Brief Visitor

I had what was probably one of the briefest dreams of my life, that of my brother Benjie, last night. I was unsure at first whether it was a real dream or not; I thought it could have been one of those random thoughts and images that I usually have between wakefulness and slumber. But I woke up from it, and so concluded it was a dream indeed.


We must have been engaged in banter, judging by the expressions on our faces. We had smiles, and I had my right arm fully on his shoulders, pulling him close, almost like an embrace; something that I do only in instances when I have an unmistakable communion of heart and mind and soul with, or unmistakable love for, someone.

Could it have been really Benjie visiting me in a dream? He knew that I've always dismissed ghosts as laughable products of a hyperactive imagination. Mom also knew of how I stubbornly cling to my beliefs, and so did not bother visiting me. She didn't want to waste her time. Up until now, I wish I hadn't been so vocal with her concerning my relegating ghosts to the realm of superstitions. Then she would have paid me a ghostly visit. Benjie, on the other hand, probably couldn't care less if I believed his apparition or not. I was simply on his agenda of visits before finally departing to where he was destined to be.

When the six of us were kids, a most wonderful time in our lives (and not entirely an impossibility, since I was 14 when Bennett, our youngest, was born, and teens during my time didn't mature as early as the teens of today, believe it or not), we hadn't a thought about death and mortality. Of course, we knew people die, and we had kin who did pass on, like Dad's own mom who died in the early 70's. It had to be my first time to see him in tears, still very dignified but in tears, as he hastily packed an overnight bag to go to San Antonio, Nueva Ecija, more than a hundred kilometers north of Manila, his hometown and where Lola lived. Being the eldest, I accompanied him. It was the middle of the night. We took the family car, at the time a red, two-door, white top convertible Chevy Nova. His elder brother, Tito Danny, was with us, including (if my memory serves me right), his sister, Tita Etang, and Danny's wife, Tita Hermie. We stopped by for flowers at the Paco Market. Mom and the rest of the brood followed by bus the very next day. But like I said, we were kids, and a rosy, unfettered future lay ahead and beckoned.

Had Benjie known that his life would be somewhat brief, then he would have done some things differently. This is not to say that he did mostly regrettable things; we all have our share of them, it is unavoidable. But he could have been in a real hurry, and possibly became one of those child prodigies. Or he could have become a total wastrel, cowered in fear, and waited for his appointed time. He could have been totally different, perhaps obsessed with completing things as much as and as soon as possible. He could have decided that all those children's games we played were a total waste of his precious, limited time. I could have missed having my first real sibling, playmate, and friend. He could have missed out on the true essence of living.

Thankfully, life is a mystery, with secrets that, in my opinion, should remain as such. It has enough of it to make us feel powerless and resigned, precursors to approaching it either philosophically, or angrily and head-on. The former predisposes to a life well-lived, imperfect but well-lived; the latter, to one that is mad and self-destructive.

Again, we were kids, and I don't believe we could have conducted ourselves and thought with this level of sophistication. Our preoccupations were games and toys and all the other things children's dreams are made of. We lived life like tomorrows would never ever run out. I am so grateful that we saw life and the world through innocent eyes. Everything was pure and unadulterated. We gradually outgrew our innocence, of course, and were exposed to life's harshness. Love, however, life's progenitor and antidote, will be with us until the very end.

"Benjie has left the building."

Let me borrow this leaving-the-building phrase from the fans of the late king of rock and roll. It was announced at the end of his concerts, and when the fans heard it, I'm sure they felt sad. Show is over. Go home now. But many of them lingered, hoping for an encore. Sometimes there was, at other times there wasn't. In both instances, the fans had hope.

My brother Benjie has gone. For good. We are devastated. We can linger, but there is no possibility for an encore ever. And unlike the king's multitude of fans, Benjie has only us, a mere handful. We miss him so, like fans miss the king. And some of the king's fans say he's not really dead, but in hiding, or in some sort of hiatus. The hiding and hiatus have been for quite some time now, I'm sure the king is entitled to be dead by this time. We can assuage our grief by saying the same thing, that my brother is in some hiatus somewhere, ready for a comeback at any moment, but we know otherwise, of course. He's never coming back.

