called me up. He was in Angeles City wanted to meet up. I gave him driving directions and he arrived some 20 minutes later. We talked about old times. We talked about Tic-Tac, his ex-wife and one of our sorority sisters. Whatever happened between them, I will never know. I did find peace in that fact that they stayed friends even after they parted ways. Over coffee, we talked about the past that we never really reconciled with. Before he left, he told me he wanted me to attend his son’s birthday the next month. We promised to keep in touch. I missed the birthday party.

On my way home tonight, I thought of Nanay (Beng’s aunt). I thought about her lamentations about not having anyone to wait for anymore. I thought about the fact that she loved Beng so much that he defined her happiness. I thought about the love that I had for the man. I thought about the many other friends and fraternity brothers and sisters that did love him. I found peace in those thoughts. Tonight, I mouth a whispered prayer (though Beng was known as an agnostic). I prayed for Beng and I prayed for all of us whose lives he had touched, that we may never forget him and keep him always in our hearts. Paalam, Brod Benjie…