Dear Pao,

Every time I try to write, I don’t know what to say, and when I do get something down, it sounds cheap, like a Hallmark card that I’ve read too many times. But I want to be able to say my good-bye, so here’s my try.

Today is your birthday. You would have been 22 today. You missed it by 3 days. Maybe somewhere you are 22. Maybe you opted to stay 21 – I probably would 🙂

You actually spent your 21st birthday in the States, in my kitchen. More than half the family was here – all the Panlilios, your whole family minus your dad, Mamita, all of Tito Nol’s family, and then some. You asked us to make salubong for with you for your birthday (sidenote: that roughly translates into “keeping vigil” but in this context means waiting til midnight to say good-bye to a passing age and welcome a new one), and of course, everyone stayed up. You were so excited the next day to go to an American bar and order a drink – even though you’ve been drinking for years in the Philippines – and then, she didn’t even card you. You were shocked. It was hilarious.

I made salubong for you last night – mostly, I couldn’t sleep, but I knew the rest of the family was awake, in San Antonia in Manila, holding the second night of your novena. I hear that the chapel was packed to the rafters, and people spilled out into the courtyard, all the way to the parking lot. You touched so many people, Pao. Did you even know? How far you reached?

You were so good. The cool guy who was never too cool to go out of the way to do things for people, to make us less cool kids feel cooler, never ashamed to look or dress totally ridiculous to make people laugh. My dad said, it best, so I’ll quote him:

“[You were] the cool dude who looked after and took care of less cool people (e.g. still remember him as the guy who welcomed Mico – when we were back in Manila for a year in 1997 – and picked him up from the Domingos in his bicycle because there was no driver), the guy who was comfortable with his feminine side (to wit, the now infamous “Nobody But You” rendition at Tali, where he outshined the reigning queen of dance – sorry Annabelle), the perpetual ham in things he does (recall his hilarious attire when he took a ride with Von in my convertible, when Gin was incredulous) and remarks (as I gave him some currency one Christmas, he quips “did you just rob a bank?”…it wasn’t even much).”

To me, you were someone who just spilled over with kindness and faith. And that’s what I hate writing, because it sounds cheap, like something everyone says in their eulogies, but with you, it was so TRUE. You really didn’t have a negative bone in your body, never complained when receiving one of a gazillion requests from someone in the family, never mocked people people out of malice, didn’t sulk, didn’t get moody, wasn’t dramatic (as so many of us Bautista’s can be).

Which is why I hold on to what San said to me: that maybe, as in the poem, “A Child Loaned,” God took you so early because, despite being younger than most of us – you had already learned all the lessons you needed to learn here on earth. You already passed life with flying colors. Loved whole heartedly. Gave freely. Believed with complete conviction.

When you were little (like, really little – maybe 5 or 6), you obsessively sang, “Because You Loved Me,” by Celine Dion. Embarrassing, huh? Here’s me airing some secrets haha. I know you wouldn’t care. The song goes, “You were my strength when I was weak / you were my voice when I couldn’t speak / … / You were my eyes when I couldn’t see / You gave me faith because you believed.” And I think that’s how I’ll always look towards you now. Maybe I didn’t appreciate it enough in your life, but you are an incredible role model of mine. If I could live life how you did, I think I would have a more than fulfilling life.

I’m going to quote Mamita in saying, “My grief is mainly based on selfishness because I feel bad that I will never see Pao again.” I know you’re in a better place – again, sounds cheap, but you were so GOOD that I just know you’re in a better place, and so, my sadness really is just based in my own selfishness. That I didn’t spend more time with you. That I didn’t take more advantage of everything you could have taught me. And I know that somewhere, you and Wowo are probably reminiscing over the past, maybe laughing at us (and, by the way, Wo, if you had any say, you couldn’t have chosen better company), and so I’m trying to stop crying, because really, you wouldn’t want that.

We released balloons for you. Manang and I coordinated to release them at the same time, and tried to time it so that it would coincide with the birthday celebration they’re throwing for you at San Antonio (hurray for 13 hour time differences). I asked the family if they would participate too – write something to you on a balloon and release it. I have a great mental image that somewhere, balloons are sprouting up around your feet and filling the air where you are. I hope it’s true.

I love you, Paowee. I feel so blessed that I knew you.

Rest well,

Kara