My Turf

Hindi ko pa yata naranasan sa tanang buhay ko ang magalit ng ganon ka-grabe.

Gigil
na gigil ako sa’yo, gusto kong ibato sa’yo lahat ng condiments sa
lamesa, lahat ng bote ng beer, mga kubyertos, plato (lalo na yung hot
plate na pinaglagyan ng pulutan!), tissue holder…Lahat ng tamaan ng
mata ko, gusto kong ihagis sa’yo para itikom mo na ang bibig mo at
tumigil ka na sa kakasalita.

Kwento ka ng kwento tungkol sa bagong babae mo, eh katabi mo lang ako!

"Wag ka ngang papa-halatang apektado ka! Para kang tanga!"
sabi ng isang kaibigang lalakeng nakakaalam ng storya nating dalawa.
Kinorner at kinomfort din ako ng asawa ni Kaibigang Lalake sa CR, kung
saan nagkanda-iyak-iyak ako sa panggagalaiti sa’yo.

"Tangina nya, ano bang problema nya?!"
Hindi ko matangggap na napaka-kapal ng mukha mong magkwento tungkol sa
iyong ‘hapless search for true love’ in my presence. At katabi mo pa
ako. Hindi ko matanggap na napaka-kapal ng mukha mong magparinig–oo,
nagpaparinig ka! Gusto mo lang malaman ang reaksyon ko sa mga sinasabi
mo. The fact na sinasadya mong manakit just so you can feel better about yourself ang pinaka hindi ko matanggap sa lahat. At yun din ang pinaka-masakit.

2 taon na akong hindi humihipo ng sigarilyo bago kita nakilala.

2 buwan matapos nun, chain smoker na ako ulit.

Inutusan
ko ang PA na kuhanin sa waiter ang bill. Tiningnan ko kung magkano ang
kailangan kong i-share. Alam kong sobra-sobra ang naibayad ko, pero
kaso ayaw ng maghintay ng mga luha ko sa sukli.

Huling hithit sa yosi. Sinubsob sa ash tray. Kuha ng bag. Kaway sa mga kasama sa lamesa. "Uuwi ka na?!" gulat na gulat na tanong nila. Hindi na ako sumagot. Bumaba ako sa kubo, lumabas ng bar at pumara ng taxi.

Napansin ko pang humahabol ang 2 pang kaibigang boys. Pero hindi nila nakitang nakasakay na ako.

Hindi
pa man nakalalayo ang taxi, ngumawa na ako ng husto. Nakakaiyak pa lalo ang tugtog ng driver na naka-tune-in yata sa Love Radio (o
baka Yes FM. O Energy FM. Ah, ewan. Magkaka-tunog lang naman ang mga
yun).

Mahigit dalawampung minuto ang drive mula Quezon City
hanggang Pasig. Nasa C5 na ako, hindi pa rin ako tumitigil. At hindi
ito silent crying. Ito ay may sound. May hikbi. Literal na "Hu-hu-hu."

Ilang beses sumilip sa rearview mirror si Manong Taxi.

Hindi na sya naka-tiis.

"O…baket umiiyak?"

Hindi ako sumagot.

"Nakita ko mukha ngang gago sya eh."

Hindi ko naman masabi kay manong na hindi naman si Tarantado ang nakita nyang nakasunod sa akin bago ako sumakay sa taxi nya.

"Gago po talaga sya!" Sabay singhot. Sabay hikbi. Tuloy pa rin ang Hu-hu-hu.

Iiling-iling si Manong Taxi.

"Hindi iniiyakan ang ganong lalake."

Nagpasalamat ako at iniabot sa kanya ang bayad. Pumasok ako ng apartment, humiga sa sofa at umiyak ulit.

Halos 2 buwan na naging refuge ko ang sofa na ito.

Hindi
ako natutulog sa kwarto kasi dinaig pa nito ang Smokey Mountain sa
sobrang dumi. At ayaw ko ring linisin. Ganon pala ang tunay na
depression. Wala akong ganang gumawa ng kahit ano. Wala akong lakas
gumawa ng kahit ano. Lahat nakakatamad. Lahat nakakapagod.

