Bye, Tay.

My earliest memories were of you and me, attending a funeral just like the one you are in right now. The only difference is, you are not here to hold my hand. You’re not around anymore to tell me to get up and stand again when I fall face first while running around the coffin. You’re not here anymore to tell me don’t cry because a lot of people are watching me. Now that you’re not here to scoff at me and tease me, I am letting all my tears fall. Because, you’ll never get to buy me a San Miguel Pale Pilsen grande to take care of my hang over. You’ll never be able to embarrass me in front of everyone about how I wrote who my crush was in a diary when I was 9 years old. You’ll never be able to let me know how overly dramatic I am so I should stop crying right this moment.

In my defense, it’s the little girl living inside me who cried like a baby when she received the message that you already passed away. She had high hopes that you are still as strong as you were 25 years ago. She had confidence that you will be kicking ass in rehabilitating your paralyzed body. Because, to her, you were the strongest man ever. 30 year old me had high hopes on her high hopes. I completely forgot that you’re not as strong as you were. That you weren’t really taking care of yourself even back then. Your cure to cough bouts was gin with lemon for crying out loud.

Bye, tatay. You’ll always be a part of me. I may look like my mother. But she said, all the best parts of you and all the worst parts of you, are in me.