Every time I hear that a fellow pozzie passes away, I just thank the heavens that it’s not anyone I know personally, especially not one of my poz posse. I know it’s harsh to think that way, but I won’t lie. And every time, I wonder how it would feel if it was one of my little poz family to go. It’s a question I can’t answer, or am just avoiding altogether. But it is bound to happen. It has always been bound to happen. And recently, it just did. I lost someone from my pozzie family.
It was Monday early morning, around 1:00 am I think. I awoke to my mobile phone ringing. I was still groggy and actually missed the call. I tried to peek through blurry eyes at who called, and realized I had an unread message as well. It was E. Bitch, patay na si Papi. Nasaksak siya. What the?! He must be kidding. E can be such a joker.
Then my phone began ringing again. It was E’s kid, Lil Jenny’s boyfriend. I answered. I sensed panic in his voice. He told me to remain calm. Wala na si Papi. I sighed deeply. He passed the phone to Lil Jenny, who was sobbing. Mami, wala na si Papi. Shit... so is it true?
I don’t know how exactly I felt. I was probably overcome with shock. But hearing the panic and grief on the other side of the line, I needed to remain calm and strong, even though my mind was reeling. I thanked them for the info, told them to relax, and said goodbye. I needed to let it sink in.
The phone rang again, and it was my other kid, RedAppleBlackMark. He said the same thing. Hearing it thrice was enough. This would’ve been too much of a conspiracy if it wasn’t true.
Papi’s gone. Papi’s gone.
Apparently, he was defending his brother against a group of guys. Then it happened. He got stabbed. Twice. Even his current boyfriend, who was with him, got stabbed. Papi didn’t even make it to the hospital alive. Thankfully, his boyfriend did.
It’s not easy to explain how I felt. I was asking myself how the hell it happened. Why the hell it happened. I blame him and his confrontational nature. But why didn’t anyone try to stop him? But that’s that. Not something I can control.
I wasn’t crying. I just might not really be the crying type. Even when my own father died six years ago, I didn’t shed more than a tear. Was I sad? Of course. Sad but not crying. Yes, it’s possible.
I won’t deny that it dawned on me that he never granted me the closure I wanted back when things between us got complicated. Why didn’t I see his confrontational self when I needed it then? He left me to my own capacities to get over things, live with unanswered questions and just move on. Good thing I did, eventually. Civil, but he and I knew things changed between us.
So I was questioning, I was introspecting, I was reminiscing, I was blaming. Even though everyone expected me to be distraught and grieving.
Honestly, I wondered if I deserved the concern people were giving me. Remember, I’m no longer the boyfriend. He is still Papi, but he is not my papi. I no longer have the privilege of acting like I got widowed.
I texted my BFF, GreenFrog, asking if he was up. Thankfully, he was. I messaged him about what was up. He suggested we talk over the phone, so he called. We discussed it, and like me, he was shocked, probably even more than I was. While we were talking, he got online and stalked Facebook. Even more confirmations. It wasn’t just my imagination. Papi’s dead. Papi’s dead.
We had talked. We had vented. But really, there was nothing that we could do. So we bade each other goodbye, and I tried my hardest to go back to sleep. A feat after all that, but I had to wake up for work in a few hours.
Waking up, I knew what had happened the night before. But I was busy. It was Monday. I needed to prepare for work. Me and my routines keep me sane. It wasn’t until I was in the bus, stuck in traffic, left with hours of time to think, that it hit me. I was tearing up, trying hard not to lose it. I don’t know what was running through my head. Probably just me still hoping that he was just happy. Argh.
That evening, I decided to go to the wake. I was glad not to have to go alone. I had BFF, W, and O and his boyfriend with me. We took the trip down south, bonded over dinner on the way, and made it. Here goes nothing.
It was a small chapel in the church compound of the village. I was surprised a bit. Less glamorous than the royalty Papi always seemed to exude. A banner that said Official NBI Morgue... must be that way for murder cases. Why’d he have to beat us to the grave? And so close to Christmas? At such an unholy hour?! And on a Sunday?!?! Geesh, always the center of attention. Oh boy, I was really distracting myself, wasn’t I?
So we walked up to the casket, and took a look. I was aloof, as usual. I didn’t need to say anything. I’m sure Papi knew what was running through my head right then and there. He looked alright. His vain self would’ve been happy. I gave him a secret smirk which said, hey, I’m here, long time no see, we have a lot of catching up to do. I think I wasn’t sad because I felt he was in a happy place. I felt he was happy to see so many people cared.
Walking away, we greeted some fellow RITM peeps - and there were a lot, mind you. Ate was there. My eldest kiddo. Y too. And so many others. Papi was a loss to the HIV community. He was ever present whenever there’d be a gathering at RITM. Even more present than I was, for sure. So much so, he was probably the one who qualified most to be an honorary pusit. And he would’ve been proud.
I always wondered why he got so attached to the positive community of RITM. I remember he told me he got himself tested at RITM for the first time in a long while back in 2008. And though he turned out negative, he developed an affinity to the people he happened to meet then. And ever since, he never got the positive community out of his system. A negative attracted to the positives. Just how a magnet says it’s supposed to be.
Even in the advent of death, it’s never too late to say thank you. So I will. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for that one fateful date. Thank you for laughing your ass off with me at Kimmy Dora standing at the back of the movie house. Thank you for the hugs. Thank you for the kiss and the kisses. Thank you for being my first “relationship” since finding out I was HIV-positive. Thank you for reintroducing me to the roller coaster of love. Thank you for saying you’d love me forever no matter what. Thank you for introducing me to the person who became my BFF. Thank you for being the Papi of the family. Thank you for the friendship. Thank you for sharing your life with me.
Life. You never know how it’s going to go. Too soon, they say. Too soon. So the world lost a life. I lost my first official pozzie, though just honorary. He was a couple’s son, a sibling’s brother, a friend’s friend, a stranger’s neighbor, a lover’s lover, a cause’s advocate, my posse’s daddy... and my Papi.
So long Papi. With no tears, all smiles. Goodbye for now. I’ll see you soon...
R.I.P
Papi
June 1972 - December 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Goodbye for Now
Friday, August 07, 2009
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.