Hindi
madali at hindi mabilis ang proseso ng pagpapagaling. Pero may
katapusan din ito. Mahalaga lang ang prosesong ito para malaman at
maintindihan ko kung ano ang meron ako. At kung ano ang kaya kong
mawala sa akin.

Nakita ko rin na hindi ako pinapabayaan.

Ngayon,
alam ko na. Na kahit may mga nakasakit sa akin, may mga bagong taong
dadating. May mga bagong characters na mai-introduce sa storya. 

Hanggang sa hindi ko namamalayan na okey na pala ‘ko.

Okey na okey na pala ‘ko.

Tama si Manong Taxi. Hindi ka nga dapat iniiyakan.

June 12 is Philippine Independence Day. But to me, it holds more meaning–it is also Jeboy’s birthday.

Jeboy’s one
of the better-looking boys in our high school class. Those dark, round
eyes were his best asset He was among the smartest, too. He seemed to
be the only person who could solve Mrs. Imperial’s Physics problems
without a sweat. He earned the moniker, "Master" because of this. When
we graduated, he was part of the batch’s Top 10. If I remember
correctly, I think he even bagged the "Best in Physics" plum as well.
To top all these off, Jeboy’s multi-talented. He’s good in sports,
could play the guitar well…in short, your classic Jack of All Trades.

We
did not belong to the same tight-knit group, but he and I hit it off
pretty well. After high school, his barkada and mine sort of merged,
and we regularly got together for drinking sessions, billiards, and
countless other gimmicks in places that were popular in the late 90s
(he was also kind enough to indulge my friend, Grace’s invitation to be
part of her debut party’s cotillion de honor! Haha!)

Between
2000-2001, most members of our high school batch got our college
degrees. It no longer came as a surprise to anyone when Jeboy was
licensed as an Electronics and Communications Engineer. When we became
professionals, the gimmicks lessened, but they never stopped. All of
us remained good friends even when we got too busy to hang out with
each other as often as we did when we were students.

Everything’s cool. Everything’s fine and dandy.

 

Wednesday. July 21, 2004

Jeboy and Lymph Node Cancer 
 
Why? Why does a thing like this happen? To a guy who just turned 25 years old? I don’t understand. Honestly, I don’t. 
 

Ang labo 
 
Were
the only words I could mutter when Janolo told me Jeboy was diagnosed
with cancer. I just saw him a few months back! I even remember telling
him, "Taba mo ah!" then giving him a hug. He was so vibrant and healthy
and friggin’ young!
 
Ang
Labo–the only words I could mutter when I learned of the news ’cause
that’s the only fitting description for it: Ang Labo. Ang
labo-labo-labo. 

25
 
The
quarter-life is filled with anxiety…questions about where you’re
headed, the direction that your life has turned, what you have become
and what you would want to be next. It’s a time when you start to worry
about your own finances, health and life insurance, having or not
having a love life, a husband or a wife, being a mother or a father or
being sterile, being a bum or being in a job you hate, taking up
post-graduate studies, religion, your parental and sibling relations,
depression, burn-out, existential questions…BUT NOT DEATH. At 25,
you’re wrestling with numerous other concerns about your life that death
is farthest from your mind. At 25, death should be the last thing
you’re thinking of. With the exception of suicide, of course. But to
die against your will? That sheds an entirely different light on the
issue.
 
Gawd.
 
Jeboy? Threatened by death when he’s just the same age as me? It’s just so fucking frustrating!
 
Life
when you’re 25 should not be about being scared that your own demise
could come any time. It should not be about abrupt endings. It should
not be about saying goodbye to the people you love. It should not be
about waking up everyday wondering, “Today? Will I die today?”   
 
Not fair. At all.
 
It’s not
fair for life to be challenged or threatened by death. Not at 25. Not
at a time when you’re scrambling for opportunities to do all that you
can and want to do.   
 
