fullman*

My sincere apologies for my unintentional hiatus. I did try to write, and there are entries that are half-finished, but work has been astoundingly hectic because of the campaign period. I have decided to post this today, though, to celebrate the life of a good friend.

In that brief childhood phase where friendships were unadulterated by stereotypes and stigma, I met Paulo. He was the only childhood friend who could match my sense of adventure and wanderlust. We grew up together, with him tagging along in our trips to remote beaches or to our palaisdaan. We’d bike together, plot experiments, or just trade stories endlessly. We’d stargaze in their roofdeck, too, and make futile attempts to locate constellations using American sky maps. We got introduced to Greek mythology at the same time, and soon, along with aliens and UFO sightings, Greek heroes would figure in the stories that we shared to spend the long summer afternoons.

We were alchemists before we were boys. We found beakers, burners, and what-have-you in their house, and we would try to concoct a psychedelic combustion in their backyard. Once, we accidentally poured alcohol on our hands and shrieked to high heavens when we caught fire from the burner. They also owned a microscope, which we sometimes used to replicate experiments that we learned from school or from books. We always earned the ire of my lola and Paulo’s mother, Tita Tin-tin, and so when our “scientific pursuits” became too risky, we would just play with the kids in our neighborhood.

Along with my brothers, we tried making cigars out of dried papaya leaves, an experience that thankfully helped me avoid smoking altogether. We learned, however, from my mother and from fisherfolks in the area, the other uses of tobacco: you could actually use the dried leaves to irritate an octopus out of its hole. Once out, the local fishermen would kill the poor creatures by biting into their heads, an act that still fascinates me.

We were busy creating animal traps, too. Strings, hooks, sticks were for birds. We scattered rice grains in their roof deck, in our backyard, anywhere, hoping that the promise of food would lure birds into our traps. In our more reconciliatory moments with the animal kingdom, we sketched bird houses that we hoped would attract birds to nest in our homes.

We were more successful with sea creatures, however. Once, Paulo joined me and my family to a remote sand bar. The beach was deserted, except for us and some fisherfolks who were using fine-meshed nets to catch fingerlings of sugpo (Tiger prawns). Several seahorses were caught along and after pleading with the fisherfolks, we brought the live seahorses to Paulo’s house and kept them in an aquarium. They eventually died, victims of our curious minds: we wanted to know if they would survive in fresh water, so everyday we would take out a few cups of salt water and replace it with freshwater. The seahorses died, but now we know that they wouldn’t survive in freshwater.

As in other childhood friendships, we eventually parted ways. In high school, I got introduced to other friends. We completely lost touch when my family moved back to Manila. Paulo eventually became a pilot, a dream he always had. The last time I saw him was in 2004, during the Holy Week break, when I went to Masbate to campaign. I went to their house and met his wife and kids.

Last Thursday morning, I saw a TV report about a Cessna plane that crashed in a residential area in Paranaque. It turned out that Paulo was the pilot of the plane, the sole victim of the tragedy. The report said that his body was charred beyond recognition. According to the Air Transportation Office (ATO), the skillful pilot avoided the houses and forced the plane to crash in a vacant lot.

I wish we could meet again, Paulo, maybe in another lifetime. For now, wherever you are, please know that we take comfort in the warm memories that you have left behind. You will be fondly remembered.