Losing someone you love is a pain that never goes away, no matter how many people say that things are gonna be okay.
When I left the house this morning, I was all smiles; my heart was filled with sunshine, and my spirit was beaming with anticipation, looking forward to a brand new day. “Today is going to be beautiful,” I said to myself. It is not always easy to develop a cheerful disposition towards life; it is something that you hone with consistent repetition.
Outside our red gate, I began the long walk that would take me to a main street where I could ride a jeepney. Wearing earphones, I was listening to the music playing from my mobile phone. Looking back, I don’t remember what was playing then at that time. But I do remember that after a few steps on that asphalted road, I glanced towards my right, and saw something that made me stop in my tracks a few steps later.
Hah. Look at all those people moving about, walking around like ants across the gravel path. They all seem to be heading for different directions, it’s a wonder they don’t collide with each other and break into a billion bits. Ahhhh, that would probably be a sight to see. Haha. I wonder what they’re all thinking about, walking around like that. Like that guy, for instance.
“Nag-field trip kami nun dati sa Corregidor.. tapos me tunnel dun sobrang dilim na sa loob na pinasukan namin.. tapos me isang lugar dun, parang labas yata ng gubat, me camera case; di namin alam kanino yun o bakit nandoon yun..”
That was the last story I’d tell my father. He passed away that morning, and as I desperately tried to revive him, all my untold stories were replaced with unanswered questions. There was no sense in fighting the tears that flowed; I was hoping against hope that he was just sleeping. There was no feeling in the doctor’s words when he told me that the slight movement I saw at the morgue was just rigor mortis. It was as if the sliver of hope that I was clinging to was cruelly snatched from me.
I close my eyes, and I listen to the sounds made by the rain as it falls on the roof. My mother is listening to a radio broadcast, but the words are just a buzz of incomprehensible chatter to me; I’m currently lost in my thoughts.
Today, in the midst of all the fanfare and commotion brought about by the season, we remember an important person. Not because of his status in life, or how much money he had in the bank. We remember him, because of the difference he made in our lives. He was Raemond Dieter Racho Arizala, a son, a brother, a friend.
They say he made some wrong decisions in life, and that it was these decisions that led him to his death. Perhaps there was some truth to it. True, to all those who knew him well he was a great person, but great as he may be, RD was no saint. There are those who may affirm how much RD had hurt them, how he may have led them to believe in forever, and how just as subtle, paved the ground with his own deceit. I for one may never know the true story behind all this, for what I know are mere whispers of what actually transpired.