It is frustrating when there are mysteries that cannot be solved. Especially those that have a special connection to our lives. My personal frustration while growing up was not knowing who my real parents are. I don’t have a real name, and I don’t know who I really am. I got over it, accepted it and now I’m okay with it.
A few months ago, Botchok added me as an LJ blog buddy. I found out that he has been reading my entries and decided to add me up. He knows so much about me because of what I write. Our common link is that we both live in the same village. I referred to him as my mystery neighbor. Eventually we traded mobile numbers and he referred to himself as Sancho. We thought of meeting up a couple of times but we weren’t too serious about it. We probably both felt that it would get weird and we won’t be as kenkoy as we were when texting.
We would have met for the first time last Sunday. I was lunching at Italliani’s while I didn’t know that he was at KFC. When I got home, I received a text from him telling me that he’s at Time Zone and will attend mass at 5PM, samahan ko daw siya. I was actually feeling lazy to go out because it was too hot outside. Then I decided I want to get a new multi-card reader at CDR King, so I can have just one excuse to drag myself to ATC and meet up with him. I texted and called, he wasn’t answering. I thought he backed out. I got my multi card reader and spent the rest of the afternoon playing at Time Zone, window shopping and having a massage at The Spa. Monday morning he finally texted me. It turns out he suddenly had chest pains and he had to drive himself to The Asian Hospital. Imagine that situation. He was confined since Sunday. Then our text conversation turned to how earthquakes have been too frequent lately and that it scares me. Then he replied back.
“Don’t be afraid if it’s our time what can we do but pray for a peacful exit.”
That was the last message I received that he himself wrote. Later at around 1pm, I received a message from his phone.
“This is his aunt. We moved him to ICU. He had an attack.”
I kept sending him messages of prayers, hope and strength but I never received any reply. Until this morning.
“Thank you so much for remembering Brian in your thoughts. I’m sure he appreciates it.”
I’m not sure if it was still his aunt texting me or someone else from the family. But his real name was revealed. Brian. His body was cremated and had the service this morning. I assume he passed away when he had that attack last Monday. His remains will be brought to Batangas. Botchok did mention that his family was from there.
I won’t be receiving anymore messages from him of sudden trips to Tagaytay because he’s craving for bulalo; Or stuffing himself at North Park ATC; or out-of-the-blue invites to Malate; or I’m-at-the-gym messages at the middle of the day when I’m still at work. I’ll miss him. Now that he’s gone, there will never be a chance to get to know him better. I was driving this afternoon and I was just dazed. This is just too surreal. We’re blog and text pals. We were communicating the other day and now he’s gone. He will always be a mystery neighbor now.
This is one part of living that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. I’d hate to see my friends die. I would hate to be left behind. I don’t want to have a long life.
To Botchok, or Sancho, or Brian, thank you for connecting with me. You questioned why young, healthy people like Ace die. And now I question why you have to die. Your death was a mystery. But I hope your wish of a peaceful exit was granted. If only time has been generous, we could have been good friends. And when it’s my turn to go, I hope to finally meet you face to face and be real friends. I know you’re a good guy and you mean well. Wherever you are now, I trust that you are in a better place.