I did not and do not miss the king. Mom did as she was a big fan. I'm not. But Mom took me to many of the king's movies, and I particularly enjoyed the one he made while doing his mandatory tour of duty in Europe in the late 50's or early 60's, "G.I. Blues." And, oh yes, how can I forget "Clambake"? I can say now with certainty that early on I exhibited a penchant for sun, sea, and sand. I never managed to live the dream, though, and today the nearest-to-my-domicile, passable mercury and dioxin levels-beach is some four hours or more drive away. Life.

I'll miss this guy Benjie for sure, our king of comic relief. He always had a funny thing or two to say. We grew up together, played, fought, and roughhoused. We enjoyed the same cartoons, and Godzilla movies; ate the same candies, and sometimes got a good spanking together for our misdeeds. We shared things with each other, but at times selfishness took hold and we kept things from one another. We were kids, and kids play out the entire gamut of adult behavior. But his selfishness was kid stuff, and he grew up to be a very generous person.

We had steel bunk beds. I occupied the top, and he, the bottom bed; the rationale being he was younger and so could fall from the top bed. I was acrophobic and I was assigned the top bunk. Just sweet. Our bunk beds doubled as indoor playground equipment: Sometimes it was our playhouse, and we hung a blanket on one side. The bottom bunk was the house, of course. At other times, it was a bus, and instead of a blanket, we had imaginary bus seats and passengers. We alternated playing bus driver and bus conductor, with the driver always focused on driving and the imaginary road, and who also did maintenance work on the bus, using a pen or pencil, some old toys, or whatever, as tools; while the conductor barked the destination and called out to passengers: Quiapo! Quiapo! Sakay na kayo! Children were more imaginative during our time, I think.

We've had some differences, I'm certain, but I honestly can't remember any of them right now. We most probably agreed that they were insignificant and of no consequence, and therefore should be completely forgotten. This happens when you genuinely love someone. You suffer from an amnesia of sorts with regard to the loved one's faults. I believe I had a greater number of faults, and so Benjie had a more serious case of amnesia.

A well-meaning person told me that my brother is now home with God. I was tempted to reply that Benjie should be at home with his wife and kids instead! I was only tempted. Life has a lot of unanswered questions. I actually tried wangling a deal to extend Benjie's life by praying each day that I be taken immediately, with my remaining years given to Benjie. I'm in pretty good shape and the additional years could see his kids through their adolescent years. But it doesn't work that way, I suppose. At least I tried. It wasn't something whimsical; I genuinely wanted it for my brother's sake. He would have done the same thing for me.

Thank you for being a funny and strong pillar of our family, Benjie. We would not have wished for another son or brother in your place. You were always the perfect fit. You lived a good and full life, not in terms of material wealth, but in the wealth of love and happiness. You don't have a horde of shrieking, clawing, hysterical fans like the king, you only have a handful of very grateful people. Our gratefulness is till the very end. Our sole regret is your rather brief life. You could have kept us happy and laughing and in stitches for many more years. I pray that your children learn about you, how you waited for them sweet, little angels to arrive, and how much you loved them till your very last breath. I'm quite sure they have you in their hearts, and that they'll also be joys to the people around them.

I think we'll linger awhile, but you go on ahead. Don't even linger outside the building. Go as far away from it as possible. Go to where you deserve to be, to the wide blue yonder of timeless and infinite happiness, love, and peace. Uncover the secrets I also long to uncover someday. We'll be fine, or at least we'll try our best to be. We'll just stay here awhile, probably to compare notes on how you touched each of our lives, like brag about who you helped the most, who you spent the most time with, who you gave the most money and the best gift to, who you loved and who loved you the most. It can go on and on, and the common denominator after all the discussion is that you touched each and every one of us. An encore is not needed, Benjie. You've given the best performance of your life, and we're thankful to be part of the audience.