Living to die. Sick irony. That is all that it is. 

 

 

 

The sick irony ended in 2005, a year after I wrote this entry. When Jeboy passed away on Christmas Day.

 

When
I received the bad news, I could not understand how I felt. It was a
mixture of sadness and guilt and anger and disbelief. I thought he was
getting better? I thought the recent MRIs reflected improvements in his
condition? Didn’t his Dad just leave for another country because he’s
already confident Jeboy’s on his way to becoming fully healed?

 

The
entire time he was sick, I often called him up at his house.
Our conversations would pause for a week or two following his
chemotherapy, but would resume again when I knew he’d have regained
enough energy to talk. They were mostly brief chats because I didn’t
want to tire him out. He sounded faint, but you knew he sincerely
appreciated the regular exchange

 

I
promised Jeboy I’d visit him. When work load’s not so heavy. When I’m
not so busy. I’ll go this weekend. Or maybe the weekend after that.
Don’t worry, Jeboy, you’ll surely get better! We have lots of time. We
have lots of time.

A year after he was diagnosed, he died. On the day Jesus Christ was born, Jeboy died.

  

I read somewhere, “If you’re afraid of someone dying, love them now!”

 

I
wish we all understand that we really do not have as much time on our
hands as we think. Sadly, we often don’t. If we do, there would be no
taking anything or anyone for granted. There would be no
procrastinating or putting off or passing up. There would be no need to
make up for anything or offset or compensate. There would be nothing to
be sorry about or feel remorse for.

 

Love them now. Tell them now. Show them now.

 

There’s really no telling when it’s time.

 

I used to be a shameless,
hardcore, die-hard local basketball fan.

The fanaticism
for the sport began in the late ‘80s, when I fell in love with Shell’s
then-rookie, Benjie Paras. I had clippings of Benjie’s photos from newspapers
and magazines kept in a small security-number protected cashbox. I wrote him
letters, typed on perfumed stationeries using the conventional Ta-ka-tak typewriter. 10 years old and
barely touching 4 feet tall at the time, my admiration for the player was way
bigger than myself.

My Dad was a
huge Añejo/ Ginebra fan then, though. He’d sometimes take us to Ultra to watch
live games. It didn’t take long for me to catch on the team’s, and Robert
Jaworski’s never-say-die spirit. Through my father’s influence, I eventually
turned from a Shell devotee to an Añejo convert.

Rudy Distrito’s
winning lay-up in Game 7 of the 1991 Ginebra win over Shell would forever
remain as one of my all-time favorite basketball memories. 

Then in the
mid-90s, I started high school and got too engrossed in extra-curricular
activities (COCC and Student Council and after-exam-movie gimmicks, and all
that jazz). Basketball took the backseat.

The fanaticism
was back with a vengeance in 1996, though. PBA newbies, Bal David and Marlou
Aquino joined Ginebra. It was a very potent Center-Point combination made ever
stronger with power forward, Noli Locsin and big guard, Vince Hizon (and a very
deep bench to boot). In 1997, Ginebra/ Gordon’s Gin won the championship again,
and I was beside myself with glee.

I was a
freshman in UP in 1996. My love for basketball went beyond the PBA—when I got
to UP, I became an instant UP Maroons fan! And, as luck would have it, my
closest friends from my freshman block were crazy over basketball as well!

UP
was never known to be a basketball powerhouse (unlike UST or  La Salle back in the mid-90s). However, the Maroons lineup
in 1996 did not disappoint. They even managed to wind up in the Final Four, I
think. I could still remember the main players: Paolo Mendoza, Allan
Gamboa, Bryan Gahol, Bing Victoria, Dexter Racho, Ogie Gumatay. Their coach
then was Eric Altamirano, before he was replaced by Nick Jorge in 1997 or ’98.

