I Hate Cory

I loved that it was a holiday yesterday. I was able to rest, to do some errands around the house, but really, I spent most of the day watching the funeral of former Philippine president Cory Aquino. But after it all, I was left with just one conclusion...

I hate Cory.

In the wake of her death, Cory has been the headline of every news broadcast lately... quite expected, really, considering she was the eleventh president of our beloved republic.

I confess, I’ve been relegated to such a schmuck with it all. Seeing all the news about her, all the memories of her, all the tears shed for her... it all touches me. Although I do acknowledge she was one hell of a woman who showed what one seemingly lowly housewife could do to change and inspire a whole nation, I’m not necessarily a big Cory fan or anything. But still, seeing how her life is now being celebrated brings a tear to my eye.

If I had things my way, I’d be sobbing my heart out every time I’d watch something about her on TV. Yeah, yeah, call me a faggot, but it’s so damned touching! But, of course, that is not the case. Having my mom beside me forces me to be... discreet. I don’t want her to see me crying.

So what triggers all my emotion? I was just eight years old when the EDSA revolution that won her the presidency took place, so certainly I can hardly relate to the democracy thing that she brought at the time. Certainly, Cory had encountered the "STD" notion during her lifetime, but I seriously doubt if it was as close an encounter as mine. And though the fact that she looks just like my lola could play a part in it all, considering that I may have been the least favorite grandchild of that lola of mine just rips that theory apart.

If it is one particular thing, it’s the death that bothers me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve always been ready to go. It just seems that the heavens aren’t ready to take me. Not to mention that I’m not dying just yet either. It’s the prospect of dying alone that saddens me. I’ve always feared dying alone. That I’ll bravely admit.

Even before, I’ve dreamt of it more than a handful of times. Seeing myself lying in a wooden box in an empty church. No one grieving, no one missing me, no one caring, no one even noticing that I’m gone. I hate waking up sobbing like a baby whenever that happens.

One’s family should be there, right? But I seriously doubt I’m going to be anyone’s husband or father. I am a son, a brother, a nephew and a friend... but will they be too ashamed to admit that? I always said I was a loner. I am. But in death, I tend to wonder... will I still be alone?

Cory... she had it all. Children, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, friends... A husband saying he fell in love with her three times... Not to mention a whole nation regarding her as their mother. Will I have anything like that when the lights dim on me?

People thanking her. People missing her. People crying for her. People celebrating her life... even after her death. It was just one hell of a way to go.

She was missed. She was thanked. She loved and was loved. She nurtured. She inspired. I can only wish I had such a legacy to leave when my time comes.

I hate Cory because I can only dream of being like her. But I can try. I can certainly try.

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