Advance Directives

Lest I be misconstrued, I'm not actively seeking my demise, but I certainly will not go to great lengths to extend my life either. This world and life have only finite things to offer; everything is merely a novelty, becomes boring, breaks down, or runs out.

When I go, I hope it will be smooth and quick. I do not want to burden anyone. If my odds of surviving are quite nil, then just let me be. Don't even think of prolonging me. No measures out of the ordinary. Let me take my course. I've always shunned unnecessary expenditures. Absolutely nothing for something I would not benefit from. No exceptions. Spend the money on something else. Say, on a trip you've always wanted. Or on a new appliance. Yes, that'll be more useful.

If there is one Filipino tradition I hate the most, it's being dead and surrounded by gambling idiots, and noisy, chattering, gossiping people, who don't mean even an ounce of condolence. Keep me away from their kind, please. Keep the wake very short; or none at all will be better; I'm not some meat to be cured.

Bid goodbye to my lifeless body (or ashes) quickly. Those farewells are useless anyway. My soul (if I have one) won't be there. I have no clue where it will end up. Those who love me will feel genuinely sad, but I'm sure there will be those who can't wait to see me put away forever. To them I say, the feeling is mutual. It's only a matter of time. Put me underground the following day. If funds are available, turn me into ashes. Bury the ashes, or if you can, use it as fertilizer, and I certainly won't mind serving one, final purpose, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Beats rotting and worms.

Don't use those trite, run-of-the-mill quotes for my epitaph. Go over some of what I've written, and pick out a more imaginative line or quote, something more meaningful or profound that would create a good impression. I'm sure I've written one somewhere. Just my name will do if you can't pick or find one.

Don't visit my grave as often as you would want. Once a year, or even never, is fine. If you forget or don't feel like doing it, it's supremely okay. No need to feel guilty or anything of the sort. Carry on, move on. Life's chores and dreams await you. Don't waste time moping. I've done enough moping already. It wouldn't bring me back. I'll be fine wherever I'll end up. I promise. Who knows? Maybe we'll see each other again for old times' sake. Life and death are both unpredictable.

Integrity, Enjoyment, and Other Abstractions

Surveys seem to very trendy nowadays. They're almost everywhere: Malls, parks, theatres, churches, workplaces, planes, trains, buses, online; and for every subject imaginable: Preferred brands, popularity, poverty, opinions, sex, love, politics, happiness, hunger, finances, among many others. The power and persuasion of surveys cannot be ignored. Many a politician has ridden and won on the power of surveys. Surveys can shape our very lives. They can lead us to believe that we are happy and content, or are safe, hungry, lost, rich, poor, healthy, sick, desirable, benevolent, sane, or psychotic.


My workplace has not been spared. Do you perceive that your colleagues and management have integrity? Do you still find enjoyment in what you're doing? Or something to this effect. I always answer in the affirmative. I want to get on with what I'm doing, to browse news sites and answer e-mails, and do other things I'm supposed to do, and what I get paid for. Answering otherwise would require that I explain and qualify, but which I don't think will be understandable anyway.


You can't govern or lead based on surveys, if what you survey are opinions and perceptions. You have to do things right. Opinions may be representative of what people want or need, not what they are being given. You should never think you possess integrity just because a survey says so. People answer surveys either feeling wary and suspicious, or being polite, or both. Integrity is something you possess or don't; it's either 100% or nil. You know if you have it or not. It is like having a conscience, if you've ever experienced having one. Stop kidding yourselves.


As for the other abstraction, work enjoyment, it lasts only until the novelty of the job wears off. After that, one keeps the job out of sheer financial need, or the lack of other suitable, more appealing, and more generous options. You should notice the speed at which people jump ship as soon as better opportunities present themselves. Of course, there are the lucky few who work in jobs they really enjoy doing. They are the exceptions. The majority of us belong to the general rule. Do not tell me then, that you want me to have fulfillment. I can have that by getting laid.