My friends and
I closely followed the games (and the players!). After class, even though none
of us had cars then, we would ride the UP-Katipunan jeep and head to Ateneo to
watch the games. During big matches, we’d troop all the way to Araneta Coliseum
or Rizal Stadium in Taft just to cheer the UP team. Being freshmen, our classes
were mostly in AS (except for Kasaysayan 2 in Asian Center,
and of course, our PE classes). But since the players were mostly sophomores,
we’d often see them, too! We memorized the floors and times when there were
‘player sightings’ and casually pass by, hoping to catch a glimpse. Some
players were frat members or part of the ‘sosyal’ crowd, and would often
be seen hanging out at the AS lobby (this was where all the coño people
usually hung out then). My friends and I would walk back and forth in the
lobby, giggling and whispering as we stole guilty glances at the burly fellows
seated on the benches. All we talked about was basketball, basketball,
basketball! I don’t know how we managed to do it, but we somehow got hold of
some of the Maroons’ home numbers and, like lovesick idiots, actually called
them up! We’d give fake names and fake reasons for calling. We’d ring their
phones, listen to their voices and hang up. In our first barkada Christmas
party, we called up a player and took turns talking to him! The guy
indulged, praise heavens. But I still cringe to this day when I remember that
night. Shameless fanaticism, all right! 

During the
first semester of my second year, I took Cheerleading for my PE. Oh no,
no, no, don’t get me wrong! In UP, Cheer Dancing is different from
Cheerleading. Cheerleading is the PE class where the only physical task you
have to perform is to bring yourself to wherever the UP team is playing, and
have a pep squad member sign your ticket. That’s it! Boy, did I ace that
subject. I watched almost all of the Maroons’ games during this UAAP season!

And here is a
very fantastic event. I used to work as a cashier in Jollibee-Philcoa. During
one night shift, I was flabbergasted to see THE Paolo Mendoza walking towards
the counter. I swear I could actually feel my mouth dropping wide open as he
approached. But that is far from being the best part of the story.

The best part
of the story is Paolo was soon joined by another Maroon. And another. And
another. Then some of the coaching staff. All of them, standing in front of me,
looking at the products listed overhead, giving me their orders. I probably
looked like a total fool, smiling from ear to ear as I filled soft drink cups
and called out orders to the kitchen crew and arranged fries and burgers on the
tray. That was perhaps the biggest single transaction I ever handled in my
Jollibee career (career daw, o!). And it was hands-down the most delightful!

When I shifted
from Economics to Broadcast Communication during second sem of 1997,
I’d often see the players in the Masscomm building (a handful of
them were Film majors). Unfortunately, my interest in basketball-watching had
waned significantly. My focus shifted from basketball to my college org,
Broad Ass, and my my major subjects. Add to that the cumbersome fact
that the UP Maroons started having more losses than wins. The
situation has remained sad ever since.

Even now in my
late 20s, I admit I am still hoping for a UP championship. There are
days when I’d wish I was in UP during the late 80s when the Maroons, led
by Ronnie Magsanoc, Benjie Paras and Eric Altamirano, lorded it over all
other teams and won the UAAP cup. I long for the day when UP would also
be known for its brawn and not just for its brains. I could still
recall how we’d (in all bitterness!) shout at students from other
schools during games when UP’s obviously about to lose, ‘Quiz Bee na lang! Hahaha. Such
is the UP bravado. Talo na nga, ang yabang pa rin. Or nakakahanap pa rin
ng rason para mag-yabang.

Still, I could imagine
that  very, very few things could bring me more elation other than
singing, UP Naming Mahal, in a
match that UP actually won. I thought Marvin Cruz could lead UP to the
championship. Sadly, the team fell short, but, as I said, I’m not yet done
hoping.

I never
imagined that a childhood passion would make my college life a whole lot more
interesting. On a deeper, more significant level, it was through love for
basketball that I met the best friends I still keep to this day. If only for
the wonderful friendship and memories I stumbled upon through the sport, I
could honestly claim that basketball defined more than half of my UP stay. Yes,
even if most events occured as I watched on the sidelines.

I guess the
line that goes, “Life’s a ball” holds more meaning for me than I could ever
begin to explain.