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Yay me!

Finally got my hands on that elusive domain.

Change your feeds, dahlings.


It’s been a while, I know. I’m coping so much better now, but there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. His death was epiphanic; I am now a changed woman.

Priorities and world views changed. I suddenly find myself juggling four different jobs. Financial security aside, I wanted to throw myself into something mundane, even if it means I churn words for a living everyday. I am tired, bored even, but I’d rather be busy than be depressed.

So this is what I’ve been doing.

And I will be moving soon.

It’s late and I’ve been desperately trying to sleep so I can make it to the Misa de Gallo later. I’ve been missing it the last couple of days because I’ve been popping sleeping pills like crazy, one after the other. I just want to sleep these days. Every waking minute is killing me, and the fact remains: He is gone.

Growing up boy-crazy, I’ve received a few love letters here and there, and some tickled me pink and allowed me to dream about the writer and let the words drift into my head as I stare into nothingness, wondering about the future. Of course there are those letters which you just want to bury as deep as the drawer can get, but you’re keeping them anyway because oh, I don’t know, you want some ego stroking when you need it.

But, there will always be that one particular letter which you hold so dear, its pages carefully tucked and folded, so fragile that you barely hold it with your fingertips when you read it. This particular letter of mine never fails to make me cry every time; I barely open it and I start leaking like a faucet.

I was in college in UPLB when I had a fight with this man. He tried calling me for days and I just ignored his calls, and because he was in Davao, he really couldn’t do much. Everything was my fault, as usual, and I was just too guilty to pick up the phone and dreaded hearing his deep baritone, all stern and angry. Then, one day, I was chatting on the phone by my dorm’s balcony when I saw him come up the stairs. He flew over just to talk to me. I was impressed. Now that’s what I call a real man. He really pursued his lady, case in point: Me. But before that surprise visit, he sent me this beautiful letter, which really set the bar for me in terms of love letters from men.

This is perhaps, THE greatest love letter I have ever received.

August 26, 1999

My Dearest,

There always comes a time in our lives when we need to take stock of ourselves ask ourselves the quintessential question – QUO VADIS? or where am I going?

I have asked this question many, many times especially during those moments when I feel quite lost and bewildered and always as constant as the sun, the answer has remained the same: seek the Lord and the search for peace and joy suddenly ends there. The thirst for fulfillment is at once quenched at the realization that only God is the answer.

Believe you me, my dearest one, I have searched far and wide for that elusive feeling of contentment and no earthly honor nor material gain nor human conquest has ever given me the satisfaction. I have been a proud and defiant man and I was never so humbled as when I was confronted that the enemy was within me. And to conquer oneself, I needed a most powerful ally and friend who was always there to lift my yoke and made my burden light. The Lord never fails us. It is proud people like us who fail to call on Him.

Darling prodigal daughter of mine, this is not meant to be a homily to bore you. Please give yourself a chance by getting the right connection – the real one, the only one that no cellphone or computer or friends or lovers can deliver. Try it soon enough before time passes you by.

We pray for your success and happiness every minute of the day. You are always a part of us and we profoundly care for you.

– Your PAPA who is crazy about you

Oh God, I terribly miss him.

Grieving is a bitch.

Normally, I’m a very composed person. With my training in PR, I’ve handled all sorts of situations and to be graceful under pressure. I never crack. I can tell people anything, no matter how devastating or funny, with a straight face. I have to be detached from the situation and just tell it as it is. My take on grieving is to do it privately. Suck it in, live with it. I am the poster child of calm.

But this is dad. My own Tevye. I don’t feel like talking to all these people, repeating everything over and over again from the President to the lowly janitor. It’s completely draining whatever I have left inside me.

And to have him gone all too quickly, without having the chance to really tell him what I wanted to say, resolve all my daddy issues, I have become such a wreck. I took time for granted. He was such a magnanimous person that one would think he would live forever.

I just want to sit by the coffin and look at him, and please, allow me to bawl like a baby no matter how scandalous I think it is (and probably scold myself later on).

So, yeah. Fuck me senseless and let me bury my head under the sheets.

‘Tis a sad day indeed. My dad just passed away at 5PM.  

I have yet to write a eulogy and I’ll be facing the media later.

And all I could think about is what to wear in front of the cameras.

I am one fucked up girl.