My Turf

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.